Session One Hundred and Twenty-Seven - March 5, 2016

Wherein the ongoing story of the FtF campaign may be found ...

Session One Hundred and Twenty-Seven - March 5, 2016

Postby Matt » Thu Apr 07, 2016 1:59 pm

Azura 20, 732, Afternoon

The Queen rose, and the tenants-in-chief of Kaldor, now wreathed with dignity moments after suspending their bickering, rose in turn to honor her. Accepting their acknowledgment of her status, she left the chamber. The Archbishop followed Her Grace with Meden Curo, then all the rest, Ewen in the middle of the pack, the Earl of Balim and Sir Harapa Indama bringing up the rear. They filed slowly, silently, into the throne room, where their retainers waited to hear the fate of the kingdom.

Directly behind Ewen marched Maldan Harabor, who, a few hours previous, had announced with dubious jocularity that he should have killed Ewen years ago. Ewen didn’t actually think the Earl would try anything, but couldn’t help be acutely aware of his unarmored back.

Sir Gorbar broke the dignity of the procession to hurry into a curtained alcove off the corridor. The intensity of the meeting must have stressed his bladder.

A murmur swept through the throne room as the higher nobility entered. Present were the great officials of the realm, one of whom immediately went to greet the Archbishop. The two groups intermingled, but without gossip. There was too great a chance of being overheard.

Ewen scanned the crowd and was surprised to note his sister, Rahel, standing next to Lord Stimos. Though he wanted to speak with her immediately, he knew it wouldn’t look good to be conversing with the Thardan ambassador or his guest at this time.

An old man, elegant of dress, arthritic of movement, approached Ewen. “Pardon me, sir. Would you happen to be Sir Ewen Ravinargh?”

“I am. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Sir Migray Hosath, Lord Master Herald of Kaldor. It has come to my attention that you were summoned to the council. May I ask on what grounds?”

“Yes, Sir Migray. I attend as Baron of Ternua. Would it be helpful for you to inspect the writs I bear?”

“It would indeed. Er – did you say writs, plural?”

“I did. I received two summons to the council. I warrant that a certain redundancy is to be expected in these matters.”

“Not normally, no. Though this is not the place for it, soon I should like to inspect all the documentation you have. Then we can have the matter of your status regularized.”

“When may I call upon you?”

“I understand there will be another meeting tomorrow. Perhaps we can get this sorted out before then?”

“Would 9:30 be too early?”

“I should think that will be fine. I’ll leave word with the guards at the base of the Grand Staircase. They’ll give you an escort.”

“Very good.”

The Lord Herald limped away. Feeling confident that the way toward his official registry as baron had been cleared, Ewen walked the room with a smile.

Rahel caught his eye. She gave a short curtsey.

In his mind, Ewen heard her voice: Tonight.

Yes, sister.

At which point Rahel whispered something in Stimos’s ear. Ewen heard the ambassador protest, “What, now?” but he followed Rahel from the throne room anyway.

Meden Curo spoke with his brother, Sir Kytem. The Archbishop was moving toward them. Lord Balim conversed with his cousin, Bishop Dariune of Kephrus, the Lord Chancellor. Lord Firith was gone.

Ewen commenced his own exit, exchanging short greetings along the way with such court notables as Sir Andorkil Runder, Sir Harant Martaryne, cousin of his squire, and Midal Sarathid, the Inquisitor General. He noticed Maldan Harabor standing alone, speaking to no one, studying the room thoughtfully. Ewen did not disturb the Earl’s solitude.

Sir Gorbar, coming in from the privy, met Sir Ewen on his way out.

“Sir Ewen, did I miss anything interesting?”

“No, not much at all. Tell me, what did you think of our time in council?”

Sir Gorbar gave a half-snort of laughter. “Seems to have been a colossal waste of time!”

“Possibly. It won’t surprise you that I think it’s a good thing to know who will lead the army.”

“That’s true. We’ll need a good hand if the dastardly Vikings should reappear.”

“One can never be too careful. None expected what happened in the north.”

“True enough. I’m not sure what else there is for us to talk about though. Have you seen the King?”

“No.”

“Neither have I.”

“Why do you think Lord Balim chose now to call this council?”

“I don’t know. It seems very strange. I mean: if the King is ill, then the full privy council should have been called weeks ago. If he is not, then why call just the tenants?”

“Good point, Sir Gorbar. I had not considered that particular angle. I have heard that Prince Brandis is not in the castle.”

“I heard that, too. One would imagine the Queen knows where he is. If anyone does.”

“She is representing his domain, after all.”

“While no one was rude enough to ask for her credentials, I doubt she could produce them.”

“I thought Sir Meden was a bit rough with his handling of Her Grace.”

“Unprecedented! I was bumberfluted!”

“An interesting locution, Sir Gorbar. I don’t know if I was, but I get your gist.”

“Certainly if she becomes regent, Sir Meden may regret his words.”

“Very true. Do you yourself favor the Queen?”

“No, I can’t say I do. But neither do I want Balim. Or Osel. Or Meden. The Archbishop, perhaps. I would trust him. I cannot think of anyone speaking ill of him.” Sir Gorbar smiled. “Except the King.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is well known that the Archbishop opposed the ascension of His Grace to the throne. I think he’s come around, but old grudges die hard.”

