Kantar maintained his stoic composure but nodded his thanks to Tauron.
“Why, yes, Tauron,” Gavin said. “I do indeed have quite a bit to say. Do you yield the floor?”
Tauron’s eyes tightened, starting to speak, but his eyes flicked to Kantar. He closed his mouth once more, took a deep breath, and resumed his seat, saying, “The floor is yours.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, fellow arcanists, I do not deny that I violated the Compact of Dakkor yesterday. Knowing what I now know…if presented with those circumstances again, I would do the exact same thing.”
The undercurrent of whispers increased.
“Pretty rhetoric, boy,” the older man in leathers said, “but you’re not protected anymore.”
Gavin turned to look at the man, his expression that of granite as he said, “We may not be ‘protected,’ as you put it, but we are most certainly defended…but I’ll get back to that. I assume you bring some kind of offer to the Society.”
“Well, before your little speech, the offer was that you are turned over to us and our man be released from jail in exchange for things staying the way they’ve been.”
“Not so bad, but you wouldn’t have gotten it,” Gavin said.
The old man chuckled, saying, “Don’t be so sure, boy. The vote last night said we do.”
Now, murmuring in the galleries took on the angry tone of disgruntled protesters.
“Oh, really?” Gavin said. “They’ve already voted? That certainly helps matters. You see, Articles 31 - 34 of the Arcanists’ Code go into great detail about how the Great Houses of Tel and the Council relate to each other. In order for the Council to hand over anyone to whatever you call justice, they must first vote to name that person a renegade, which is a simple majority vote…except in the case of a member of the Great Houses…and here’s the best part. Before the Council can even deliberate over naming a member of the Great Houses a renegade, the Conclave of Great Houses must unanimously vote that the person in question should be named a renegade.”
The murmurs stopped. The sudden quiet was eerie.
“Why are you blathering about the Great Houses?” the older man in leathers asked.
Gavin favored the man with a dark, almost malicious grin, saying, “According to Article 31, the Council committed an attack upon the Great Houses of Tel by deliberating this issue and taking a vote on how to proceed, which is the first step toward the Conclave of the Great Houses assuming total authority over the Society should we choose to do so.”
A graveyard at night would be noisier than the Chamber of the Council at that moment. Every magister stared at Gavin, their coloring a sickly pallor.
“I’m not prepared to go to the hassle of calling a Conclave of the Great Houses over this,” Gavin said, turning to face the Guild’s representatives, “as long as you answer one question.”
“What’s the question?” the older man asked.
“Was the murder sanctioned?”
Now, the color fled the representatives’ faces. Gavin waited. Silence reigned.
“Well?” Gavin asked after a time. “It’s a fairly simple question. Was the murder sanctioned?”
“No,” the older man said, unable to maintain eye contact with Gavin.
Gavin took a step backward, affecting surprise. “No? I thought all activities must be sanctioned by the guild leadership. Has something changed in recent years?”
“No,” the older man said, his voice almost a whisper and still not looking at Gavin.
“Forgive me, sir, but I didn’t hear that,” Gavin said, though the man’s speech had indeed been crystal clear. “Could you please speak up?”
The man now lifted his head to glare at Gavin and spoke in a strong tone, “No.”
“Well, now,” Gavin said. “This is a very interesting turn of events. Sir, if the murder was not sanctioned, then did I intervene in Guild affairs?”
The older man took a deep breath and said, “No, you did not.”
The woman by the older man’s left side stepped forward, speaking at last, “That doesn’t change anything! The Compact says that no arcanist will assist in the capture, trial, or identification of any members of the Guild or any of our holdings. One of our men is in the town jail this very moment, captured because of you! I for one am looking forward to robbing you Robes blind.”
“That sounds like you came here to ensure the Compact expired, rather than be renewed,” Gavin said, “but you want to be very sure that is the path you wish to take.”
“What are you going to do?” the woman said. “You’ll be bleeding out on our Guild-house floor.”
“I don’t think so, Miss,” Gavin said, “and I’m finished playing in Tauron’s theater.” Gavin took a deep breath and, lifting his eyes to scan the upper gallery and raising his voice, said, “The order is given.” Gavin turned to face the woman once more. “Within three months, the Guild will be no more. I grant you safe conduct to leave the College, but the moment you set foot on the white tiles of the market, you should run.”
A stunned silence descended on the crowd. Everyone stared at Gavin, and not even Tauron had anything to say.
“Isn’t that a bit drastic?” a new voice said.
Gavin turned to his right. A young man in worn leathers leaned against the pedestal that supported Bellos’s statue, the very picture of nonchalance. His black hair was well-trimmed, and he wore a pencil-thin mustache.
The three Guild representatives dropped to one knee faster than the blink of an eye.
“I don’t think so,” Gavin said. “It seems to me they came here with the intent of delivering a demand they knew would not-or could not-be accepted, which means they never intended to negotiate in good faith. If they’re so intent on the Compact’s expiration, I see no reason we should just roll over and let them…what was it…oh, yes, ‘rob us Robes blind.’ The Society has the capability to be a very dangerous enemy, but I see no reason to mobilize the entire Society when my resources alone are sufficient to carry out the task…in three months or less.”
The young man laughed and said, “I still remember the day your uncle walked into my Guild-house and said, ‘You and your Guild will join the Army of Valthon, or I will burn you to ash where you sit.’ You remind me of him.”
“I have no idea who you are or how you came to be here, but you are interfering with an official session of the Council of Magisters,” Tauron said, rising to his feet.
There was a general gasp throughout the chamber.
Gavin’s eyes followed the wave of gasps around the galleries, before looking at the young man once more. “I guess Tauron hasn’t figured it out yet,” Gavin said.
Now, Gavin turned and faced the Council, gesturing toward the young man as he said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, fellow arcanists, allow me to present Dakkor, God of Thieves.”
Dakkor walked around to stand between the Council and Gavin, facing Gavin. He said, “I have no wish to see the Guild exterminated. Your uncle and I negotiated the Compact once. Shall you and I do the same?”
Tauron’s nostrils flared as he drew breath, saying, “He does not have the authority to speak for the Society!”
Gavin watched Valera reach over and grasped Tauron’s left wrist, forcing him to sit. Gavin could tell Valera intended to whisper, but whether because of heightened emotion or the acoustics of the space, her words carried.
“Tauron, you damned fool, be silent!”
It took all of Gavin’s willpower to keep his expression neutral when he heard Valera’s words.
“No, Valera,” Dakkor said, gesturing for her to ease back. “Tauron is quite correct. Kirloth does not have the authority to negotiate for the Society, but I have no wish to negotiate with the Society. The Society isn’t a threat to my Guild. There is one certain threat to my Guild and a possible second. Kirloth is the certainty. You are the possibility.”