“No.” Temar looked momentarily startled but gave the girl a polite wave. The gesture stirred a faint ripple of interest on far side of the court, among a sizeable number of Den Rannion Esquires. I looked for any resemblance to Temar’s long dead friend Vahil, vivid in my memory, but found none.
Temar stirred on the hard wooden seat, returning the hostile gazes levelled at him in full measure. “I think we could take them on, the three of us, do you not agree?” He was only half joking.
“We don’t dirty our own hands fighting among ourselves nowadays,” said Camarl in mock reproof. “That’s what law courts are for.”
“Whoever started this will soon find they’ve a battle on their hands,” remarked the Sieur. He wasn’t joking.
A bell rang a sharp summons to order behind the imperial screen. We all stood, waiting in silence as unseen feet sounded on the dais and chairs scraped and settled.
“That’s more than just the Emperor,” Temar said in the softest of whispers.
“He always has Justiciars from the lower courts to advise him,” I explained. “Experts in property, inheritance, whatever suits are being brought.”
A brisk Justiciar whose coppery head clashed horribly with his black-braided scarlet robes appeared out of a door in one end of the screen. The advocates promptly took their places at their lecterns. Behind them, on backless benches, their teams of clerks sat alert.
“In the name of Emperor Tadriol, fifth of that name and called the Provident, I beseech Raeponin to give his grace to all who hear me. Be warned that the god’s scales weigh the justice of every man’s word within this court. All who speak freely may do so with truth as their witness. All who dissemble will be compelled to reveal what they hope to hide. All who lie will be marked by the god’s displeasure. Any man shown forsworn will be whipped and flung naked beyond the city walls at sunset.” He rattled through words we’d all heard plenty of times but his face was uncompromisingly stern as he looked at each advocate.
I saw Avila’s back stiffen and Temar shifted in his seat. Camarl laid a silencing hand on his arm.
The redheaded man nodded to the first advocate. “You may proceed.” The others all took seats at the tables with their respective teams of clerks and the justiciar disappeared below us.
“May Raeponin hold me to my oath.” The hook-nosed advocate took a calm breath. “I’m here to present the arguments of Den Rannion. The House declares an ancient interest in the land of Kellarin, by virtue of the investment in goods, coin and people made by Sieur Ancel Den Rannion in the days of Nemith the Last, even up to the cost of his own life. His son, Sieur Vahil Den Rannion, did not relinquish his claim. Even on his deathbed, he had his sons swear to uphold it. We have records and deeds to support our contention and ask that due disposition of that unknown land be made, fully respecting these ancient rights.”
He turned with a smile to the next advocate who stepped up to his lectern, one hand smoothing his close-trimmed beard. “May Raeponin hold me to my oath. I argue for Tor Priminale in the Name of Den Fellaemion, now subsumed into that House. Messire Haffrein Den Fellaemion was first discoverer of Kellarin, in voyages backed by Nemith the Seafarer. He was the instigator of the colony, its leader and guide, and at the last died in its defence. The House of Tor Priminale begs leave to claim its rights and complete the work of so illustrious an ancestor in opening up this new land and making best use of its resources, in open cooperation with Den Rannion and any other interested Houses.”
The Sieur and Camarl exchanged a look of mild interest at the revelation that Den Rannion and Tor Priminale had so readily abandoned generations of antagonism.
The next advocate was on his feet almost before Tor Priminale’s man had stopped speaking. “May Raeponin hold me to my oath.” He straightened the fronts of his gown nervously. “I speak for Den Muret, by reason of the great number of tenants of that House who travelled to the Kellarin colony. Their work and the rights due Den Muret in consequence should be recognised.”
He sat down quickly, taking the next man by surprise. I tried to see Camarl’s face out of the corner of my eye, but Temar was in the way. Everyone was sitting motionless, all attention fixed on the court, the gallery silent as a shrine at midnight. I looked at Den Muret’s man and recalled Mistal saying they wouldn’t bring suit until they knew Tor Priminale was successful. Now Den Domesin had a man on his feet, arguing for rights in Kellarin by virtue of ancient investment. What reason did they have to be confident?
Temar was shifting in his seat again, his indignation plain to see. As I glanced sideways, I saw the Demoiselle Den Murivance watching him with speculative hazel eyes above the fan hiding her mouth as she whispered to her companion.
“May Raeponin hold me to my oath.” Down in the court a tall advocate with hair and face as greyly neutral as his robes spoke briskly to the impassive screen. “I argue for Tor Alder that ancestral rights over inherited properties be respected. Those properties were conveyed to that House by bequest from the last Sieur D’Alsennin in the expectation that the last Esquire of the Name might reasonably be expected to return within the lifetime of his remaining parent. Since this did not happen, we contend the care with which those lands have been administered in the intervening generations must outweigh claims made by some pretender to an extinct Name.”
So they weren’t going to argue D’Alsennin was a dead House, they were just going to invite the court to accept it as fact. I looked down to see Temar’s hands tightly interlaced, long fingers bloodless beneath the pressure.
“May Raeponin hold me to my oath.” A stout lawyer with an unhealthily high colour was stepping forward, leaning on his lectern with the air of a man settling in for a long stay. “I am here as a friend of the court.” Even Messire couldn’t restrain a start at that and a hiss of surprise ran round the gallery.
“What does that mean?” Temar whispered urgently.
“It means we don’t know who’s behind him,” I answered softly. Camarl leaned forward, face a mask to hide his anger.
“I am here as a friend of the court,” the advocate repeated as the noise subsided into expectant silence. “I am here to argue that the House of D’Olbriot has acted with grievous bad faith ill befitting such an ancient and illustrious Name. When scholars of the House realised the fabled colony of Nemith the Last was reality rather than myth, the Name did not share the opportunities becoming apparent. D’Olbriot has sought to keep all to itself, to its sole advantage and enrichment. Rather than seek help from the other Houses of the Empire in crossing the ocean, D’Olbriot turned to the wizards of Hadrumal. D’Olbriot has further invited them into the counsels of the House, even giving one house room.” The advocate paused to accommodate a hint of amusement from the gallery at his little sally. “Rumour has it that marriage with a wizard is even now being contemplated by someone within D’Olbriot walls, though not, at least, by someone of the D’Olbriot Name.
“But let us not speak of rumour,” he continued smoothly after pausing just long enough for everyone to look at Temar, who was plainly outraged. “This court is only concerned with facts. It is a fact that now that the remnants of Kellarin’s colony have been unearthed D’Olbriot continues to be the only link across the ocean. Whatever information is so vital to making such a voyage remains locked behind D’Olbriot lips. Just as the only living claimant to D’Alsennin rights is hidden behind D’Olbriot doors. D’Olbriot has installed this young man as leader of the colony. But what does this leader do? Does he speak for his people? Does he negotiate trade agreements, does he invite merchants and artisans to bring their skills to make a civilisation in this savage land? No, D’Olbriot’s word is final on all such matters. All such concerns are most definitely a D’Olbriot monopoly, as is all the wealth that will result.”