“But Her Grace has converted to the Laranians.”

“First I’d heard of it. Not that I pay attention to that sort of thing anyway. As long as someone isn’t Navehan, I don’t care who they worship.”

Ewen was taken aback at the dread name of the death god said aloud, but managed to keep his conversational footing. “Sir Gorbar, you have good insight. You should speak up more in council.”

“If I have something to contribute, I shall.”

“We must all consider thoughtfully what we may contribute, so something comes of this.”

“Indeed, Sir Ewen. I have spoken with Sir Arlbis, and Sir Meden. Sir Arlbis and I will be taking supper tonight this evening at the house of courtesans. In the event you wish to discuss matters, we can be found there.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. If not then, I will see you in the morning.”

“Until then.” Sir Gorbar made to start into the throne room, then reconsidered, smiled, and headed back for the privy alcove.

Outside, the sun was setting. The snow had ceased during the council, and it was somewhat warmer than it had been that morning. They party hustled to reach Raven Hall before full dark.

Sir Baris asked if there were any letters for him. There was not, and he tried to stave off his disappointment. What could he do with the bolt of silk he received from Lord Balim?

Sir Ewen quickly refreshed himself, dressed, and proceeded with his knights and squires to Galopea’s Feast. Cekiya lurked nearby, watching the newly dangerous streets of the city. At the pleasure house they found the usual assortment of guildsmen, with the unusual addition of Pesera of Hendel, sitting near Worton Harabor and the rest.

“Psst! Ewen! Baris! Aeomund!”

Several heads turned. Prehil, apparently trying to lie low, had ‘whispered’ across the room. The act did not come naturally to him.

“My father said to keep a low profile. I figure if I stay in the common room, it’s all right. What could happen in the common room? As soon as my father left this morning, I slipped out. I’ve been bar hopping ever since. Even tried that ‘Elf & Dwarf’ place.”

“Have you heard what happened to your father this morning?” Ewen asked.

“No! What?”

“Today at the council, he was appointed Lord Marshal.”

“Really? That’s great news! That’s almost the best news I could hear!”

“And your wife was appointed regent,” Baris added.

“Wait, what?”

“She issued a warrant for your arrest,” Aeomund chimed in.

“Regent?!”

“All in the family,” Ewen said.

“By Morgath’s gaping chaos! Now there’ll be no living with that woman!”

Baris tried not to spray his mouthful of beer. “We’re just jesting with you.”

“Oh! You’re bad men! I could take almost any jape – except about the wife!”

Ewen called for another round. “Prehil, Balim’s pushing for the Queen as regent. Why?”

“Queen regent? Kinda makes sense. I mean, can’t be Brandis. He’s gone. Kinda hard to be regent if you’re not here.”

“Could she pardon him?” Goreg asked.

“Naw, that’s a royal prerogative. It doesn’t make sense! Balim must want something. What? Probably needs to be able to make a law.”

Ewen continued in that vein. “So if the Queen is regent, he feels he can make her do as he wishes with legislation?”

“It’s not ideal, but she can order the use of the Great Seal. Which cannot be legal without the King’s command – or a regent’s.”

“With Brandis being in the trouble he is, the Queen may need an ally like Balim if he surfaces and his life be in jeopardy.”

Prehil swigged. “Probably. Makes sense. But she couldn’t pardon him. That requires a crown. Could pardon almost anybody else, though.”

Ewen noticed Sir Romlach Ethasiel enter. Shortly after, Sir Meden Curo appeared, accompanied by his usual retinue, including Sir Dregald Semos. His knights and men took a table by themselves. Meden himself came over to Ewen and Prehil.

“Good evening. What a day! Prehil, I trust Sir Ewen had told you of the day’s events, and your father’s new office?”

“He has!”

“Not a bad outcome.” Curo lowered his voice. “I think we need to discuss what comes next.”

“I agree” said Ewen.

“It’s clear to me now that a bloc of three votes is insufficient. Even a bloc of four. What were your impressions of the other heirs?”

“I spoke with Elorieth and Hirnen. Sir Gorbar expressed interest in the Archbishop for regent.”

“Intriguing notion. But it will never pass.”

“Because of Her Grace?”

“No, because of the lack of royal blood in his veins. There’s an unspoken rule that the regent must be at least peripherally royal.”

“Well, we have one of that number at the table.”

“Yes. Osel noted it himself.”

“I spoke with Sir Arlbis at the first intermission. He seems a bit out of his league, though.”

Baris opened his mouth to speak and belched loudly. “Oh, I’m sorry!” he said, adding “The fact that the Archbishop has no royal blood in this circumstance might be in favor of making him regent because he won’t be seen as grabbing for further power, and he isn’t as much a rival as the other claimants.”

Meden smirked, a sort of amused interest at the knight’s outbursts. “Surprisingly logical, Sir Baris! But the old prejudice is too strong.”

“Merely a thought,” said Baris truculently.

“Of course, nothing says the regent has to sit at that council table.”

“This is true,” said Ewen.

“The problem we have is Balim desperately wants a regent, and we do not. He’ll simply keep calling for votes until he wears somebody down.”

“So we need a fallback position to ensure we like the regent.”

“Or we need to direct the energy to another place.”

“Speak plainly, Sir Meden!”

“I think it may be time to call the question of whether the King is even alive.”

