17
Reports kept coming in about the spread of the peasant unrest. Spies in various towns brought back reports of outright mobilization, often warning that swift action would be necessary. Tayron confessed to himself, and to Anni, that he wouldn’t have been nearly as worried if the council had taken some action, even according to the conservative suggestions of Lord Jaksen. Instead, even the lord councilor felt the pressure as the king continued to stall and demand time to fully assess the situation. His latest reason was to wait for the last spies to return from regions they had not yet heard from. Jaksen had pointed out that, even if the spies reported no signs of uprising, the reports already heard in court were serious enough. The counsel fell on deaf ears.
What kept people from openly criticize the king was that they simply couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He had thought circles around most of the lords in the room before, so they had more than mere rank considerations on their minds – they didn’t want to look stupid. This didn’t stop Jaksen, but his lone voice was easily and lightly spurned by the king, irritating the councilor more than a heated argument would have.
“And I still can’t get through to them,” Anni complained over dinner. “Even the ones that are really concerned about the whole thing. The worst part was one of the lesser nobles who approached me thinking that I was in with the rebels. He said to tell Adenor – he tried real hard to sound like he really believed the rebel is really the old king’s son – that he would be ready to join up with the rebellion if Adenor proved capable of defeating who he called ‘the false king, Lord Fenix.’ Then he said that, in exchange for this promise, he would like the future king to avoid attacking his estate – some mansion somewhere. I only let him go on because I needed something to laugh at.”
“I’m surprised he said everything so openly.”
“He wouldn’t have if there was a nobleman in earshot. I’m a commoner, so I can’t bring charges against him. I’m not a peer.”
“You could tell Lord Jaksen,” Tayron suggested.
Anni chuckled sarcastically. “Have you seen him lately? Of course you have. He walks around like he’s lost or something. Outside of court, you can’t tell whether he’s happy or sad, satisfied or unnerved. I don’t even want to risk telling him anything, just in case he might explode.”
“He’s not that bad off . . .” Tayron said uncertainly.
“Anyway, I don’t know the guy’s name so there’s really no point,” Anni concluded.
Tayron’s interest in politics moved in inverse proportion to the messiness of affairs, so that it had been plunging rapidly since the False Adenor’s appearance. He was now focused on only two things – protecting the councilor while he was on duty, and getting enough time off duty to spend with Anni. It usually took her an hour to get through all the venting, so he had developed the strategy of clearing a few hours at a time. She’d get her fill of talking, then they’d snuggle up somewhere private, but comfortable. They hadn’t done anything more intimate than kiss and cuddle, but they were happy enough with that much.
“What’s with the sour face?” Bathis said on a night eight days into the struggle between Jaksen and the king. He was on guard duty and Tayron had just returned from spending a few more hours of his free time with Anni. “Had trouble getting it up again because of all the stress?”
Tayron ignored the comment out of habit. “Just thinking that I’d rather be on the front lines against Rath’rainol than here. At least there I’d know how to handle myself and where I stand.”
“I’m sure Lord Jaksen could arrange your transfer easily enough.” Then Bathis turned serious, saying, “this can’t go on for much longer, Tayron. We just had the luck of coming in at a weird time. Eventually it’ll settle into a new equilibrium, a new balance. It always does, and the universe will stop paying attention to us and we can go on with our business. When it’s finished ruining things in other places for the fun of it, it will pay attention to us again, and that’ll be another interesting time. That’s how I think about it. But I know how you feel. It’s like intrigue, battle, calm before storm, intrigue, battle, and on and on.”
“Yeah. I think it’s the battle phase coming up, no matter what the court, Jaksen, or the king do or say. Isn’t there anything more here? Or is that all our noble politicians can think of,” Tayron said with a definite edge to his voice.
“You’re beginning to sound like me,” said Bathis, impressed. “But you’re not the only one asking whether there’s more to how our leaders manage this country. In fact, if this False Adenor situation is just left to its own devices, then the entire nation will be asking the same question, and more than a few will say that, if that’s all the nobles do, then average people could do just as well, gods or no gods.”
“That’s . . . impossible.”
“No, that’s practical, especially if the nobles continue to make life difficult for everyone else. Mind the times, Tayron – there are a number of people in this very palace that will be destroyed by them.”
Tayron caught a hint from the dullness in Bathis’ eyes. “You’re talking about Jaksen, aren’t you?”
Bathis’ eyebrows lifted an inch. “I wouldn’t say it too loudly, but yes. It turns out I was wrong about the councilor when we first came to the palace. I’m sorry. It would have been better if we hadn’t gotten tied up with him.”
