In the House of Five Dragons
34. On the Lyceum Floor
“Emperor Tychon unified the world into a single great empire and then created the Lyceum to grant a voice to each province, to their care and causes, needs and many, many complaints. After listening to so many arguments, one might ask why he bothered conquering the world in the first place.”
— From After Njorn Pass, by Alexander Ferro
“Lord Mazrem! My lord, please wake up.”
Rikard sat and rubbed the sleep-sand from his eyes. Bastil stood at the bedside and held out a folded parchment. The broken wax seal was stamped with a lion’s head.
“What is it?” Rikard asked. Beside him, Laurael stirred in her nest of thick, soft blankets.
“Emperor Tychon has summoned you to answer to him before the Lyceum, Lord Mazrem. He says that you have failed to follow an imperial order,” Bastil said. The aging steward’s voice and thoughts were sharp with worry. “It just arrived. You’re to be there at noon to present yourself.”
“What is this, Rikard?” Laurael asked, propping herself up on a feather-stuffed pillow. She snatched the letter from Bastil and stepped down from the bed as she read it. “You refused an imperial command, my lord?”
“I didn’t refuse it, Laura. Not exactly. I just… ignored it.” Rikard looked at Bastil. “How long ago did this arrive?”
“Perhaps ten minutes, Lord Mazrem.”
“Thank you, Bastil. Will you let me explain this to Laura on my own?”
“Hae, my lord. Of course,” Bastil said. He inclined his head and went to the door.
“Bastil? Will you tell Thainna that I need to see her?” Rikard asked.
The steward nodded and left the bedroom. Rikard turned to his wife, who paced before the curtains. It was still early and the pale dawn leached the layered hangings of color. Laurael, too, was cast in stark blacks and white like a piece of art, a vase on a plinth fit for the imperial palace. She looked up from Tychon’s letter and cocked her head at her husband.
“What does this mean?” Laurael asked.
Her questions were accusatory, but not as angry as Rikard might have expected. He was curious and tempted to reach for Laura’s thoughts, but it was only two days since he had defended his absolute trust in her.
I will not make a liar of myself before Thainna.
“One of Castor’s messengers rode to the Star Court late yesterday,” Rikard said.
“Hae…?”
“Emperor Tychon doesn’t want me to cleanse the Erastrasus grain shipment.”
“Why not? Did you send him a response?”
“No,” Rikard told her. “This is too important not to do. People need that wheat.”
Laurael held out the letter toward Rikard. “Even as legens of VEIL, that was hardly your place. We all obey imperial commands. You cannot simply ignore them.”
Rikard took the letter and read it over.
“Tychon’s refusing to release the blighted grain to VEIL. Is that in his power?” he asked.
“Hae, more or less. Emperor Tychon leaves running his empire largely in the hands of the Lyceum. He sees only to greater issues of law and negotiation. The grain shipment falls under the control of the Lyceum consuls, but the emperor can call a vote on any issue he wishes.”
“A vote, not a royal command. So I must argue my case to the Lyceum,” Rikard said, nodding. “Hae? And so must he?”
“Again, after a fashion,” Laurael answered. “The emperor himself sits on the Lyceum and holds fifty votes of his own that he may cast as he wishes.”
“Fifty!” Rikard balled up the letter and flung it across the room. The crumpled paper bounced off the wall and rolled into a corner. “Fifty? Beside the VEIL generals, only one hundred men serve in the Lyceum!”
“A Lyceum vote rarely goes against the emperor, but it has been known to happen. If it did not, Tychon would have no need to fear that they might make you emperor.” Laurael picked the emperor’s summons up from the floor and handed the wad of parchment back to her husband. “But that is not the vote today. You must plead your case eloquently, my lord.”
“Hae, Laura. I will.” A small knock turned Rikard’s head toward the door. “Thainna? Come in.”
The foster came into the room and bowed. Thainna was getting better at it. Her long red hair was still tousled by sleep. She nodded to Laurael and smiled at Rikard.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Hae. It’s time to cut out the stitches, I think.”
Thainna blinked slowly and she swallowed hard.
Do you know how to do it? she wondered.
Hae, I’ve done it a few times on campaigns.
Like this? An image coalesced in Thainna’s mind.
That’s right. Just like cutting a seam.