“Your brother would probably be in the best position to answer that question,” Aeomund said.

Again, Sir Meden’s lip curled in reaction to the forward comments of Sir Ewen’s retainers. “Thank you for that observation, Sir Aeomund. One would think, wouldn’t one?”

Sir Aeomund persisted. “Are you saying that Sir Kytem has no knowledge if the King lives or not?”

“I suppose I am. It’s extraordinary.”

“I think Balim opened matters he didn’t intended when he summoned the council. Perhaps the council should see the King.”

“Sir Aeomund has a good idea,” Meden said.

“He’s been saying it all afternoon,” Ewen said.

Baris put in his opinion. “If a regent can’t be decided, there should be a motion that the council itself advise on matters of state.”

Meden considered this. “An interesting idea, but there are problems, especially with the even numbers around the table. At least until Vemion shows up.”

“No word from him?” asked Ewen.

“I couldn’t say. He is the furthest away.”

“Who is next in line for the throne after Brandis?”

Sir Meden steepled his fingers and assumed an academic cast.

“Following Sir Brandis, the next heir should be the King’s grandson – Princess Erlene and Scina Dariune’s son. But he is a toddler, so a regent would be required. The regent would almost certainly be his father. Surely we don’t want Scina in that position. Outside the immediate family, there are four siblings, but two are priests of Peoni and thus disqualified. One is married to Harapa. Lady Cheselyne is still there, having been passed over twice for the crown – she is first by birth. The next male of the body is Maldan Harabor, but he is a bastard. The next legitimate male is our own Orsin Firith.”

Everyone took that in. Eventually Ewen said “Sir Meden, it should be you that makes the suggestion that council should view the King, given that you have already been in open conflict with the Queen. There is no need for anyone else to face her wrath with such a step.”

“My purpose this afternoon was not to antagonize the Queen – although I clearly did – but rather to make sure we did not ignore the dragon in the room: the unsuitability of Brandis the Fratricide. I do not feel the need to antagonize her any further, at least on such a minor matter. But the motion should be raised. Perhaps one of the quieter members of the council should be heard from.”

“That is how I steered Hirnen in the matter of Prehil’s father. Perhaps Sir Gorbar could be prevailed upon?”

“Either would do, as long as the motion is made. And I think there’s great curiosity, either way. Balim will have trouble controlling the vote. I wonder if he himself could vote against it.”

“It would seem passing strange for him to do so.”

“It would. Sometimes there is a disadvantage to voting first.”

“As I was saying, Sir Gorbar and Sir Arlbis are spending the evening at the house of courtesans.”

Meden rolled his eyes. “Yes, they mentioned that. I declined to join them. Rather a waste of time.”

“I’m sure you would seem out of place.”

“I have been there. But you’re right. I feel out of place at such a venue.”

“Sir Prehil, on the other hand ...”

Meden smiled again. “Sir Prehil is in no way uxorious.”

“Wait a minute!” said Prehil. “What does that mean?”

Meden never answered, and the table broke up. As the nobles dispersed, Meden nodded toward the guildsmen and whispered to Ewen, “They seem awfully serious.”


The night had grown colder. Prehil declined to accompany Ewen and his knights to the house of courtesans. “If I go, I have to walk straight past the house, and risk being seen.”

“We’ll make you look like someone else!” Baris said.

“My father’s guards recognized me when I was practically in disguise. I can’t. But don’t worry about my fun. I made arrangements earlier.”

With that Prehil toddled through the gate of Firith House.

On the way to the courtesans, Ewen noticed the homes of the great were better lit and more heavily guarded than normal. All save Vemion House, which looked almost deserted. He himself was unworried; he knew Cekiya padded nearby, and his sword was honed.

They arrived at the establishment to find it almost as thronged with notables as the throne room had been earlier. Sir Gorbar and Sir Arlbis sat right next to the stage, within groping distance of the dancing girls, their table groaning under the weights of sausages, pies, tarts, savories, and wine. Ewen directed Baris and Goreg to take a seat, but brought Sir Aeomund with him to his fellow royal tenants.

“Join us, gentlemen!” Sir Arlbis said.

“Thank you. I believe you know Sir Aeomund? He is in my retinue, a most dependable fellow.”

“You are most welcome, Sir Aeomund!”

Small talk occurred, various mutual acquaintances mentioned, recollections shared of Lyndar Bastune – none of them flattering.

“So is there a Baron of Kolorn now?” asked Sir Gorbar. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Absolutely,” said Ewen, referring to the terrified and impoverished figure living on his sufferance. “He’s my neighbor.”

“I thought that was his mother.”

“He’s in town. He doesn’t go out much.”

“Extraordinary! I’ll have to write to my father and tell him. He’ll be very interested.”

“I must say I was never very impressed with the previous occupant of the barony.”

“Ah, but he acquitted himself well at the end, in service of king and country.”

“Absolutely,” Ewen corrected himself. “When we have to go, so may we all go. Speaking of dying and king and country, I’ve been mulling over this afternoon’s council. I am a bit uneasy. At this Ewen lowered his voice. “Are we all certain the King is still alive?”

The other nobles seemed shocked for a moment. Then Sir Arlbis said, “I haven’t seen him. Have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Sir Gorbar. “I suppose it is possible. That could be the answer.”