The silence that followed allowed Tayron to disentangle himself from the conversation and head into the councilor’s living room, leaving a pensive Bathis outside on guard duty. He had been tasked to be Jaksen’s bodyguard – unlike Bathis, he had not chosen to be tied up. This, he felt, gave him some freedom to maneuver. He understood exactly what Bathis meant about Jaksen, but was not so ready to give up on the councilor. And, with the freedom he had, he decided it was safe not to think about it for the time being. Without saying anything to the councilor himself, who was seated in the living room flipping through a pile of reports, the knight took to his bed and slept soundly.
On following nights, his sleep grew steadily choppier so that, on the night that the shouts from the walls brought him up with a start, he had been in sore need of a few straight hours uninterrupted. He didn’t complain, though, too alarmed by what the walls were screaming.
“The king alerts the palace – a peasant army is attacking Kourina. Assemble in the audience chamber immediately. A peasant army is attacking Kourina.”
Exiting his room, drowsiness temporarily staved off, Tayron wondered whether the king was supposed to be able to control the voice of the walls, or whether this was a fresh innovation. It kept him from thinking about what the nobles would plan now that the die was cast. Whatever it was, he’d be sure to get an earful from Anni afterward.
“I take back what I said last night, by the way,” Bathis said, the second they joined up in the living room.
Not knowing what to say with Jaksen in earshot, preparing to leave for the audience chamber, Tayron said only “huh?”
“This came just in time to vindicate . . . well, everything,” Bathis gave a wink. “In a way, this is the best thing that could have happened.”
“You have an odd way of looking at things.”
“You must have known that already.”
“No . . . I mean we’re going to have another battle. That means that the pattern is just continuing – this is the battle after the calm and the intrigue. Nothing’s solved, so the whole thing’s still waiting to burst, right? Isn’t that what you had said?”
Bathis paled a shade. “Oh, right. Maybe I should take that part back, too.”
Striding past them in the haste of emergency, Jaksen said, “there will be no bursting this time, not if I can help it. I’ve sent Yunas ahead to the other lords. I refuse to allow another civil war – we have spilt enough of our own blood in the first one. Never before has there been two civil wars on this land in the same year, and we can’t afford to show such weakness before Rath’rainol.”
Shocked, exchanging glances with each other, the knights rushed out to keep up with the councilor, wondering what exactly he had in mind to prevent the bloodshed almost certainly on the horizon. Granted, they had been trained for warfare, not peacemaking, but Bathis at least was not ignorant about the subtleties of politics, and yet his expression showed just as much disbelief as Tayron felt. They had expected Jaksen to shine in triumphant colors, ready to lead, and excited now that the fight was at hand. The rebels had attacked a city, after all, and by all rights that meant there was no turning back.
Bathis whispered to Tayron at a volume even the councilor’s ears could not pick up, “I think this is the break in the pattern that we were looking for. Be careful what you wish for, I guess.”
The chamber was abuzz with conversation, and Jaksen immediately brought the council into a ring around him. They pelted him with questions, desperate from sheer lack of information, but he held them back, holding his hands up for silence, then murmuring to them so no one outside the circle could hear. The two knights were left out of the circle, remaining in the corner reserved for bodyguards. Whatever was being discussed, Tayron saw that it was causing dissension, and outright disbelief in the council. No one seemed willing to speak out against whatever Jaksen was planning, but they made it clear that they wouldn’t openly support him until the sentiments of the king and other courtiers were with him. That much was written all over their faces, and Tayron marveled at how courageous the high councilor truly was, not wavering despite the weak show of support.
The consultation between the councilors ended when it was announced that the king approached the chamber. The courtiers took their places expectantly, trusting that this new development would at least snap the king into action. As the king entered, the air grew heated, the monarch’s visage setting it ablaze. His profile told nothing that his pounding stride had not already declared – that he was not in a tolerant mood. Nevertheless, he did not address his court concerning the crisis, instead saying only “proceed with deliberations” as he took the throne. He accepted a glass of water from a servant as all eyes turned towards Jaksen.
The high councilor started. “The beginning of your majesty’s reign has been fraught with difficulty. We dealt with the first insurrection admirably – preventing a long, drawn-out war and crushing the pretender to the throne in two battles. This time, however, the situation is different. The people themselves demand reform. They do not seriously seek to remove you from your throne, great king, but would be satisfied if this court would only show some sign of taking them into consideration. They want to be heard, and have wanted to be heard for a long time. If they rise in rebellion, it is because all other ways to seek justice have been exhausted. I would advise this court that having two civil wars in one year will rip this nation apart. We must be magnanimous, and offer the rebels as much of what they demand as is possible.”
