“Indeed, what need do we have of Hadrumal’s magic?” the Emperor asked abruptly. “It was Tormalin Artifice saved the people of Kellarin in those far-off days, the same ancient skills that helped Correl the Stalwart carry Tormalin rule to the very edge of the Great Forest. I confess I’m curious to see what benefits Artifice bestows on Kellarin, and who knows, we may all benefit from judicious use of its proficiencies in years to come.” Tadriol paused and took a thick silver ring off one finger.
“But we cannot expect the people of Kellarin to share their Artifice with us if we deny them those still hidden in the enchantment that protected them through their lost generations. As many of you already know, Messire D’Alsennin came asking for our help. He needs to find the jewels and ornaments, the swords and badges of allegiance that safeguarded the very minds of his people as they slept.” Tadriol shrugged. “I do not pretend to understand how this was accomplished, but I am shocked to learn some people have been tempted to extort coin or advantage in exchange for these items, all but demanding ransom for the very life of some helpless individual. This is my final decree, and I will summon a muster of the Cohorts to enforce it if need be. Every item that Messire D’Alsennin even suspects may be needed to restore his people is to be surrendered, without question, objection or recompense.” The Emperor’s outrage shaded into scorn. “We can all stand a little loss, even of heirloom pieces, and we gave up putting a price on a life in Tormalin when Inshol the Curt closed the slave markets.”
Tadriol handed the ring to Temar. The faceted band was flattened on the top into a hexagon carrying an inscription worn illegible by age. Temar’s first thought was he’d never be able to manage the concentration needed to summon any image from the ring, his next that doing so would in any case be a very bad idea. He ransacked his memory, but before he could match the ring to any sleeper the Emperor had walked away to stand squarely before the Sieur D’Olbriot.
“Messire, as Adjurist of the Princes, do you need to summon a Convocation to ratify these decrees?”
D’Olbriot smiled calmly. “Since we are returning to ancient forms today, shall we content ourselves with a simple show of hands? Forgive me,” he commented dryly. “I didn’t know I’d need the rod of office.” He turned to borrow Leishal’s stick and thumped the floor three times. “Stand forth, Sieurs, to uphold the dignity of your Name!”
The crowd shifted to allow the assorted heads of the Houses to stand forward.
“Do you commit yourselves and all who claim the shelter of your House to abide by these decrees? I charge you by the duty you swore to the Names that elected you and to the Convocation that accepted you. Your oath remains to defend Tormalin from enemies without and tyranny within, with arms, with counsel and by enforcing the Emperor’s writ.”
Temar watched as the Sieurs of minor Houses put their hands up at once, some hesitant, some with alacrity. Den Muret obstinately refused to look at Den Thasnet but Tor Priminale directed scathing contempt at Tor Bezaemar before slowly raising his hand. Den Murivance and Tor Kanselin both looked well content as they signalled ready agreement, a move spurring rapid compliance from Den Hefeken, Den Brennain and a score of others.
“Temar,” Allin hissed. “Put your own hand up!”
Heat rising in his face, he did so, and was gratified to see that it prompted a further wave of agreement.
Messire D’Olbriot looked impassively at Temar before turning to Camarl, who was trying to hide his chagrin. “As Adjurist, I must naturally call on my Designate to vote,” he remarked in an amiable aside to Tadriol that the entire room heard. “Esquire Camarl? Does D’Olbriot stand with the Emperor for good governance?”
Camarl cleared his throat. “Naturally, Messire.” He stuck an emphatic hand in the air.
Now all eyes were turned to the Sieur Tor Bezaemar. He raised a limp hand with a sickly smile in stark contrast to the white-faced fury of his aunt.
“Then we are all agreed,” said the Emperor happily. “Thank you all for your patience. I suggest we enjoy ourselves.”
The musicians who’d been sitting studiously looking at their feet all this while began a lively tune but no one seemed inclined to dance. The crowd shifted and mingled, conversations breaking out on all sides.
“What are you going to say to Messire D’Olbriot?” breathed Allin at Temar’s side.
“I really do not know,” he replied, still studying the Emperor’s ring.
“He’s coming over,” said Allin nervously. “Do you want me to stay?”
Temar saw she was ashen with apprehension. “Go and see what Velindre makes of it all,” he suggested.
All the same he felt uncomfortably bereft as he watched Allin sidle past Messire as the Sieur and his brothers advanced in matching step.
“Messire.” The Sieur D’Olbriot bowed politely and Temar returned the compliment.
“An unexpected turn of events,” was the best he could find to say.
“Indeed,” replied the Sieur. “Quite unforeseen.”
“Can you manage all the affairs of Kellarin by yourself?” demanded Esquire Camarl, his voice hovering between belligerence and concern.
“Not without your help,” replied Temar forthrightly. “I heard nothing forbidding me to ask anyone’s counsel.”
“There’ll be Houses queuing up to offer you advice,” said Camarl sourly.
“Then I will have to test it, to see if it’s as sound as the guidance you have always given me.” Temar hoped Camarl wasn’t going to sulk about this for long.
The Sieur smiled. “We can discuss all this at our leisure. I just came to wish you luck, Temar. You’re certainly going to need it.”
His brothers murmured their agreement, but Ustian surprised Temar with a friendly wink. “Don’t look at me like that, Fresil,” he rebuked his brother. “Think it through and then argue if you must. While you do, I want a drink.” The Esquires and Sieur bowed and walked away, their conversation amiable.
“They’ll be talking about this dance for years to come.”
“Ryshad!” Temar turned gratefully to find the chosen man at his elbow. “Where were you?”
“With Casuel.” Ryshad nodded. “He’s choking on the ruination of his plans to be Imperial Sorcerer and Velindre’s planning some come-uppance for Planir, if I’m any judge.” He broke off. “It looks as if the Sieur Den Ilmiral wants to speak to you.”
Temar heaved a sigh. “I would rather wait until I have some notion of what to say. Could we leave without causing undue offence?”
“Not really.” Ryshad frowned. “But you can say you don’t want to talk business on the last day of Festival. That’s always been the custom, and if anyone doesn’t like that it’s their problem, not yours.”
“I hardly think that would be courteous, given the precedent the Emperor has just set,” muttered Temar glumly. “How much longer does this entertainment last?”
“Not long, and I’ll watch your back.” Ryshad managed a half-smile. “The Emperor’s Dole is distributed to the commonalty on the eighth chime of the day. That’s when most of the nobility will leave.”
“If the populace is coming here to claim their bread and meat, can we risk going home without tripping over peasants and street urchins?” asked Temar sarcastically.
“The Emperor hands out coin these days, Temar.” Ryshad stepped aside to take a dutiful stance at his shoulder. “Just smile politely and don’t commit yourself to anything.”
Temar took a deep breath as the eager Sieur Den Ilmiral hurried over.
The Imperial Palace of Tadriol the Provident,
Summer Solstice Festival, Fifth Day,
Early Evening
You must dine with us before you go. overseas again.”
“As soon as I know what my plans are, I’ll send word to your Steward.”
“Your Steward will contact his.” As the senior Esquire Den Haurient moved off, I leaned forward to murmur softly over Temar’s shoulder. The lad was doing well with polite platitudes but there were still things he needed to learn.