Rikard sat down on a stool beside the curtained columns of the bedroom’s open wall and hooked his hand behind his neck to keep the arm clear of Thainna’s work. The skin stretched taut, but the pain was nearly gone. It barely even itched. Thainna’s medicine had done its job well.
The foster dropped her satchel on the floor and fished out a short knife with a slender blade. Carefully, she worked the point under the first stitch until the thread snapped. When she picked it free, a bead of bright red blood welled up. Thainna wiped it away with a square of soft cloth and the pinprick remained clean.
“Good,” Rikard told her. “It’s healed solid.”
“It looks like it left a scar. I’m sorry.”
Rikard shrugged. A knight without scars was one who never took any chances. He could have struck a deal with Flickerdim or Jingleblack to remove them, to smooth his skin like wiping the lines from a Nahom sand garden. It was certainly easier than restoring five hundred tons of poisoned wheat, but counted for so much less. The scar would cost Rikard no mobility and wouldn’t hurt once the stitches were gone.
Laurael pursed her full lips.
“I believe that I will leave such bloody pursuits in your capable hands, mana,” she told Thainna. “Be sure to dress before you go to the Lyceum, my husband. I’ll send Bastil to tell Gaius. He will find you there.”
“Hae, Laura,” Rikard said.
Laurael cinched her wrap tighter and crossed the hall to one of her frilly dressing rooms. One by one, Thainna carefully cut and removed the stitches from Rikard’s side. When she finished, he stood and swung his arm in an experimental circle. The spot felt raw, but that would fade in a few hours. Rikard thanked Thainna and dressed himself in the saela folded on a chest at the end of the bed. Bastil must have brought it. Rikard hadn’t even noticed. The man was astonishingly efficient.
“What’s all this about the Lyceum?” asked Thainna.
“Emperor Tychon doesn’t want VEIL to cleanse the Erastrasus wheat shipment.”
Thainna blinked and furrowed her pale brow. “So he’s fighting you, just like Gaius said that he would. Did the emperor give you a reason?”
“Only that it might be dangerous. I have to plead my case to the Lyceum in a few hours.”
“The Lyceum? You’re legens of VEIL. Don’t you have a seat on the council?” asked Thainna.
“I don’t think so,” Rikard answered. “There hasn’t been a legens of VEIL for more than a century and the Lyceum was formed only about thirty years ago. I don’t think that there’s a precedent for a legens vote.”
“Are you nervous?”
Rikard finished with the buttons on his saela and pulled on his boots. He considered Thainna’s question carefully.
No, I don’t feel so.
He felt Thainna’s curious, questing touch against his mind. She wasn’t as practiced as even a young Alterran, but she was learning quickly how to reach for Rikard. He glowed warm with pride. It had taken him months of painful practice to learn the Alterran speech from Flickerdim.
You’re so happy that Gaius actually agreed to bleed into your pact that you don’t care about much else, Thainna thought. You should be careful of the Lyceum.
I can see no reason they would not want this done.
I don’t know. The Lyceum is a complicated place.
“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Rikard asked.
“I can’t,” Thainna said. “Lyceum sessions are closed. Unless I’m summoned in your letter, too, I can’t go with you.”
Rikard recovered the crumpled letter and then smoothed it out against the curved side of a column.
“No,” he said when he had read over the entire thing twice. A third time, just to be sure. “There’s no mention of you.”
“Do you know what you’re going to say?”
“Just the truth.”
“You’re going to be talking to politicians,” Thainna pointed out. “It might take more than that. Tell me what you want to say to them. No, don’t think it at me. It has to make sense in words.”
Over a breakfast of fruit and honeyed water, Thainna convinced Rikard to rehearse what he planned to say to the Lyceum. They sat under the window, in the lengthening rectangle of orange morning light. By the time Rikard asked a hostler to bring a chariot to the gate, Thainna seemed confident that her ward would not sound like a madman in front of the most influential council in the world. She walked with him down the hill to the gate. The Lyncean guard, Karl, waved to Thainna and saluted his lord.
“Bastil says you’re going to the Lyceum today, sir,” Karl said. He still wore the fading bruises of their fight, Rikard saw with shame.
“Hae,” Thainna answered. “Emperor Tychon’s giving him some washy drip about the Erastrasus grain and now it’s on the Lyceum to decide.”
Karl frowned. “That sounds serious, Lord Mazrem.”
“I’m sure the Lyceum consuls are reasonable men,” Rikard said.
Karl didn’t look convinced.