“We cannot be so optimistic as you are, Jaksen,” the king said levelly. “These peasants have shown no willingness to go through proper channels. They must know that they could not possibly gain reforms through rebellion – that we must conclude that bending to their will would only cause further rebellion – and so they can only intend to place their pretender on the throne. We do not imagine our subjects stupid, Lord Jaksen, and they must have realized that, once they took this course, they would either have their pretender king or they would be dead. If despite that knowledge, they still pursue this course, then this court cannot believe that merely showing them consideration, merely being magnanimous, will end this rebellion. This ends in blood.”
“You leave very little room for discussion, highness.”
“That was the intention.”
The stunned hall looked on as the council sat uncomfortably, wondering whether there would again be a mutiny among the noble houses. No one was prepared to support Jaksen against a sitting king, but nervousness about the king’s judgment was growing. Tayron had no idea how this was supposed to work out, but he prepared himself for a fistfight if things got ugly.
“Highness,” Jaksen continued after the breathless pause, “you have not given your people much of a chance. You first dismissed them as rabble, refusing to move to resolve the situation quickly, and now you propose the complete opposite – brutal suppression. Can there be no middle ground? Why must every course of action be the most extreme possible?”
“Lord Jaksen, you are out of order. Unless you believe yourself more capable to dispense justice than your king, in which case you set yourself above him, do not criticize decisions already made. This council’s duty is to look to the future, and give me a range of views from which I can select the best course.”
“My apologies, highness, but you seem unwilling to heed the advice of the council.”
“You have only one voice, Jaksen. Where is the range of views? Did you crush them? If no one else is brave enough to stand up to you, the king must present the counterargument for himself, and in this case is convinced by his own argument.”
“And if my words represent the unanimous view of the council . . .”
The king laughed mirthlessly. “What a novel idea! These lords and ladies were not assembled to have a unanimous view. So many powerful figures could not possibly agree without reservation. And even if they did, an event as earth-shattering as any civil war to be sure, they would feel free to voice their approval. Will anyone second Jaksen?”
Silence. The king had made clear his feelings.
Finally, another lord spoke up. It was Lord Orinis, whose ancestors had founded the city of Orina. He was elderly, and had survived his copious years simply by not saying much in court, and going along with the majority. He was so well known for doing this that no one had ever bothered to send assassins his way, and never once had Tayron seen Lord Jaksen discuss matters with him directly. When this revered survivor croaked, “may I speak highness?” the king was so surprised that he took a while to replied, “yes, of course, Lord Orinis.”
“As you well know, great king, my family, though long removed from our namesake city, still retains an interest in it that stems from our pride, and its importance in supplying your illustrious capital,” Orinis said pedantically. He halted for a moment to let his words sink in, then just as the king was about to tell him to continue, he went on. “Many old families from the city and its surrounding farmland were of help to us during the founding, and we maintain ties with them. The descendant of one such family has asked to speak with you today on the peasant rebellion issue. He is the headman of a village outside Orina. His village has not joined the rebellion, but he is facing difficult questions from the villagers. I understand the logic behind your majesty’s feeling toward the rebels, and perhaps we should be harsh with them. But, to these who seek justice in the proper way, I imagine your highness would gladly deal with them to display the true measure of attention you pay to your subjects.”
“There is no need for any display, but audience will be granted as a matter of course, since that is what this court is here for and the method by which audience has been sought is in line with the conventions of the court, well established for thousands of years.”
“Show in Headman Yloegr,” Orinis ordered the guards. With a glance, Tayron could tell that Jaksen had not expected this at all. The councilor was leaning forward, his face straining as he tried to examine all possible courses the current situation could take. The king had already taken a look at the high lord, and would have refused the headman audience if he had any reason to believe Jaksen was behind it.
Headman Yloegr was squat and awkward, with a serious limp. Tayron only noticed the heavy wood brace on the man’s left leg because of a rent in his pants. From the way the man walked, it could not have been a wooden leg, but it was as close to that as possible. Tayron had learned from Anni that, as a symbol of their responsibility to their village or town, headmen were always the last to get food rations, clothing, and anything else in short supply. It was a difficult job to accept, but carried with it unparalleled honor, not to mention the right to speak for hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Yloegr wore a permanent grimace fit for the classic harsh schoolmaster, but shed it immediately in favor of humble awe when he caught sight of the king. He had profoundly bad eyesight, and had to tilt his head to focus on the king correctly.
