The room was full, the back rows crowded, as it had been since the Keeper had died the week before. Each morning, as many Ogres as possible crowded into the chamber, hoping to hear an announcement about the History.
The scribes took up places behind the low tables of the council, but remained standing.
After another sounding of the gong, four of the five members of the Ruling Council-Teragrym, Enna, Narran and Rendrad-entered from opposite doors and took their places at the long, low tables, leaving the center seat open.
A moment later, the final member, Anel, entered from the center door and joined them. Her family held the king in traditional safekeeping and, therefore, she was the leader of the council.
As a group, the five members sank to the soft linen cushions that protected their knees from the floor. Their elaborate robes fanned out in circles of bright color about their bodies, silver embroidered with white, palest yellow, bird’s-egg blue, a dark burnt umber the color of plowed earth, and, in the center, the leader, in a plain, unadorned red the color of rubies.
“Who is the first petitioner?” Anel began the council’s official business with the ritual question.
“I am, Lady.”
A soft gasp went up from the audience. The speaker was not an aide, but Lord Narran himself. “I bring a matter of government security before the council, and I ask that the chamber be cleared.”
Again a sound went through the audience, a barely voiced groan of disappointment. The council frequently met behind closed doors, but normally not on an audience day. However, the audience rose to go, filling the room with the sound of rustling cloth.
When they were alone, even the scribes gone, and all the doors closed, Anel turned to Narran. “What, my lord, is so important as to warrant that kind of drama?”
“This morning, I was given information which I feel we must act upon immediately, Lady.”
Anel dipped her head slightly, granting permission for him to continue.
“Is it about the History?” Rendrad asked.
Narran shook his head. “No, it’s more serious than even that. I believe Igraine, governor of Khal-Theraxian, is responsible for the slave uprisings that have troubled us of late.”
Enna half rose from her cushion. Though Igraine had been appointed governor by the whole council, Khal-Theraxian was in her domain. Her own winter home was in the province, not far from Igraine’s estate, and she was supplied with a healthy percentage of the levies. “Narran, you go too far! I know you’ve been jealous of Igraine’s improved production, but-”
Narran, too, rose, his yellowish green complexion growing dark. “I do not-”
“Enough.” Anel cut through both their angry voices with just the one softly spoken word. When they had both subsided, she spoke to Narran. “Have you evidence to back this claim?”
“I have details of what he’s been doing. Once you’ve heard, I believe you will agree that he is committing both treason and heresy.”
Enna clenched a fist on top of the smooth parchment that lined her table. “Heresy, Narran? Surely not!”
“Heresy,” Narran repeated firmly.
Anel sighed. “Then we must hear your details. If you’re right, we will send for Igraine.” She gave Enna a reassuring look. “He will be given an opportunity to explain himself.
“Lord Teragrym cannot see you now.”
A young Ogre, wearing a tunic with the dragon logo of Teragrym’s family, tried to usher Jyrbian out of the small, private waiting chamber. The setting was intimate, lush, the gray stone walls covered by rich hangings, a small, cheery fire crackling in the fireplace, its reflection dancing on the marble of the hearth. Beside the hearth was the stool on which Teragrym had sat in the audience chamber. It seemed like months ago, instead of only four weeks.
Jyrbian brushed at his soiled tunic, at the bloodstains on his sleeves, and wished he’d taken the time to change before reporting to Teragrym. But the closer the group had come on their trek back to Takar, the more urgency he’d felt. Too many people knew what was going on, and Teragrym wasn’t going to reward him for information he might pick up in the dining hall.
“Did you tell him how important it is that I see him?” he demanded of the Ogre, shaking free. “Did you tell him I’ve just come from Khal-Theraxian, and that we were attacked by a band of escaped slaves?”
Not to be brushed off so easily, the younger one smiled politely, bowed, and readjusted his grip on Jyrbian’s elbow. “Yes, of course, I did. But the lord is very busy. Perhaps tomorrow… “
Jyrbian gulped the glass of wine he’d snatched from a slave in the hallway on his way to Teragrym’s quarters, not caring that he appeared mannerless. The smooth, sweet liquid soothed his dry throat, his agitation.
“I realize the lord is busy, but I have news that I must pass on! Information about Governor Igraine-”
“Not today.” The Ogre’s pleasant voice disappeared, became as cold as stone. “Lord Teragrym has heard enough of that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard? The council has issued a warrant for the governor’s arrest. He has been charged with heresy.”
Jyrbian was so surprised that he allowed the aide to push him out the door. Khallayne was waiting in the hallway. Unlike him, she had bathed and changed clothes, her long black hair brushed to a high gloss. She wore a silk tunic and embroidered vestrobe.
She smiled politely, as if she barely knew him, and allowed Teragrym’s aide to usher her through the door.
Fury welled up in him beyond his capacity. He could imagine Everlyn slipping through his fingers. His hopes for estate dashed. He threw the wine glass at the wall across from Teragrym’s door. Shards rained down upon the floor.
Inside the chamber, Khallayne, pausing as she heard the glass burst, smiled.
“What was that?” Teragrym’s aide asked.
“Jyrbian venting his frustration, I would imagine.”
Teragrym didn’t keep her waiting long.
As he entered, she placed her hands on the floor, palms up and open in the posture of supplication, and bowed low. Only when the lord’s shadow had passed over her did she slowly sit up.
Teragrym was seated before her on the stool.
“Lord, I-”
“You have come from Khal-Theraxian,” he interrupted.
She hesitated, stammered. For the whole trip back, she’d rehearsed what she would say to him. She wanted what he could teach her, more than ever. She needed his sponsorship more than ever.
The words had been rehearsed over and over again in her head even before she’d seen the bone-white ribbons on the city gates, the funeral colors for the Keeper.
Now she had to struggle to find her voice. “Y- yes. I’ve b-been to Khal-Theraxian.” She struggled to regain her composure. “Some friends were visiting, and I went along. I’m sorry, Lord. Should I have informed you?”
“Tell me what you saw there.”
“What I saw-? I don’t understand. We saw the estate and the mines. Governor Igraine’s-”
“Do not test my patience!” Teragrym snapped. “I believe you know what I mean. What did you see of Igraine’s behavior? Was there anything you would deem treasonous?” He hesitated, drawing that last word out, almost as if he expected to trap her.
“Treason-” The word choked her, got lost in the quickening of her breath. “My lord, I…” An image of Igraine flashed through her mind, of him in the darkness saying, “Perhaps someday you will be in a position to benefit me.” But if she lied to Teragrym and was discovered… “I-”
“Did you or did you not discern any treasonous activity?”
“My lord, forgive me. You’ve startled me with so strong a word. We saw… I saw Igraine and his holdings. And I met his family. And he showed us his new methods for increasing production among his slaves.”