At the gate, a violet and blue-black kajja clawed restlessly in the traces of a chariot. Rikard stepped up inside and flicked the reigns. The long-legged bird leapt forward and carried his chariot out into the street. To guess by the lack of fading summer flowers and burnt incense, Bastil had finally ordered the offerings outside the gate cleaned up, but there were dozens of fresh ones. Those who had left them cheered at Rikard as he passed.
He made good time out of the Everstones and into the heart of the city. The cobbled street led Rikard in a curving arc, then joined another wider road that encircled a vast plaza like a champion’s wreath.
Mazrem Square.
Rikard heard the name — his name — in the thoughts of a wagoneer driving nearby, again from the minds of a knot of students in white tabbae, and then from a lawyer hawking his services on the marble steps of his office. Rikard slowed his chariot with a thought to his kajja and steered closer in for a better look.
Who had named this place? The huge plaza was as round as a wagon wheel, paved in smooth white marble, and artfully strewn with stone benches shaded under the spreading branches of laurel trees. There was a theater only slightly smaller than the one in the imperial palace along one side, a stepped arch like a half moon pressed deep into the ground.
Rikard’s chariot lurched to a stop. In the center of the plaza rose a tall statue, ten times life size, handsome and well-crafted.
That… that’s me, he realized.
Rikard laughed and slapped his palm against the wooden antyx of the chariot. There was something unaccountably funny about staring at himself, towering over the center of Dormaen with such a munificent expression on his alabaster face, like looking in some sort of mad mirror. He didn’t look at all like that!
With a final shake of his head, Rikard urged his kajja back out into the road and followed the directions Thainna had remembered for him to a starkly regal white building. A young hostler hurried out from the deep colonnade, bowed and took the kajja’s reins. Rikard thanked the boy and made his way to the tall beechwood door. A dozen armored soldiers snapped to attention.
“Legens Mazrem, sir!” they said.
“Are they ready for me in there? To speak with me?” he asked.
“Not yet, sir. Not all the consuls have convened yet,” answered one of the guards.
“Who are they waiting for?”
The first soldier opened his mouth to answer and then nodded. Rikard felt his son’s thick, smoke-sounding presence just a moment before he heard the trilling call of his kajja and the creak of leather-covered wheels. Gaius jumped heavily down from his chariot and strode to the doors. The guards saluted again and reached for the handles, but Gaius held up his hand and they stopped.
“But they’re waiting for you, Lord Mazrem,” said one of them.
“They can wait a little longer. Father, let’s have a few words.”
Gaius pulled Rikard to the other side of a bronze-banded white column and crossed his arms over his clean black saela. Rikard smiled at his son. It was good to have Gaius by his side.
“This isn’t going to be easy for you, Father,” said Gaius. “Unless you can persuade about three-quarters of the Lyceum to vote with you, all of your planning isn’t going to mean dust. I warned you about this.”
Gaius’ tone didn’t match his words.
“You’re… not worried,” Rikard said.
“Bloody hell, why should I be? This is your crusade, not mine,” Gaius answered cheerfully. “If the Lyceum doesn’t release the Erastrasus grain to you, then no one has to make any agreements with the Alterra. I’m sure not lining up to bleed for them.”
Rikard frowned. Gaius clapped him on the shoulder.
“See you inside, Father.”
Gaius let one of the guards escort him into the Lyceum. A few minutes later, a pair of soldiers found Rikard and saluted.
“They’re ready for you now, sir.”
Rikard nodded and followed them through the doors. Beyond was a single vast room, circular with an arched ceiling made up of hexagonal tiles, each one of them carved with provincial crests and scenes of historical importance. A hundred serious-looking men perched on tiered seats around the Lyceum’s edge, surrounding Rikard.
It was not unlike a pristine white arena. But here, battles were fought with words, not swords or blood.
In the center of the chamber and flanked by twenty knights in armor of midnight black, Emperor Tychon sat on his great golden throne. Whispers filled the Lyceum like an autumn wind rustling with leaves. A herald banged a tall, lion-headed staff on the stone floor. The room quieted.
“Legens Rikard Mazrem, the Lyceum of the Carcaen Empire calls you to answer allegations of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Castum Tychon. The Erastrasus shipment will remain in the vaults until the matter reaches resolution,” he announced. “Legens, please take your seat.”
