"Yet," Drumold was saying, "let us think clearly what we want, and how best to get it. So long as Marselius and Flaminius make war, they can not send one legionary against us. Let them make peace-or let one side win-and where are we? Rome has long claimed the whole of Tamaerthon. Och, aye, there was a time when they claimed Drantos, indeed all this world of Tran. And will Marselius be such a friend and ally once he is undoubted Caesar and has no need of us?
"My Lord Rick, you propose to make an end to this war, even spend our blood and treasure to do it! I say you have not been well advised, and I understand it not."
There were loud murmurs, but no more than Rick had expected, given the number of people packed into the room: so many that the table, the largest in all of Drantos, could not hold them, so that many of the lesser nobility, as well as commoners, sat in chairs-set in rows stretching all the way to the far wall.
The table itself held too many for a sensible meeting. The young Wanax Ganton, nominally in charge but delegating that to Rick; the Lord Protector Camithon, scarred face glaring at anyone who opposed him or forgot the least courtesy due the king; three of the five great counts of Drantos, four counting Rick and Tylara. Like William-and-Mary, Rick thought. Rick-and-Tylara, a two-headed monster to rule Chelm. Some of the wealthier bheromen and knights. Guildmasters. All to represent the Kingdom of Drantos.
Then the priesthoods. Old Yanulf, splendid in blue robes, scowling because the Council bickered instead of getting on with preparations for The Time. Sigrim, high priest of Vothan One-eye, Chooser of the Slain, a warrior god everyone feared and few loved. Florali, the elderly lady-Rick thought of her as a vestal virgin although she was a widow-to represent Hestia, the Good Goddess of grain.
The composition of the Council came from long tradition. Men had died contesting the right to sit in Council. Reducing its size was nearly impossible. King, lords, commons, and priestly orders together made up the Great Council of Drantos, an unwieldy structure at best; but there were lots more at today's meeting. Drantos was allied with Tamaerthon. Some of the Tamaerthan clansmen put it more bluntly. Tamaerthan warriors, led by Lord Rick, had only the year before saved Drantos from occupation by Sarakos, Heir Apparent of the Five Kingdoms, and despite the relative sizes of the two lands many clansmen thought Tamaerthon was and ought to be the senior partner. Certainly Tamaerthan chiefs and warriors must sit in the Grand Council. Consequently, one side of the table was filled by kilted hill tribesmen, scarcely thought more than barbarians by the great ones of Drantos-but they kept those thoughts to themselves. Usually.
"Tis far to our interest to end these wars." The voice rose shrilly from Rick's left. Morron, father of the King's Companion and Eqeta of the south-central region of Drantos. "Our trade is ruined by this war," Morron said. "Each side takes its tolls, and all profit is lost to finance their wars. The sooner the issue is settled, the better for Drantos."
"Hah!" Drumold shouted. "So we have the truth of it. Tamaerthon is to be sold for the benefit of Drantos."
"Enough!" Rick shouted. He pounded the table again. "Enough, I say!" His hand went to his pistol. The babble ceased. Once, weeks before, Rick had fired a round into the ceiling as a means of shutting off debate. "Drumold, my old friend, you wrong me."
The old chieftan looked hurt, then thoughtful. "Aye," he said reluctantly. "I spoke in haste. Yet I cannot retract this much: it is not in our interest that the Romans make peace among themselves."
"Do not be so certain. True, while Roman fights Roman they cannot attack us-but they cannot defend themselves, either. Of the eleven legions in Rome before the civil war began, scarcely six remain in condition to fight."
"Och, and who will invade Rome?" This came from Dughuilas, Chief of Clan Calder. "Unless we do, divided as they are…"
"The High Rexja, for one," Tylara said.
Dughuilas and Drumold stared at her. Women did not speak at Council in Tamaerthon.
"He will want to avenge his son Sarakos," Tylara continued. "If we fight the Romans, the Five Kingdoms will be in Drantos within five ten-days. If we do not-will not Rexja Tons eye the Roman lands with greed? He has bheromen and knights, even sons of Wanaxxae who hoped for lands in Drantos. How shall they be rewarded, now that the Five hold no sway here?"
"Such a one as Sarakos deserves no revenge," Drumold muttered. Baiquhain, his oldest son, pounded the table in agreement.
"Do you think you know that better than I?" Tylara demanded.
The room fell silent. Everyone had heard that Tylara had been tortured-some even whispered raped-by Sarakos, but no one expected her to mention it.
Rick took advantage of the silence. "We cannot fight Rome, for if we march east then Tons will lead the armies of the Five Kingdoms into Drantos."
"Then strike the Five," someone said. "Now, before they prepare."
"Leaving a divided Rome behind us?" Rick asked. "When we can't be certain of the friendship of either faction?"
"We have aided Marselius," Tylara said. "He sends us gifts."
"Aye. We sent him aid after we bested him in battle," Drumold said. "He is a proud man and his legionaries are prouder. They will not forget how the clans stood against them-and won."
"Another good reason for alliance," Rick said. "And how sure are you that Flaminius will not win while we flounder about in the north? It is certain enough that Flaminius bears nought but malice toward Tamaerthon. Let Flaminius win, and we will be as grain between the upper and nether millstones."
And about now, Rick thought, is when someone's going to think of the master stroke of dissolving the alliance and letting Tamaerthon float off on its own. There, Dragomer is about to speak-"This is madness." The voice thundered from immediately to Rick's left. Yanulf, Archpriest of Yatar, stood defiantly, his arms thrown out wide. "The Time approaches. And in the Time of Burning, then shall the seas smoke and the lands melt as wax. The waters of ocean shall lap the mountains. Woe to those who have not prepared. Woe to the unbelievers.
"And how have we prepared?" he demanded. "The starmen have come, exactly as prophecy foretold; they themselves tell us of The Time. We bicker among ourselves and make talk of petty wars, when the ice caves are empty of stores. I say it is time we fill the caves with grain and meat against The Time, and cease this talk of 'interests.' There are no interests more important than preparation for The Time."
"Well said," someone shouted. The guildsmen stamped their feet in approval.
"Well said indeed," Rick agreed. "And another thing is certain: as the Demon Star comes closer, the lands to the south will be hurt first. Their people will stream north looking for places of refuge. That has already begun. The city-states of the south can scarce defend themselves; they will not seek to halt these migrations."
"We can hold the borders to the south," Dughuilas said.
"Perhaps," Rick agreed. "But what of the southeast? What of the river valleys there?"
"Roman land," Drumold muttered. "Under Roman truce from time out of mind-"
"Roman until city-state mercenaries take it," Tylara said. "Aye, take it and open the roads for those coming from the south. They will want soon enough to have the wanderers leave their lands."
There was silence again while the council members studied the great map Rick had caused to be drawn on one wall of the chamber. The Drantos contingent saw it first. The river valley with its roads pointed like a dagger at the heart of Drantos-but it equally threatened the western border of Tamaerthon.
"It could be," Dragomer said. "The cities have produced good soldiers."
"Mercenaries," Dughuilas said. His voice was filled with scorn. "No match for the chivalry of Tamaerthon."
"They have been a match for better cavalry than yours," Dragomer said.