In his right hand he held up a dead and, by Tayron’s judgment, diseased specimen of Haraldi crop, the bread meal staple for the heartland of the nation – the area surrounding the northern half of the great river. The headman held it up accusingly. “Lord High King, and great nobles, I’m here because of this. I don’t know how to say this for your ears, so I’ll say it like my people discussed it in village council. A rebel from the camp of the False Adenor visited us, seeking our support. She made a good case of it, but we voted not to right away. My village – we know the right side from the wrong side. But she asked us, she said, ‘then have these kings been doing good to you?” And we said that we had no right to expect anything from the king except protection, and so far no enemy had walked through our lands. Then my own brother, he said that we had the right to expect justice. Well, none of us had ever even thought to come to your highness for justice, so there was no way to say your majesty hadn’t done us right on that. But then old man Rinol, none of us is half as old and he’s lived under four kings so we think he has magic of some sort, he said that the king’s justice was in the land, that if a just king ruled the land was fruitful, and if the king was unjust, was misguided he said, then the land would be barren. Now this got people talking, ‘cause he said that the land had never been as bad as it had been the past few months. All of our crops are like this, and we have no idea what it is. Haraldi goes yellow when it’s dead. We have books kept for ages with every crop problem in it, and none of it said anything about Haraldi going red. That’s five hundred years, highness. So my village told me, they said Rinol had a point. We suddenly found ourselves in tough times, and we needed help anyway. I’m here to ask you, the king and nobles we have always had faith in, and will always have faith in, to show us your divine benevolence and aid us in this time of need.”
The king cleared his throat. “You have not been given permission to speak.” Yloegr gaped, and Tayron could see that the headman was instinctively looking for a way out of the chamber with his head still attached to his body. The king’s tone was enough warning. “But your accusations have been heard, and your crop has been seen. Let the council speak on this matter.” The king had already made up his mind – he was only giving the opportunity for others in the court to show their true colors.
Orinis felt compelled, on point of honor, to defend Yloegr. Jaksen had looked poised to speak first, but more than willingly sat back when Orinis stood up.
“High king, as I introduced Yloegr to the court, I feel it would be best for me to speak first to facilitate this court’s deliberations. As the dear headman would be more than willing to admit, he has not the refinements of the court or the subtlety of language, and I would like to clarify some of the more unfortunate choices of words,” the venerable figure said without sign of worry.
“Ah,” said the king, “but do you suppose your king has misunderstood what this man has said? Is your king’s judgment so addled that you think quirks of language can mislead him?”
“That is not what I said, sire.”
“But that’s what you meant!”
“If you say so, sire. I certainly would not presume to question your judgment.”
The king rose to his feet and the entire room followed in suit immediately. He began pacing the length of the elevated platform, in front of the dignitaries of this council. Stopping in stride and facing Orinis when he spoke, he said, “But certainly you realized the purpose of this Yloegr! Surely he was merely a vehicle for you to voice your discontents.”
“I knew his purpose and I do not believe it had anything to do with questioning your majesty, though if you believe it was, I will definitely apologize for troubling you in this way. Yloegr was merely requesting aid, though he had an oddly provincial manner of going about it. In giving his aid, you might also show to those in rebellion that you care for them, and that their discontents are nonsense. That is beside the point, though – a pleasant side effect. I don’t presume to tell your majesty about those sovereign powers that you alone can fully understand, but I assume your benevolence requires no reciprocal except loyalty and obedience.”
The king held his head in his right hand, and weakly sat back down on his throne. Some of the throng remained standing out of concern, including Lord Jaksen. When the king finally spoke, it was in a firm, but shadowy voice. “The aid will be given as requested. The king apologizes for his uncivil words and irrational thoughts. Though it has no bearing on his final judgment, the stresses of the times have made it difficult for even the most reasonable people to control their temper. It is likely that this is the case with many of the peasants in revolt. But Yloegr, you have overstepped your bounds by coming before this court. Your appeal should have been directed to the governing council of the city of Orina. If they refused to provide relief, then Lord Orinis, mobilizing his ample resources, would have obliged you. He could then request reimbursement from this court. This land is filled with thousands of villages, and if we were to hear the troubles of all of them, there would be no time to manage the business of the state as a whole. Servants! Your king needs water! The refined voice is not designed for shouting.”
