The Emperor’s sudden lapse into breezy informality won smiles from various Houses, some relieved, some reluctant. Tadriol raised a hand as subdued comment threatened to break into open conversation.
“But one man cannot build a House on his own. Since there are other sprigs of nobility planted in Kellarin’s distant soil, I decree that these and their descendants be considered cadet lines of D’Alsennin and I ask the Sieur to ensure that they style themselves accordingly.”
The Emperor reached into a pocket and the entire room fell silent as he walked over to Temar. Temar swallowed hard. The hollowness he’d felt when he’d thought Kel Ar’Ayen was being abandoned was nothing compared to the crushing weight he felt resting on his shoulders now.
The Emperor halted in front of Temar and held out an open hand. A silver badge lay on his palm, three holm oak leaves, parallel and overlapping. “Your insignia is granted, Messire.”
Temar studied the brooch for a moment, until he could be sure his hands wouldn’t tremble as he pinned it to the breast of his coat. The leaves shone bright and untarnished against the dark blue silk that echoed the great sapphire of his father’s ring.
“My undying gratitude, my Emperor,” Temar said with archaic formality.
“From you, that’s quite some promise,” murmured the Emperor in an undertone.
An isolated pair of hands began clapping somewhere in the crowd, soon joined by others. The Emperor turned to acknowledge the applause and the expectant faces.
“There are a few more trifles to settle before we can all enjoy the rest of the afternoon. One of the most noteworthy aspects to the Kellarin tale is the sudden reappearance of magic in our midst. I confess I’m still uncertain of much that’s gone on, but some things I am sure of. Firstly, while the colonists of Kellarin owe a great debt to the wizards of Hadrumal, that changes nothing on this side of the ocean. All Houses may make whatever use they wish of magecraft, just as they have always done, and I will continue to listen to the advice of the Archmage Planir or any other wizard who wishes to offer counsel. But I will not grant such words any undue weight nor allow any wizard undue influence within Tormalin.”
Temar could see various people glancing smugly at the Sieur and his brothers, eager to see how they were taking this perceived rebuke.
“Indeed, what need do we have of Hadrumal’s magic?” the Emperor asked abruptly. “It was Tormalin Artifice saved the people of Kellarin in those far-off days, the same ancient skills that helped Correl the Stalwart carry Tormalin rule to the very edge of the Great Forest. I confess I’m curious to see what benefits Artifice bestows on Kellarin, and who knows, we may all benefit from judicious use of its proficiencies in years to come.” Tadriol paused and took a thick silver ring off one finger.
“But we cannot expect the people of Kellarin to share their Artifice with us if we deny them those still hidden in the enchantment that protected them through their lost generations. As many of you already know, Messire D’Alsennin came asking for our help. He needs to find the jewels and ornaments, the swords and badges of allegiance that safeguarded the very minds of his people as they slept.” Tadriol shrugged. “I do not pretend to understand how this was accomplished, but I am shocked to learn some people have been tempted to extort coin or advantage in exchange for these items, all but demanding ransom for the very life of some helpless individual. This is my final decree, and I will summon a muster of the Cohorts to enforce it if need be. Every item that Messire D’Alsennin even suspects may be needed to restore his people is to be surrendered, without question, objection or recompense.” The Emperor’s outrage shaded into scorn. “We can all stand a little loss, even of heirloom pieces, and we gave up putting a price on a life in Tormalin when Inshol the Curt closed the slave markets.”
Tadriol handed the ring to Temar. The faceted band was flattened on the top into a hexagon carrying an inscription worn illegible by age. Temar’s first thought was he’d never be able to manage the concentration needed to summon any image from the ring, his next that doing so would in any case be a very bad idea. He ransacked his memory, but before he could match the ring to any sleeper the Emperor had walked away to stand squarely before the Sieur D’Olbriot.
“Messire, as Adjurist of the Princes, do you need to summon a Convocation to ratify these decrees?”
D’Olbriot smiled calmly. “Since we are returning to ancient forms today, shall we content ourselves with a simple show of hands? Forgive me,” he commented dryly. “I didn’t know I’d need the rod of office.” He turned to borrow Leishal’s stick and thumped the floor three times. “Stand forth, Sieurs, to uphold the dignity of your Name!”
The crowd shifted to allow the assorted heads of the Houses to stand forward.
“Do you commit yourselves and all who claim the shelter of your House to abide by these decrees? I charge you by the duty you swore to the Names that elected you and to the Convocation that accepted you. Your oath remains to defend Tormalin from enemies without and tyranny within, with arms, with counsel and by enforcing the Emperor’s writ.”
Temar watched as the Sieurs of minor Houses put their hands up at once, some hesitant, some with alacrity. Den Muret obstinately refused to look at Den Thasnet but Tor Priminale directed scathing contempt at Tor Bezaemar before slowly raising his hand. Den Murivance and Tor Kanselin both looked well content as they signalled ready agreement, a move spurring rapid compliance from Den Hefeken, Den Brennain and a score of others.
“Temar,” Allin hissed. “Put your own hand up!”
Heat rising in his face, he did so, and was gratified to see that it prompted a further wave of agreement.
Messire D’Olbriot looked impassively at Temar before turning to Camarl, who was trying to hide his chagrin. “As Adjurist, I must naturally call on my Designate to vote,” he remarked in an amiable aside to Tadriol that the entire room heard. “Esquire Camarl? Does D’Olbriot stand with the Emperor for good governance?”
Camarl cleared his throat. “Naturally, Messire.” He stuck an emphatic hand in the air.
Now all eyes were turned to the Sieur Tor Bezaemar. He raised a limp hand with a sickly smile in stark contrast to the white-faced fury of his aunt.
“Then we are all agreed,” said the Emperor happily. “Thank you all for your patience. I suggest we enjoy ourselves.”
The musicians who’d been sitting studiously looking at their feet all this while began a lively tune but no one seemed inclined to dance. The crowd shifted and mingled, conversations breaking out on all sides.
“What are you going to say to Messire D’Olbriot?” breathed Allin at Temar’s side.
“I really do not know,” he replied, still studying the Emperor’s ring.
“He’s coming over,” said Allin nervously. “Do you want me to stay?”
Temar saw she was ashen with apprehension. “Go and see what Velindre makes of it all,” he suggested.
All the same he felt uncomfortably bereft as he watched Allin sidle past Messire as the Sieur and his brothers advanced in matching step.
“Messire.” The Sieur D’Olbriot bowed politely and Temar returned the compliment.
“An unexpected turn of events,” was the best he could find to say.
“Indeed,” replied the Sieur. “Quite unforeseen.”
“Can you manage all the affairs of Kellarin by yourself?” demanded Esquire Camarl, his voice hovering between belligerence and concern.
“Not without your help,” replied Temar forthrightly. “I heard nothing forbidding me to ask anyone’s counsel.”
“There’ll be Houses queuing up to offer you advice,” said Camarl sourly.
“Then I will have to test it, to see if it’s as sound as the guidance you have always given me.” Temar hoped Camarl wasn’t going to sulk about this for long.