At the core of Jecellam’s regulated, well-policed streets, there was an extensive walled compound. In its outermost ring of joyless buildings the distribution of food, laws and lies was overseen. The structures forming the complex’s nucleus were devoted to governance and power. It was here that the Central Council met, in chambers only they frequented.
Where Gath Tampoor followed the western tradition in choosing a dragon as their emblem, Rintarah drew on its eastern heritage. Its symbol of state was a shield embellished with an eagle in flight, wings outstretched, lightning bolts playing in the background. The image was everywhere: on flags, mosaics, public transportation vehicles and the stained glass of temples.
But its most striking manifestation was reserved for the few. This was to be found in the grand council chamber, a cavernous hall where sunlight never intruded. As in Gath Tampoor, the colour-coded lines of power were here too, penetrating the inner sanctum from every bearing. Each of the lines ran to one of the sturdy legs of a mighty table, big enough to seat forty with ease. The table was fashioned in the shape of the Rintarahian shield, with the eagle and lightning motif etched into its surface. Glamour energy animated the portrait, so that the bird’s immense wings slowly flapped as the lightning rippled.
On this occasion the council was not seated at the table; their deliberations were taking place at a far end of the room. This section housed an aperture not unlike the one in Merakasa, except it was plainer, the sole concession to ornamentation being the waist-high brass rail surrounding it. In every important respect, however, it was the same: a smooth-sided well into which the channels bled liquid metal that made a churning pool.
In styling themselves a council, the rulers of Rintarah may have given the impression that some kind of equitable process was involved in their selection. This was not so. Every councillor was related, and there was no nonsense about democracy. This day, perhaps a quarter of them were in attendance, staring down at the agitated quicksilver.
The council’s Elder, a position matched in power only by Gath Tampoor’s Empress, was Felderth Jacinth. In common with Bethmilno, he was of very advanced years. He was tall and rangy. His skin was unblemished and he retained a full head of hair, though there was more than a hint of the unnatural in these assets. The richly coloured brocade he wore lent him a touch of the grandiose. It was certainly a counterpoint to the severity of his surroundings.
‘I have grave suspicions,’ he announced, studying the disturbance in the matrix, ‘that Gath Tampoor could be behind this.’
‘How can they do something we can’t?’ a kinsman wanted to know.
‘Some breakthrough, some new application of the Craft…Who knows?’
‘One we haven’t discovered ourselves? How likely is that?’
‘I find it easier to believe than the idea that an ignorant conqueror’s causing this. These events are becoming increasingly recurrent, and they’re growing in strength. Something more powerful than a lone man has to be involved.’ He was gripping the rail, white-knuckled. Although that was probably due to thin blood.
‘Perhaps another alliance is responsible,’ somebody suggested.
‘Those who style themselves the Resistance, you mean.’ The Elder snorted derisively. ‘How could that be? What power do the citizens have beyond what we gift them? No, the people are sleepwalkers. If it weren’t for the fact that their usefulness to us marginally outweighs their annoyance value I’d advocate a cull.’
‘Who’s going to keep the lawns trimmed for us then?’ a wag opined.
There was laughter at that.
Elder Jacinth remained sour. Almost to himself, he said, ‘These fluctuations in the energy could be a ploy, of course. Some ruse on the part of Gath Tampoor.’
Another of his kith was sceptical. ‘A trick that can affect the essence? That’s just as hard to believe. And to what purpose?’
Frustrated, the Elder sighed. ‘This isn’t getting us any nearer to dealing with the warlord, whoever he may or may not be allied with.’
‘What about the expedition our spies told us about?’ the sceptic pressed. ‘From Bhealfa to the northern wastelands? If it really is exploratory, doesn’t that indicate the Gath Tampoorians know as little about this Zerreiss as we do?’
‘
If
it’s exploratory. It could be a bluff, misinformation to throw us off the fact that they already have a pact with him. Or it could be the aim of this expedition to forge one.’
‘But if they’re as much in the dark as us, sending such a mission is exactly what they’d do, isn’t it?’
‘I concede that as a possibility,’ Jacinth replied, stony-faced.
‘In which case, shouldn’t we mount our own expedition, and with all speed?’
‘I confess I’ve been thinking about doing just that. Up to now I’ve been reluctant to do so on the basis of rumours about a Bhealfan expedition. But in view of these ever more violent disturbances to the essence, I think perhaps you’re right about this. I’ll order preparations at once.’
‘That means we could find ourselves in a race with Gath Tampoor,’ a councilman mused.
‘There’s more than one way to win a race,’ the Elder reminded him. ‘Whatever they may have offered the warlord, we’ll top it. We can always renege later, when he’s served his purpose. He’s only a barbarian who’s been lucky, after all. Let’s not forget that.’
‘Bhealfa seems to come up a lot these days in terms of problems.’
‘It’s one of the hotbeds for dissidents, there’s no denying that.’
‘I was thinking more in terms of a specific problem,’ the councillor said. ‘The last sightings we have of Caldason are in Valdarr. If he’s linked up with the Resistance -’
‘He’s not demonstrated a leaning towards them before.’
‘As far as we know.’
‘Are you suggesting some connection between the Qalochian and the warlord?’
‘I don’t know. But look at the sequence of events. Caldason turns up in Valdarr, and apparently begins associating with known dissidents. That’s what the paladins tell us, at any rate. At more or less the same time, the warlord’s power reaches new heights.’
Jacinth pondered the idea. ‘Hmmm. Caldason is the only individual we know of who just might be able to affect the matrix in the way we’re seeing.’
‘Can he really do that?’
‘Should he come to an awareness about himself, he possibly could, yes.’
‘If ever there was a neck worthy of stretching on a rope, it’s the Qalochian’s.’
‘Him and his whole damned race. I’d love to be able to take the gloves off and deal with Caldason. I’ve often been tempted to go against the protocol and have him killed.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Which proposition?’
‘Both. Can the protocol be breached and is it possible to kill him?’
‘Ending his life would take special measures. As to the protocol… well, that would prove a lot harder.’
‘But not impossible?’
‘Who can say? These are uncharted waters. Though it might be prudent to see what steps could be taken to that end.’ There was a nodding of heads all round. ‘But for the time being, more immediate matters require our attention. The hour has come to contact our principal agent in the Resistance ranks. Make ready the grid.’
With a fluidity that came from ample experience, two of his cohorts swiftly enacted a silent conjuration. Instantaneously the essence made connection with some other node elsewhere in the matrix. A spume of cold fire erupted from the well, shaped like an enormous candle flame and made up of a billion vivid sparks. Slowly at first, a shape began to form in the boiling flame. In seconds it solidified and became the image of a recognisable human figure.