The water was brought, and the king drank it delicately. Yloegr waited anxiously to hear where the king’s words were leading. “Yes,” the king started when the glass reached half full, “in the ancient days, stepping out of one’s station was a trespass worthy of the severest punishments. Today, however, we live in a world where allowances must be made. So, it is decreed that headman Yloegr will spend a sixty-four days in prison, with all necessities provided, starting today. Word will be sent back to his village accordingly.”
“Sire!” Jaksen implored.
The king held his hand up to silence criticism. “The headman cannot be allowed to go back to his village a hero. It cannot be thought that his stepping out of bounds resulted in aid being given. It must be clear that the king’s judgment is benevolent, but transgressions of the established order will be punished. Otherwise there would be chaos.”
Jaksen relented. Against his instincts, he saw the king’s point, and sat back down in his seat. It was becoming the case that any word from him would bring about a war within the court, from which no good could come. Whatever he could have hoped from the introduction of Yloegr to the court ended with the king only reinforcing his opinion.
After Yloegr had been led away, with a curiously satisfied look on him, a voice from the council platform said, “umm, sire?” before the next case entered into the hall.
“Yes, Lord Haradr. You may speak.”
“Well, I was just wondering if we should start making preparations, if we’re going to battle back this rebellion. Your highness has said nothing on this, and I wondered if a war council should be scheduled for later today.”
Pensively, and clearly not expecting this line of inquiry, the king responded, “those who are responsible for the military can meet, but your king will not be able to attend tonight. Lord Jaksen will no doubt preside over the preparations in the king’s place, since he usually presides even when the king is present.”
“Excuse me, highness,” said Jaksen, “but I remain in objection to this war, and cannot bring myself to lead what my conscience refuses to accept as necessary. Planning the deaths of thousands is difficult enough, without having in one’s heart serious questions about whether it could have been avoided. So, I retain only my court position, and my role as commander of the knights in court, and abandon any right I have to command forces in the field.”
Shocked murmuring, which would have become comical to Tayron’s ears by now if he hadn’t been resolutely focused on prying apart the words being exchanged, once again filled the hall.
“You dare to question the commands of your king? As Orinis said, I expect loyalty and obedience. You dishonor your ancestors by disobeying the king they have all served faithfully.”
“You have not given me a command, highness. You only suggested that, if we wished to form an advisory council for the war, I might be the one to preside. You have determined that there will be a war, and I no longer challenge that, but I have a right to decide in what capacity I serve my king, and surely my advisory position in court and my command of the palace knights is already a powerful enough presence to satisfy my ancestors. Unless your highness would like to give me a clear command otherwise, which I would be bound to obey.”
Through Tayron’s word filter, “powerful” turned up as the most important of the lot. The king must have been thinking on the same terms, because he answered, “no such command will be given. You must be free to follow your own conscience, of course, though we would dissuade those who are not already doing so much for this land from taking the same course. Your contribution, Lord Jaksen, has indeed been more than you should have been expected to bear.”
“Thank you for your understanding, divine king. Under the stresses of the times, I fear my judgment, which lacks the divinity of yours, has not held up. I request leave to retire to my estate for some time to gather myself together again. I am not so young anymore.”
“But if some eventuality should occur in which your counsel would be valuable . . .”
“This court is not so incapable as to be crippled by my absence for a few weeks. You may, of course, recall me if the need is pressing. But quelling a peasant rebellion should not task our forces too much, and I need this time to myself, lest I make a grievous error that would imperil the entire land. I also need to see my family. I need to prepare my eldest son to take over from me – something which I have forestalled for far too long, considering my advanced age. He will be returning with me, I think, and may occasionally take my place on the council. Naturally, I will still take final responsibility for all my duties until the day I die.”
“The court understands your need, Lord High Councilor Jaksen. You may take your leave from the audience now, if you wish, to prepare your return journey and ensure your prompt arrival at your estate, so that you might more quickly return to us.”
“Thank you, my king. I will go now.” Bathis and Tayron followed Jaksen out of the chambers. Presumably Yunas was guarding Jaksen’s quarters in preparation for their return. Bathis cast a meaningful look at Tayron, but said nothing. They both tried to read the councilor’s thoughts.
When they reached the door to Jaksen’s residence, with Yunas waiting expectantly outside, the councilor told the three knights, “stay out here for a while, I need some privacy to think things through.”
“For how long?” Tayron asked in a breath.
“Long enough. As long as possible. We leave in the afternoon so that I can have dinner at home. You will leave with me – I don’t know how much safer I will be on my estate than here. Give me as much time as you can until we have to go.”
The councilor entered, and the bodyguards waited in the hall outside.