“It concerns me,” said Ewen. “That would be the worst of all possible worlds.”

Arlbis tried to collect his thoughts. “Perhaps we should ... look in on him? Can we do that?”

Aeomund said “It seems that if the council has been called, it is only fitting this should happen.”

“We are the majority of the barons,” Ewen added.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Sir Ewen – or is it Lord Ternua?” said Sir Gorbar.

“Not that you would not become the title,” said Arlbis. “It just seems unorthodox.”

Ewen lingered at his wine before responding. “Well, as you know, the situation in Ternua was a bit of a mess. The previous baron acquitted himself so disgracefully.”

“Indeed,” said Sir Arlbis. “No one would have thought Kolorn would die so well, and Ternua flee so fast.”

“When the King, long may he reign, was still active, he sent me to Ternua with a writ.”

“Oh!” said Sir Gorbar. “But not a writ of holding?”

“Not at that time. But as close as you could come.”

“Did he make you constable?”

“No. I believe His Grace intended to clarify that later. Which is why I am concerned he may not be able to weigh in on the matter. I think if he retained his ability to make decisions, he would.”

Aeomund stepped in at that point. “Not that the question of the ability to hold is in question. It’s the opportunity of Sir Ewen to make proper homage.”

Sir Arlbis automatically said “Well, we must always render homage to the King.” But his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“That’s the crux of it, is it not?” Ewen said. “The council of tenants-in-chief are not able to pay homage to him, to hear his wishes.”

Gorbar gestured dramatically. “You have certainly convinced us of the need to see the King before this regency motion. If he’s dead, we don’t need a regent – we need a new monarch!”

“Precisely, Sir Gorbar. If you’ll forgive me, your voice, so far unheard in this matter, would be welcome.”

Sir Gorbar preened a bit at Ewen’s words.

“The silent man who chooses to speak carries a great weight with his words. I fear I’ve come in a bit hot and heavy.”

The two knights nodded vigorously at Ewen’s words who chuckled, as modestly admitting that perhaps he had been too forward for so new a member.

“And Sir Arlbis here has already spoken quite capably on the matter of the Lord Marshal.”

Now it was Sir Arlbis’s turn to preen. Both men seemed very affected by Ewen’s stroking.

“I think I shall make the motion,” Sir Gorbar said.

“You will have our support. Right, Sir Arlbis?”

“Absolutely.”

Ewen continued “I think the Queen will object, but the rest of the council ... Do you think this should be the first item of business?”

“Yes, I do,” said Sir Gorbar.

The weighty matter apparently pressed down on Gorbar’s bladder, for he once again needed to visit the privy. When he got back, the table was rising to disperse.

Ewen concentrated the power of his mind on the noble heirs. No warbling sound was heard. They were not under the spell that blocked the other high nobles from magic. They were defenseless.

Ewen shook Sir Arlbis and Sir Gorbar’s hands in warm farewell. Magic flowed across the connection. Sir Arlbis eluded him, but Gorbar fell under his power. Ewen planted the idea in the knight’s mind that, at the time of a vote, the man should look to him. If Ewen stroked his beard, he should vote yes; if he interlaced his fingers, he should vote no.

The three men parted in great amiability, Gorbar unsuspecting he was now Ewen’s catspaw.

At the door, the party split. Sir Baris decided to stay and enjoy the horizontal refreshments, while Sir Aeomund declared he would visit his parents. Goreg returned to Raven Hall. Ewen walked out alone into the streets of Tashal. He knew Cekiya would be about, and not for the first time, wondered where she had chosen to lurk.

Sir Aeomund went to his mother and father and informed that them that, by gift of Lord Balim himself, they would never have to pay rent again. They were suitably grateful. His mother mentioned he was looking thin, and must be fed. After the meal, he retired to the observatory, to contemplate the night.

Sir Baris further embroidered his legend as the Naked Knight.

Sir Ewen arrived at Hag Hall. Eleere greeted him and gestured him upstairs. At the third floor landing, he was surprised to be stopped by a guard – even here there was heightened security.

Rahel was not in the bedroom, but in her study, book and pen in hand.

“Brother, hello.”

“I find you working assiduously, sister.”

“Nothing important. Are you now a baron?”

“I am absolutely a baron.”

“There may be some irregularities in it. You should see to that. We have much to discuss. And I hope we can get through it with time for some more enjoyable diversions.”

“Let us apply ourselves, then. I trust you have had time to contemplate the dissimilar Meden Curos.”

“I have, and there is an answer. Let us go in to the next room. I have a flagon of wine and a roaring fire.” She closed the book and motioned for him to take her hand.

In the more genial setting, she continued.

“Let us discuss the two Medens. I have expended much energy on this problem, and I think I have an answer. I may not be right, because some is speculation. But this is so: that our brother Arren Lydel traveled to Gardiren with Meden Curo and the lady Alyce. I don’t think that Lady Alyce was involved or privy to any of what I am about to say. If she were, I am confident, other things would have happened. For I do not believe that Lady Alyce and Sir Arren are of an accord. Sir Arren is the ambassador, but Lady Alyce is doing is something else. It may be for Uncle Darebor. Even so, her mission is nevertheless separate.”

“I should think that in selecting our brother as his ambassador, Uncle Darebor might wish to keep an eye on his chosen instrument. Is that the role Lady Alyce may be playing?”

