Several Syldoon stood up, shouting one thing or another, impossible to figure out as they spoke over each other. I was surprised the Emperor didn’t try to silence them, demand their acquiescence, but it seemed clear that the Syldoon handled things much differently than Anjurians. The Syldoon might have plotted against each other in the shadows, but here, there were no apparent repercussions for speaking plainly or giving voice to dissent.
Cynead waited the storm out, let them shout, and finally raised both hands. The hippodrome quieted again, and he said, “I will explain my plan to you. In time, and in detail. I have mapped out a way for us to all move forward, to achieve what we most need. But for today, I wanted to share one thing with you. I have discovered a way to save us from ourselves. To give us the time to build something, something that history will never forget.
“Our ambition is our greatest strength, as I said, but it all too often results in a dead or exiled emperor. And a new regime. And plans and counterplans from various Towers to undermine that one. And so on. It just won’t do. While the kingdoms around us are not our models or inspiration, there is one thing that they have that we do not, that creates stability, allows for far-reaching enterprise. They have monarchs who rule for life.”
There was booing and hissing from several quarters, longer and more pronounced than before.
Again, Cynead nodded as if he expected this, waited it out. And then he raised his voice. “Our culture, our rule, our very way of life rewards ambition and ruthlessness, ability and drive. But at the same time, our lack of stability prevents us from accomplishing all that we are able. Today, a new era begins. You see, today my rule is permanent.”
One Tower Commander stood and yelled, “You presume too much! Three years on the throne! Three! Call a Caucus after you’ve had it a tenyear!”
There was some laughter and another ruddy-faced Commander stood. “Let’s hear him out. What changes do you propose, Your Imperial Majesty?”
“Of course you want to hear him out, you halfwit lackey!” the first shouted.
Others stood and had their turn, those who supported the Emperor, and those who vehemently disagreed, though more often directing it toward the supporters than the Emperor himself. Still, I was amazed by the freedoms these once-slaves were afforded in expressing themselves. If they were in a kingdom assembly hall, some would have been branded traitors and clapped in irons.
I quickly figured out that hissing signified disagreement, whistling, consent.
Cynead raised his arms and held them aloft until the hippodrome fell silent again. “The Syldoon power has always been too equally dispersed. I’m not talking about our soldiers, you see, but the Memoridons. Every Tower, allotted their share. But until now, even I hadn’t been able to bring more of them into the fold. It was impossible. But no more. Today, anything is possible.”
And with that he clapped his hands once. And somewhere a gong sounded, or something like it, but muffled, as if it were behind several walls and far away. But there was no mistaking something ringing, reverberating, heavy, like brass or copper. I suddenly felt something strange, like a wind moving over us, though no breezed stirred. It was a hot gust that didn’t shift a single hair or ripple the canvas shade above. Several other Syldoon had felt it as well, as they sought the source, eyes wide in surprise or narrowed in suspicion. But they felt it.
In every pocket of Tower men around the hippodrome, each Commander suddenly reacted in much the same way as if violently struck in the head by some unseen thing, some falling into their comrades, others off their benches, and a few standing and teetering long enough for one of their captains to catch them.
And then the Memoridons who had been sitting in the back rows were slowly walking down the aisle between the benches, toward the dark earth and hippodrome track below. Some cast glances at their stricken Tower Commanders as they passed them. But most of them were staring at Cynead, many with faces blanched or jaw muscles bulging, some with open fear.
Mulldoos saw Soffjian as she passed and said, “Knew that bitch couldn’t be trusted. From the start.”
She ignored him, all of us in the Jackal Tower, and kept going.
Skeelana looked over at me though, and gave a wan smile, and I felt my stomach wrench. No one else seemed to notice, and then she was facing forward and following Soffjian to the track below.
Hewspear was helping Commander Darzaak regain his seat, and asked. “He has done this thing, hasn’t he? Not just here, but all of them?”
Commander Darzaak could only nod, the veins in his forehead thick and winding like gnarled roots, mouth clamped shut, face flushed.
Braylar looked at me and said, “Well. It seems he had a faster reader.”
I wanted to object that had he trusted me earlier, I could have made much more headway, or that perhaps he should have gathered his research in a more timely fashion. Or not killed the previous potential translator. But I held my tongue on all counts.
Though it wouldn’t have mattered if I hadn’t-the hippodrome erupted just then. The majority of the Syldoon attending stood and began shouting, cursing, shaking their fists and pointing at the Emperor. One even started to unwind the peace string on his sword, but before he got very far his Tower Commander ordered him to stop and two of his Tower brothers grabbed him to be sure he did.
But the Syldoon raged in near unison, all but the Commanders themselves, many of whom were still regaining their wits and sitting dumbly or with their heads in their hands.
Cynead had just accomplished something no emperor before had done-he seized control of all the Memoridons in Sunwrack. If the displays of power by Soffjian and Skeelana were any indication, Cynead’s scope was now unchecked. No amount of cursing would undo that, and anyone who dared draw steel would find themselves blasted into madness and death before they could take one step to use it. He had somehow managed to orchestrate the largest coup in Syldoon history without shedding a single drop of blood.
The Memoridons gathered around the dais, many looking confused or lost, glancing at each other uncertainly, back into the stands at their former Commanders, a few looking at the Emperor and looking away just as quickly. Soffjian, I noted, stared straight ahead, back rigid, eyes fixed on some section of stone directly in front of her.
With a nod from the Emperor, the hornblowers blasted out their notes, over and over until the Syldoon finally reined their rage in, quieting again, at least enough for Cynead to be heard. “I realize this comes as something of a shock. And I apologize for not delivering this news in easier fashion. But this is the way of things now. You lords assembled here command the entire might of the Syldoon armies. You are the body of the Empire. But I am its head. Someone said an Emperor commands only so long as strong enough to do so. True enough. And I assure you, I am now strong enough to command a very, very long time. Until dead, I’m afraid. Natural causes, of course.”
One of the braver Tower Commanders stood and said, “Thief. Coward. You stole what was ours by right, Cynead. But if you think that makes you safe, you’re mad.”