“This isn’t the Government,” the duke said firmly. “As Governor of New Arcana, I’m a member of Speaker Skyntaru’s Cabinet, and I will guarantee you that neither he nor any other member of the Cabinet’s received any of that news about what happened to Skirvon and Dastiri-not through any official channel, anyway. Some information, like how Magister Halathyn actually died, we’ve known about ever since Jasak’s initial report arrived, and I’ve argued in favor of releasing it in full from the beginning. I can’t argue too strenuously, though, because someone will claim I’m only trying to hand out sketchy, incomplete information in the best possible light to protect Jasak from the consequences of this disaster. So the decision was made to withhold some of the more potentially inflammatory information until we knew more.
“And now we have this.” He jerked his head at the mob beyond the windows, his expression one of disgust. “I’m not saying that someone in the Government-inside the Cabinet-isn’t involved in what’s happening, Jathmar. I’m only saying that it sure as Shartahk isn’t anyone who’s a loyal member of that Cabinet. This is directly opposed to the Speaker’s policy! I’ve known Misarthi Skyntaru for thirty years, and believe me, the last thing he wants is for this situation to get any worse. He and I have argued for years over how big a chunk of the Union budget the military ‘sucks up,’ as he likes to put it, but he knows how thin we’re really stretched. Even if he didn’t hate the very thought of how many people are likely to get killed, he knows how costly it’s likely to be and how ill-prepared we are for it. He’s been trying to keep a handle on emotions-that’s the real reason he decided to sit one the news of Magister Halathyn’s death-until he could find out what in Mithanan’s name is going on out there!”
The fire in Thankhar Olderhan’s eyes could have reduced the entire city of Portalis to ash…without magic.
“Who’s behind this-and why-will come out,” he said coldly. “We’ll make damned certain of that. Whether or not the truth will do any good at that point remains to be seen.” He gestured at the crowd and said, “I felt it was important to show you this, so you’d understand what you-and therefore we-are up against, here.”
“Political in-fighting and power grabs are never pretty,” Jathmar muttered. “Innocent people tend to get hurt during them. Or killed.”
“Then Sharona has the same difficulties in that area that we do,” the duke rumbled.
Jathmar’s laugh was humorless. “We may be from a different civilization, sir, but we are human. Wherever humans live, that problem will always rear its ugly head. We’re far more alike than they,” he nodded toward the window, “would care to admit.”
The duke’s glance was piercing. “Well phrased and well thought-out. And that’s also the reason why war between us is now an absolute certainty. We,” he nodded toward his son, his wife, and Gadrial, “will do our best to shout the truth of what happened from the rooftops. But…” He didn’t have to elaborate. “The Mythlans were dead-certain to fear and hate you sufficiently to demand war no matter what, and whoever was behind that garbage in the newspapers this evening knew full well how to manipulate the masses. Ransar will never forgive Sharona for Halathyn vos Dulainah’s death.”
“But we didn’t kill him!” Shaylar protested.
“That won’t matter,” Jasak growled with an angry glance at the crowd.
“But won’t they be angry and upset when they discover they were lied to, about the way he died?” she demanded, and Jasak rubbed the back of his neck.
“Some will. Most won’t. Even if we get the truth out, the anger will’ve set too deep for most of them to be willing to give it up. Thinking about something this emotional is harder work than they’ll be willing to undertake! So instead of thinking about that, they’ll just point out that if it hadn’t been for you,” he nodded toward her and Jathmar, “your soldiers would never have attacked his camp and he’d still be alive. So, of course, even if he was accidentally killed by an Arcanan weapon, it’s Sharona’s fault there was any fighting for him to be killed in. We’ll do our best, but you have no idea how popular Magister Halathyn was in Ransar.”
Shaylar and Jathmar stared at one another, shocked by the notion of a society that not only could lie to its people on this kind of scale, but whose people wouldn’t care they’d been lied to, or why. It was more alien than anything else they’d yet encountered, including the existence of dragons and gryphons.
The anger that blazed in Jathmar’s eyes licked like flame through Shaylar, as well. She would not spend the rest of her life cowering in terror of these people. If they killed her, so be it. But she would not live in fear. As she stared, narrow-eyed with fury, at the mob screaming for Sharonian blood, she realized her headache had vanished, and she bared her teeth in something which definitely wasn’t a smile.
She’d always heard that a headache was one of the hallmarks of the Calirath Talent. That many of the Caliraths who’d manifested their family’s Talent experienced pre-Glimpse headaches…and that the stronger the glimpse, the worse the headache. She’d never demonstrated even a normal Clairvoyant Talent, much less the Calirath Talent, but in that moment she wished, bitterly, she could Glimpse their future. It would be useful to know how to sabotage Arcana’s preparations for war.
If a way existed, she’d find it.
And use it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
January 10
Horvon Fosdark, Earl of Brith Darma, sat back in his chair as Chief Sword Otwal Threbuch saluted, executed a perfect about face, and strode briskly from the room. The other Arcanan officers empanelled to conduct this board of inquiry sat back, as well. The man with iron grey hair and the rigidly starched crimson uniform to his left was Fleet Third Kordos, who held the third-highest rank a naval officer could attain. On his right sat the white-haired Commander of Legions Shorbok Githrak of the Arcanan Army. He wasn’t the highest-ranked officer in that army, but he had headed the Intelligence Corps for a staggering twenty-three years.
“What a damnable mess,” Kordos muttered.
Brith Darma agreed. Profoundly. He’d sat on dozens of boards of inquiry during his career. None of them came even remotely close to matching this.
“Our job,” he said, “is to sort out this damnable mess, and the two toughest witnesses are still waiting for us. Does anyone want a brief recess before we tackle the Sharonians?”
They’d already taken the statements of Hundred Olderhan and Magister Gadrial, in addition to Chief Sword Threbuch’s. His brother officers shook their heads.
“No,” Githrak replied, “let’s get this over with. I want to hear their testimony before we break for lunch. We can call them back this afternoon for closer questioning if we need to, but I’d just as soon have a complete preliminary picture to mull over while we eat.”
“Agreed.” Brith Darma nodded. “Very well, gentlemen, which shall we question first? The Voice or the Mapper?”
He used the titles deliberately, just as he’d been thinking of them that way since reading the first report arrived. He didn’t want to humanize them prior to seeing or hearing them. Thinking about the Voice, in particular, as a frightened girl far from home would have led him to sympathize with her, rather than focus on the critical military aspects of what she was: a mind-reading communications specialist. One whose existence was a profound threat to Arcana’s ability to conduct military operations against the people who’d produced her.
“The Voice,” his fellow officers agreed unanimously.
“Let’s face it,” Githrak added, “she’s the one we’ve all been worried about since the reports arrived. Or at least if either of you hasn’t been worried about her, you’ve got no business on this board.”