“That would not be out of character, from what I know. Now, while in the castle, I took the opportunity to cast about. The place is a veritable hive of magic interference. But there are gradations of it. Like fog. Sometimes it is impenetrable, sometimes you can see dimly through it. This warbling is like that. Especially when several such shielded people are together.”

“The council chamber was indeed thrumming with it. But Sir Gorbar and Sir Arlbis are not shielded.”

“I am sure their physical presence was simply overwhelmed by the fact that everyone one else in the room was shielded. But to return to the topic: I think that Sir Arren attempted a rapport with Meden Curo.”

“While in Gardiren?”

“Or somewhere along the way.”

“I wondered if Tashal was a factor.”

“A reasonable supposition, but there’s no evidence of that. Rather I think what happened was our brother, who is hotheaded, tried to overpower the shielding. What you described is a backflow. I think our brother was partially successful – but only partially. What in fact happened was a flow of information not from Curo to him, but the other way around.”

“That is unfortunate. So Curo knows everything Arren does.”

“Not necessarily. There is no way Meden Curo could have processed or even retained such energy, for he is not Deryni. It means that Sir Arren attempted to plant a Suggestion in his mind with a trigger. When it triggered, which it clearly did, Meden would forget all of it. At least consciously.”

“If I understand you, sister, you think the unnatural quality of Curo that evening was attributable to this imperfect Suggestion.”

“Most, but not all. The rest can only be explained by attempting to divine the nature of the suggestion Arren attempted to implant.”

“We can infer, I think, that our brother is interested in eliciting from me the location of a certain sword?”

“Among many other things, no doubt. I think you’re on the right track. Our brother attempted to get Meden to tell him everything Meden knew about you.”

“Which would include what Meden’s father knew about our little contest for that item.”

“But if the suggestion failed and created a backflow, then the result would have been for Meden to tell everything he got from our brother. And of course, since you were the topic, he had to tell you. Instead of ‘Tell everything about Ewen,’ it came out ‘Tell Ewen everything.’ This is a pitfall that even adept Deryni fall into on occasion.”

“Facilitated by the rather annoying shielding.”

“I think that was the major factor here. As he tried to circumvent the shielding, his energy went to that, and he ignored the fundamentals.”

“There were two bodies of information conveyed that evening: One was the information that came to Sir Meden by conversation with his father. So the other was what he got from Arren?”

“I think you misunderstand. When a Deryni adept – and Arren is far more an adept than I thought he was – makes this mistake, he gains nothing. It all went to the subject, though the subject does not retain it. So Sir Arren knows nothing more than when he started.”

“But are we to say that Sir Arren knows about the sword?”

“That we cannot say. I had not realized our brother knew who you were. It is clear that he does. That remains a mystery. What is clear is that he did not get what he was seeking, and instead created a pent-up backflow that Sir Meden had no choice but to vent on you.”

“While I suspect that this is not always the case, I am aware when I make a magical error. I assume that Arren would have been aware as well?”

“Oh, yes. And at a loss as to what to do about it. He dared not try again, having already made the situation far worse.”

Ewen grinned at the thought of Arren Lydel’s face when the man realized the debacle he had engendered.

“I was at the castle today.” Rahel began a new conversational tack. “You may have noticed. This is where you compliment me, brother.”

“I am sure everyone noticed your presence, sister. You command a room.”

“Don’t lay it on too thick. I looked into the question of your status. I can see no way the writ that was used to summon you can be legal. But there’s a way around that.”

Ewen frowned. “Please explain the problem.”

“Because the King of Kaldor has been incapable of issuing such an order since for at least two weeks.”

“Then the council itself is invalid.”

“That is correct. But there’s a way of dealing with that. They dare not expose their own circumvention of the law. If you get it registered, it will be as legal as anything else.”

“That was my plan all along. Did you get anything out of Lord Stimos, hanging out with him all day long?”

“How would you like me to answer that, brother? Stimos is a most excellent tool.”

“Does he have any information about the state of affairs in the castle?”

“No. I can’t say he did,” Rahel replied with some annoyance in her voice.

“In that case, let us turn our attention to more excellent tools.”

And they turned to the utilization of excellent tools. Again.


Azura 21, 732

The people of Tashal went about their morning tasks, little suspecting the tectonic political forces moving beneath their feet.

Observing the lack of clouds, Sir Aeomund sent a note to Lady Alyce: If it’s still clear and I’m alive, we should go to the observatory tonight.

Sir Ewen, on the assumption that this day would make his title official, met with Kaelyn to ready letters to Thilisa and Dickon, the first alerting his wife to her new status as Baroness of Ternua, the second appointing him bailiff. He then departed for the castle.

As he had been told, the guards at the Grand Staircase escorted him to the scriptorium of the Lord Master Herald. The chamber was filled with industrious clerks, crowded with parchments, codices, and scrolls. In the midst of all Sir Migray Hosath reigned in a massive, elaborately carved chair, a cup of tea at hand.

“Good morning, Sir Ewen!”

“Good morning. I trust you are well.”

“Better than most days. If you would have a seat ...”

Ewen took another, less impressive chair.

“You mentioned documentation ...”