With his gilded staff, the herald gestured to a chair in a box just below the tier where Gaius and the VEIL generals were gathered. Rikard saluted the throne and sat. Overhead, Saul leaned forward and clapped his hand on Rikard’s shoulder.
“Tychon will present his case first, but then you’ll be able to answer him,” he said. “Gods’ luck, Rik.”
Rikard thanked his friend quietly and looked up at the other VEIL knights. Gaius sat back on his tier, feet propped on the low wall that separated it from the drop to the Lyceum floor. Hern studiously avoided looking at Rikard. Castor watched the emperor closely. The Sun Court general felt eyes on him and looked down at Rikard.
We warned you about this, you treacherous ghost, he heard Castor think, as clear and sharp as a shard of glass. You will make us all look bad. You will dishonor and discredit all of VEIL.
Emperor Tychon stood. His ornately folded tabba was so heavy with gold thread and jeweled beads that it threatened to drag its aged master to the ground. Rikard barely suppressed a childish desire to ask Stumble to give the garment a little help. The whole thing was like some kind of twisted play, a show just like the Fiori on Tychon’s stage — the emperor of Carce squabbling with his own knights over whether or not to let his people starve!
“Consuls of the Lyceum, honorable servants of the empire,” Tychon intoned gravely. He was calm and commanding. In that moment, it was easy to remember the bold young king of Carce that conquered the entire world.
“As you all well know, the recently promoted Legens Mazrem has requisitioned the spoiled Erastrasus shipment. Five hundred tons of wheat and millet that you put under lock to avoid contamination of other city stores. With the blood of seven thousand other knights, he claims that he can cleanse the blight from the grain. While we thank the noble legens on behalf of the Carcaen Empire for the greatness of his heart, we yesterday commanded him to desist in this action.”
Though the consuls were surely aware of Tychon’s order, a fresh wave of whispered gossip rippled through the Lyceum. Emperor Tychon stepped down off the dais and walked a slow line across the polished floor. His long gold tabba fanned behind him like a gilded peacock’s tail.
“The legens’ gesture is too dangerous, consuls. It’s been too long since VEIL has practiced with their Alterran pacts. And why should they? A price of blood and self is too high to pay in a time of peace. And we are at peace. Legens Mazrem knows better than most the danger of a major pact. Seven thousand knights, all with the best of intentions… But without the benefit of experience, men can make mistakes. All it takes is one.”
Tychon stopped in front of his throne and raised a single finger, holding it aloft and showing it to the Lyceum, then leveled it at Rikard.
“One knight banished every fighting man and woman in Fiore,” Tychon said, nodding in apparent respect at Rikard. “One man. Imagine seven thousand such men, and what a single mistake of blood may cost. Anything could happen. Anything. Dormaen might vanish in the blink of an eye, like the Fiori army. The danger to our knights and our empire is too great.
“The blight of the Erastrasus wheat shipment is lamentable. It makes up the single greatest part of our winter stores, but we will deal with its loss in the manner of men, not Alterra. We thank Legens Mazrem for all he has done for Carce, at Njorn Pass and here in Dormaen, but this latest sacrifice is not necessary or advisable. Consuls of the Lyceum, I call upon you to vote with me. With all respects to Legens Mazrem, the Erastrasus grain will remain sealed in the vault until its destruction.”
When he had finished, Tychon seated himself once more and smoothed his golden tabba. The shining color blended with that of his lavish throne until it seemed the emperor had almost fused with the royal seat. Not a man anymore, but a regal construct. A statue, Rikard thought, just like the one in Mazrem Square.
The herald boomed his staff against the Lyceum floor.
“Legens Rikard Mazrem, do you have anything to say before the Lyceum votes on the issue?” he asked.
“Hae, I do.” Rikard raised his voice to be sure that it carried, but some clever architect designed the Lyceum better than that and his voice echoed unpleasantly back on itself. Rikard stood and turned to face as many of the consuls as he could. He cleared his throat.
“Consuls, I’ve met many of you before, when you came to visit me. You thanked me for… for what you call my sacrifice. I traded my Terran lifetime for victory in Fiore. A victory, they say, that was instrumental in creating the empire. But it wasn’t a sacrifice, not in the sense you mean. I entered into my pact with full understanding of the risks. It was a glad trade, a willing one, and it won more for Carce than I ever dared hope.”
Most of the consuls regarded Rikard with frank curiosity. They didn’t understand how any of this related to the matter at hand. Their confusion was disorienting and Rikard wished Thainna were there with him.
