Emperor Elgar, of the Anderlean Imperium, was a friend and political ally of Klutho Misplaer. Both resided in Sartain, capital of the Empire since prehistoric times. The seat and symbol of Brotherhood Power was a grand old palace called the Raftery. The Imperial Palace and the Raftery both had long been braced for a Mulenex intrigue.
Mulenex had confounded everyone by appearing to remain content with his present status, devoting himself to profligate living and hurling scorn at the objects of his ambitions.
Theis Rogala seized a knife. He stabbed a particularly succulent morsel off Mulenex's own plate.
Mulenex reached for his own knife.
Rogala stabbed the tabletop between the Red Magis-ter's fingers. "Don't overreach yourself." Not a whisper could be heard.
Gathrid grinned. The dwarf had done his bullying smoothly.
The officer in Imperial uniform laughed. He nodded amiably when Gathrid glanced his way. There was no love lost between Mulenex and Emperor Elgar XIV. Rumor said Mulenex had eyes for the Imperial Palace.
The dream of Empire had not perished in Sartain. There the true believers went on, ever certain that someday the Golden Age would return. In fact, the dream was not far from the hearts of many of the western ruling class. There were endless intrigues aimed at usurping the Imperial throne, in hopes of founding a rising dynasty.
Gathrid drew a deep breath and thundered, "Where are the allies who spoke so loud and bold?"
Politics, he thought in youthful naivete, could be set aside before the threat of a common enemy.
The Emperor's man replied, "Two cohorts of the Guards Oldani are in Katich now, Lord." He smiled at the puzzled, surprised, angry looks he received from his companions in council.
The Guards Oldani, so-called because in olden times they had consisted of barbarian mercenaries, were the Anderlean Emperor's praetorian troops, the cream of the Imperial army. Their ferocity was legend. Their professionalism was respected everywhere. Enfeebled though the Empire might be, neighboring kingdoms seldom warred with it.
The Blue Magister's representative added, "With the Guards are four cabali of the Blue, Lord.
Little enough, I grant you. But their captain is Honsa Eldracher himself."
Mulenex roared in outrage. He leapt to his feet. His great jowls wobbled as he thundered, "My Lords! What woe and deceit have we here?" His arms flapped like the wings of a flightless bird.
Rogala backed toward Gathrid. He wore an expression of bemused awe. Mulenex was a showman, sure.
The man launched a long-winded, vigorous, extemporaneous denunciation of the Emperor and Blues for having intervened unilaterally.
Gathrid whispered to Rogala, "The Fray Magister is from the Blue Order. Honsa Eldracher is his daughter's husband and his stand-in as Blue Magister. This explains why the Blue Magister isn't here."
Rogala nodded. "Would you say the Emperor and Misplaer are trying to embarrass the fat man?"
Gathrid shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. When a Red says black, a Blue usually says white."
Rogala grinned at Mulenex. "He does go on, doesn't he? Taking it personal, too."
"Honsa Eldracher is the Brotherhood's crown prince. He takes over if anything happens to Misplaer.
Mulenex doesn't like it, but there isn't anything he can do. Eldracher is supposed to be the greatest thaumaturge ever produced by the Brotherhood. He don't want to lock horns."
Rogala nodded thoughtfully. He didn't waste much attention on the pyrotechnic Red Magister. He scanned the faces of the audience instead. Gathrid wondered what he read there.
"Politics have fettered this army," the youth muttered. He made the word "politics" a curse.
"They're going to sit here till Ahlert stomps them like bugs. And they'll die squabbling and intriguing."
Rogala asked, "You under the impression Katich would be in friendly hands if it weren't for politics?"
"No. What gets me is, nobody cares what happens in Gudermuth. It's just an excuse to grind their own axes."
"That's what it's all about, son."
"And Ahlert is going to take advantage."
"He'd be a fool if he didn't." The dwarf sneered. "He'll sit over there, scrupulous about respecting frontiers, and laugh his tail off while these clowns use Gudermuth as a counter in a power struggle that may tear their Alliance to shreds. And when the moment ripens, he'll jump all over them. I'm beginning to find human greed, duplicity, weakness and dearth of imagination boringly predictable."
"You shouldn't play games with human lives."
Rogala gave him a strange look. "You're serious, aren't you? You really are as naive as you put on. You're really offended."
"Of course I am!" Gathrid glared at the dwarf. "Enough!" he shouted, breaking in on Mulenex. "A
compact was made. If Gerdes Mulenex and his toadies want to renounce it so they can forward their personal ambitions, let them say so. If the rest of you want to use an ally as a piece on a political chessboard, say so. Stop the hypocrisy. Show your true colors. Repudiate the Treaty of Beovingloh. And be accursed by the dying while Ventimiglian brigades trample your fools' dreams."
Rogala threw him a series of savage looks. He was being too forthright. He was not supposed to make enemies, he was supposed to goad these men into accepting a will not their own. Of course, Gathrid did not know that. Suchara did not confide in her Swordbearer.
The dwarf did not care a fig for Gudermuth, except insofar as its fate could be used to twist someone's arm in accordance with Suchara's desires.
Gathrid's speech drew scattered applause. Kargus Scanga, King of Malmberget, responded. "Your shaft strikes near the mark, Swordbearer, though I find your phrasing too bold and your companion boorish."
"Boorish?" Rogala squealed, stamping his feet. He grinned as attention focused on him again. "I'm not a great man, I admit. Nor do I stand as tall as some. Yet I ask you, is boorishness strictly a province of class? Are the high and the mighty above common courtesy? Is gentility a cruel fiction foisted on the masses by monsters such as this?" He indicated Mulenex with a thumb jab.
"That's entirely possible," Scanga replied. His grin was as broad as the dwarf's. "When I see him in these councils I certainly think so. To the matter at hand. I think we'd all agree we made a mistake at Torun. Not in hammering out an Alliance, but in forging it in such unwieldy form.
Swordbearer, it's unfortunate, but we agreed unanimity was a prerequisite for armed action.
Naturally, that leaves the decision-making process at the mercy of opportunists." His scowl transfixed Mulenex. There could be no doubt that his accusation was specific. "Opportunists?"
Mulenex howled. "You dare denounce opportunists when just last month your cousin seized the Red livings in Dharsyn and had three Red Brothers put to death? Shame!" Scanga replied, "That isn't relevant here." Arnd Tetrault shouted, "Sit down, fat man. You come into my domain and you'll get the same. I hang thieves no matter who they are."
Shifting his ground, Mulenex snapped, "You're obscuring the issue here. ..." The mood of the council jelled. He made no headway. Who was and who was not obscuring issues was obvious. Even more obvious was Mulenex's increasing unpopularity. The others shouted him down.
Tetrault's voice broke through the uproar. "Let's impale the pig. He's tied us up for the past three days."
Gathrid doubted that Mulenex alone was responsible. Some mechanism in the group unconscious had tripped and, suddenly, the Red Magister had been elected to bear all their sins.
Mulenex turned bright red. He roared. He fumed. He howled and threatened. And every twist of showmanship only dug the hole deeper.