“Yes.” Ewen produced the three writs: the original royal order to take order of Ternua, and the two summonses to the council. Sir Migray took the scrolls and, pulling over a magnifying lens mounted on an armature over his desk, examined them for a long, long time. Ewen occupied the wait by trancing.

Eventually Sir Migray spoke.

“These aren’t quite the thing, are they? This one is simply an order. This one is another of lordship. This one doesn’t mention you at all, but is at least a peerage. All are properly sealed – the signature on the last two are suspect, but so have they all been lately ...”

This old man was the last obstacle between Ewen and official entry into the upper ranks of Kaldoric nobility. What was his agenda? Which way would the blade fall?

“The only thing to do, my lord, is combine these three documents into one. They must be rewritten.”

Ewen smiled. It was done. This wandering knight had, in less than two years, ascended to an ancient title of Kaldor, with the acquiescence – indeed, the connivance – of the magnates of the realm. Sir Migray gestured to one of his apprentices to make this bizarre and unprecedented state of affairs a matter of record.

“Take these three writs and copy them together, correctly, exactly, and immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” said the apprentice.

“Would you care for some small beer, Sir Ewen?”

“Yes, thank you.”

A flagon appeared from under Sir Migray’s desk. They each hefted a mug.

“I spend a great deal of time in this room,” Sir Migray said. “While we wait for the young heralds to do their work, perhaps you could tell me: what did you do to displace the Verdreths and earn the barony of Ternua?”

“Well, if you take my meaning, I think the Verdreths did the lion’s share of the work in displacing themselves.”

“I have heard something about a most debilitating case of poltroonery in the north.”

“I think that’s how the King saw it. From there, their downfall was inevitable.”

“That explains the Verdreths – but not you.”

“I don’t know that I am the best person to apply to understand me. I think myself a capable man – and an ambitious one, I wouldn’t hesitate to admit.”

“And a busy man, too.”

“Yes. I had occasion to remark on that a number of times yesterday. Having endeavored to make myself useful to the Crown, I expect and hope to continue to flourish.”

“I was merely curious. It is none of my affair. My job is only to make sure all is legal.”

The apprentice heralds approached their master, the finished document at hand. The fourth writ, dated to the 10th, clearly addressed ‘Sir Ewen Ravinargh, Baron of Ternua.’

“Make two copies of that,” Sir Migray told the young heralds. “Now, Sir Ewen, what’s going to happen is this: those copies will be sealed. One will go with you, and the other shall go the archives. That will make it official. A copy will eventually go to the college of heralds for their records.”

Fifteen minutes later the new writ came back with both the Great Seal and the Privy Seal of the Kingdom of Kaldor affixed – though not the Acorn Slipped and Leaved (which would mark it for transmission). Sir Migray rolled it up and handed four documents back to Sir Ewen.

“There, Sir Ewen – I mean, my lord of Ternua. All right, proper, and legal.”

“I thank you. A fascinating procedure.”

“It’s important to do these things by the book.”

The first Baron of Ternua of the second creation took his leave of the heralds and hurried to the council.

As the nobles entered the chamber, Sir Ewen pigeonholed Sir Arlbis, saying he wanted to briefly discuss the coming debates. In truth, he wished another chance to enchant the knight as he had Sir Gorbar the previous evening. This time it worked. Ewen now had two votes in council at a mere twitch of his hand.

Sir Harapa called the roll. In attendance:

Troda Dariune, Earl of Balim
Maldan Harabor, Earl of Osel
Meden Curo, representing the Earl of Neph
Her Grace the Queen of Kaldor, representing the Earl of Olokand
Edine Kynn, Serekela (archbishop) of Kaldor
Harapa Indama, representing the Baron of Getha
Orsin Firith, Baron of Kobe
Arlbis Hirnen, representing the Baron of Nenda
Gorbar Elorieth, representing the Baron of Nubeth
Ewen Ravinargh, Baron of Ternua

The Earl of Vemion was still absent.

Lord Balim opened the day’s festivities. “Sir Meden, it was you who called for the recess. Do you have anything to propose?”

“No, milord. But I believe there may be others at the table who wish to air proposals.”

“I do!” said Sir Gorbar.

Balim regarded the noble as if he had discovered him on the bottom of his boot. “Do you indeed, Sir Gorbar?”

Gorbar stood. “My lords and lady, I do not believe we can go any further with the deliberations of this council without verifying for ourselves …” and he hesitated a moment before finishing “… the condition of the King.”

There was a moment of horrible silence.

“No!” the Queen declared. Lord Balim put a hand on her shoulder to restrain her; she shook it off.

“Sir Gorbar, do you know what you’re asking?” Balim said. “You are asking to invade the privacy of your sovereign lord.”

“Milord of Balim, you speak true. But we are asked to set aside the rights, privileges, prerogatives, and indeed royalty of that lord on the basis of hearsay.”

Sir Gorbar’s motion was received by the room with a tenor of resigned indignation.

Meden Curo spoke up. “Though Sir Gorbar may be intemperate, he is fundamentally correct. It is wrong for us to deprive the King of his lawful authority without seeing for ourselves the condition of the King.”

Maldan Harabor cackled at that.

“Are we not the friends of the King? Are we not his trusty men, that we cannot even see him?” declared Orsin Firith.

“Lord Balim, you must call a vote,” Curo said.

The countenance of the Queen of Kaldor was disfigured by wrath. “I don’t care what you vote, I shall not permit it!”

And she left them.

After a moment more of horrible silence, Meden said “My lord of Balim, a vote has been called for. If you do not preside, I will.”

Balim glared at Curo. “That will not be necessary, Sir Meden. I shall call for a vote. In reverse order of seniority.”

The Vote:

Ternua: “My lords, while it pains me to say so, I agree that it is our duty to do this. I vote yea, that we must lay eyes upon the King.” After which Ewen stroked his beard.
Sir Gorbar: Yea.
Sir Arlbis: Yea.
Kobe: “I think it makes sense to see the King before deciding. Hell, yes, I vote yea!”
Sir Harapa: “I have seen the King. There is no need. Nay.”
Serekela: After sharing a significant look with Meden, “I am loathe to impinge upon the privacy of the King’s Grace, but the state of the kingdom is in the balance. I vote Yea.”
Harabor: “I want to see him. Yea!”
Sir Meden: Yea.
Balim: “It is of no matter now which way I vote. So, for the record, I vote nay.”

(Motion passes, 7-2 with one abstention.)

Curo and Harabor traded a look, as if to ask which should speak first. Curo sat back.

Harabor said “Lord Balim, since you have voted nay, you have taken yourself out of this position. This council has voted to see the King, and see the King it must. Must, I say, before any other decisions are made. Therefore, gentlemen, I propose we see the King. Sir Harapa, you are the Chamberlain, are you not?”

“I am, milord of Osel.”

“Then perhaps you would be so good as to lead this delegation to see the King’s Grace?”

“Very well. Gentlemen ...”

The door to the chamber was opened. The council members filed out – only to find the Queen, at the head of a phalanx of Royal Guardsmen three abreast, blocking the corridor.

Sir Ewen’s hand went to the pommel of his sword.

Lord Balim stepped forward. “Milady, this cannot end well.”

The Queen said nothing.

Orsin Firith talked around her, addressing the captain of the Guard. “Hedare, think what you’re doing!”

The captain replied “We are here to protect the King.”

“This council has voted to see the King before depriving him of government. Would you stand in our way?”

Sir Hedare breathed deeply. Obviously, he had not expected to find himself in a position of having to decide between his loyalty to the person and his loyalty to the Crown.

“No, milord, we will not. Men of the guard, stand clear! Prepare to escort these noble lords to the King’s chamber!”

The Queen felt the wall she sought to build dissolve behind her. On the evident brink of apoplexy, she yet kept her dignity, and rejoined the other nobles.

Ewen’s hand fell back from his sword.

Hedare ordered his men into an honor guard, and they led the council to the northeast tower and up to the fourth floor of the castle, the royal quarters. The hallways were dotted with guards, far more than in normal times. They reached the door to the King’s suite.

Sir Harapa stepped forward “My lords, what you have asked here is a terrible intrusion. I request that all of you stay as quiet as possible. We should go in, view the King, and come back out. It is best not to disturb His Grace. And remember, my lords: you asked for this.”

He knocked. Sir Kytem Curo opened the door. The council was led through the outer chambers, into the royal bedroom itself. There a massive curtain surrounded the royal bed, blocking the view.

A smell was in the air. Noses wrinkled. Some gagged covertly.

“Move the curtain,” ordered Sir Harapa.

On the royal bed lay Haldan Elendsa, in agony. His skin was ashen and sweat-covered, his breath came in gasps.

“The King is of a fever!” said Harapa. “The finest physicians in Tashal have been called to no avail. Now, gentlemen, have you seen enough?”

The tenants-in-chief stood stunned at the condition of their monarch. No one seemed to know how to react.

Ewen seized the initiative, and sank to one knee before the wracked monarch. Sir Gorbar and Sir Arlbis did the same, and then they all did, save the Serekela. Meden Curo knelt last.

“So, milords, what say you?” said Harapa.

“I say we’ve seen enough,” retorted Balim. “Are there objections?”

There were none.

As the council approached the chamber, one of the seneschals ran to Harapa Indama and whispered in his ear. His reaction to the news was “No! No! They have no place here!”

“Who has no place here?” asked Lord Balim.

Harapa grimaced. “There is a delegation of guildsmen here, milord. They have asked to be heard.”

“I can’t say that they would have anything of interest for us to hear.”

Curo broke in. “That may be so, milord, but is that not something that should be put to the vote and not decided by fiat?”

With a weary, somewhat disgusted air, Lord Balim said “I suppose, Sir Meden, we can have a vote. But let us not have it in this corridor, in front of everyone.”

“Yes, milord, let us have a vote. But if we are to hear the guildsmen, let us not do so in the cramped council chamber, but in the throne room.”

Balim glowered. “Let us see how the vote goes!”

They arrived at the council chamber. At once, Curo said “The guildmasters of Tashal wish to be heard. We should vote on whether to hear them.”

The Vote:

Balim: “This is none of their business! Nay!”
Meden: “I should like to hear what they have to say. Yea.”
Osel: “I see no reason not to hear the words of the guildmasters. Yea.”
Queen: Nay.
Serekela: Yea.
Harapa: “While I find their action impertinent, I understand their legitimate right of grievance. I therefore reluctantly vote Yea.”
Kobe: Yea.
Arlbis: (Seeing Ewen stroke his beard) Yea.
Gorbar: (Similarly) Yea.
Ternua: “I feel that seeing such a delegation at this time is premature. I vote Nay.”

(Motion passes, 6-4.)

Meden said “The motion carried, we shall see the delegation of the guildmasters in the Great Hall.”

The crowd in the Great Hall was surprised to see the tenants enter among them. The nobles lined up at the foot of the dais on which stood the throne.

The delegation of guildsmen approached. Their names:

Pesera of Hendel, of the Guild of Mercantylers, alderman of Tashal, and leader of this delegation.
Bae of Rysten, of the Glassworkers, alderman.
Irian of Kephis, of the Shipwrights.
Seperlyne of Cail, of the Physicians, alderman.
Kodor of Narad, of the Clothiers, alderman.
Worton Harabor, of the Innkeepers.
Mikyl of Meriel, of the Litigants.
Aldin of Charion, of the Tentmakers, alderman.

Ewen knew several of these men well, and had seen Mikyl and Bae at various functions. Only Irian was completely a stranger.

Pesera recited their statement. While couched in the politest of language, the complaint shone through: the kingdom was in grave disorder, and it was the responsibility of the lords to remedy this. It was a gesture of No Confidence and a demand for action.

Once they heard the guildsmen’s concerns, Balim and Harapa made a counterproposal: everything was just fine and the guildsmen should go home.

This was obviously not what the masters had hoped for, yet they seemed unsure what to do next. Pesera responded, but even as he spoke, his stalwartness degenerated into truckling. In the end, the guildsmen bowed and left.

That dealt with, the nobles returned to the council chamber.

“It is now time to discuss the issue on which we adjourned yesterday,” Balim said. “You have now seen the King, his infirmity. There can be no question we need a regent. I ask again for such a vote, and, once again, I propose the only possible choice: Her Grace the Queen.”

The Vote:

Balim: Yea.
Meden: Nay.
Osel: Nay.
Queen: Yea.
Serekela: Nay.
Indama: Yea.
Kobe: Nay.
Arlbis: (At Ewen’s command) Nay.
Gorbar: (Similarly) Nay.
Ternua: Yea.

(The motion is defeated, 4-6.)

Curo spoke up. “Lord Balim, it must be clear now, after three votes, that there is no support for the Queen. Someone else must be proposed, or some other solution. What say you, milord?”

“Very well. If the Queen is not acceptable,” and here Balim gave Her Grace a look that said I told you so, “Then I must propose myself for the position of regent. I shall abstain from the voting.”

Sir Meden smiled. “Then I suppose I must go first.”

The Vote:

Meden: “I’m sorry, Troda. Nay.”
Osel: Nay.
Queen: Yea.
Serekela: Nay.
Harapa: Yea.
Kobe: Nay.
Arlbis (At Ewen’s wishes): Nay.
Gorbar (At Ewen’s wishes): Nay.
Ternua: Nay.

(The motion is defeated, 2-7.)

Balim replied “I had no expectation, milords, that I would be acceptable. Though I would have done my best for our lord the King. I ask at this time for nominations for regent, stipulating only that the candidate must be of royal Elendsa blood.”

Then came another lengthy silence.

Sir Meden broke it. “There do not seem to be any candidates. Therefore, we should consider an alternative: that this council be made permanent, until such time as the King’s Grace recovers. Naturally, it would be unwieldy for the ten of us to rule on a daily basis. So I propose a two-tier vote: first, to vest authority in this council until the King recovers, and second, to determine some number of us to rule on a daily basis until that time. It is immaterial to me whether we vote on the first idea first, or the second.”

Balim looks like someone stole his lunch.

Maldan Harabor, on the other hand, was grinning. “I like that idea. But I think we should know who the three are before we vote.”

“The choice of the three is obvious: Lord Balim, the Earl of Osel, and myself. If I am not acceptable, then I would say my lord uncle the Archbishop.”

The Queen spoke. “Though I do not approve of any of this, if it is to be done, it must be done of the great men of the kingdom. I would say Balim, Osel and Vemion – but there is no Vemion, therefore Sir Meden of Neph is acceptable. But I cannot vote for the Archbishop.”

Looking around the table, Ewen saw Sir Gorbar and Sir Arlbis looking quiescent, Sir Harapa leaning toward Balim, and Firith at sea.

He spoke up. “My lords, it occurs to me that in taking this step, this council as currently assembled would be choosing to, in effect, dissolve itself, because only a King can summon a council of tenants-in-chief, and no triumvirate can. I would implore the council to consider this step well before proceeding.”

Balim looked incredulous. “Milord of Ternua speaks the obvious. In our haste to provide for the governance of this kingdom, we have overlooked this fact. He is correct. I cannot support a triumvirate. I propose we adjourn. We have not been able to decide on a regency or a council. The kingdom must be governed. Yet it is clear we are not ready yet to determine how to proceed. Let us wait until Soratir and meet again on the afternoon of that feast. Are there any objections?”

There were no objections. The council adjourned unanimously, to reconvene at two o’clock in the afternoon on Azura 25th.

“In the meantime, milords, we have a kingdom to govern. Let us not forget that.”

This time there was no milling about in the Great Hall. The council members left immediately for their subterfuges.
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Matt
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