“I am one knight of VEIL,” he said. “I was a captain of a small company in the smallest court. There were thousands like me, just men. Brothers to the Alterrans and servants of Carce. But in the decades since I saw them last, VEIL has… changed.”
The Lyceum murmured.
“I’m certain it’s impolite to say, or taboo, but I have been gone from your world for a long time. VEIL has grown soft. They have abused the strength of their swords and feared the strength of their blood.
“No longer. Now they remember! The knights of VEIL are eager to do this, to give of their blood and themselves for you, for Dormaen and all Carce. They know what is asked of them. Their sacrifice will keep thousands from going hungry this winter. Please, give them this chance! Let VEIL prove that this can be done, that we haven’t forgotten that we are servants, not masters. By this pact, we will prove our renewed vow to ourselves and to the people of Carce. Please, give us the Erastrasus grain.”
Rikard bowed his head to indicate that he was done speaking, but didn’t retake his seat. He sensed a storm cloud of questions about to open up and rain down on him.
A dozen consuls stood and the herald pointed to one of them with the golden lion head of his staff — a small, wiry Nianese man wrapped in the unadorned gray cloak of his homeland. He wore the deep hood pulled back in deference to the other consuls.
“Senior consul Liam Io of Nian,” announced the herald.
“Legens Mazrem, if you would address the emperor’s concerns for the safety of the city and its people…?” Liam asked.
Rikard recognized him as one of the first visitors Laurael had allowed him to see.
“Hae. I ask you to have faith,” Rikard answered.
“Faith, legens? In what, precisely?”
“In my knights and in the Alterra. It’s been so long since any real pacts that much has been forgotten. Intentions matter, consul. The Alterra are our brothers, not street-side merchants trying to cheat us of our money,” Rikard said. He drew his capped right forefinger through the air. “Dormaen will not vanish because I don’t want that. Because none of our knights do. Those of the Uprising need us as we need them. Have faith, Consul Io.”
Satisfied with Rikard’s answer — if not swayed by it — the Nianese consul nodded and sat. The herald pointed to another consul. This one was a tall, fat Yorallian in a crisp white tabba. He rumbled in the back of his throat before speaking.
“We hear and consider your assurances, Legens Mazrem,” he said in a deep voice. “However, for the safety of the city and her inhabitants, will you consider clarifying the grain shipment outside the city? On the far shore of the Mazren River, perhaps?”
“No,” Rikard replied promptly. “VEIL knights have threatened and struck civilians here in Dormaen. When Sir Gallard found me unconscious outside the Rows, he believed me drunk, that I had passed out from a night of excess. He was not surprised and neither was anyone else! It alarmed no one to see a VEIL knight drooling in the street. No, we must do this where all Dormaen may see. We owe it to Carce to make our renewal vows in their sight.”
“Where, then?”
“I believe that… that Mazrem Square would be a suitable location.” Rikard felt ridiculous even suggesting it.
The Yorallian consul leaned forward, frowning deeply. “Under the watchful eye of your own countenance?”
“It’s in the center of the city,” Rikard replied quickly. His face felt hot. “The plaza is large enough to hold seven thousand knights and five hundred tons of wheat. The… the scenery is beside the point. The city has grown a great deal since I knew it best, consul. Perhaps you can suggest a better place?”
“Unless you’ll consent to move outside the city, no.”
“I cannot. This must be public. It must be seen,” Rikard said with all the finality he could muster.
The round Yorallian pursed his lips and sat. With their questions asked by others and apparently answered, most of the other consuls sat. Only one remained standing, waiting for his chance to speak. The herald pointed at General Darius. Saul grinned at Rikard and winked.
“So when are we doing this, Rik?” he asked.
“Tomorrow, if the Lyceum will allow me.”
The herald glared at Saul and then rapped his staff three times. The sharp sound echoed through the chamber. “This session of the Lyceum will break for an hour recess that you may consider the matter at hand. All consuls and invested parties must reconvene at the hour’s close.”
The crowd of consuls drew into tight groups like water droplets on a waxboard. The other VEIL knights gathered around Rikard.
“Well said, Rik. You’ll have the vote, I’m sure,” Saul assured him.
“Not everyone is as easily swayed as you are, Darius.” Castor said. He looked at Hern. “What’s the vote look like?”
The Moon Court general shrugged. “I don’t know yet. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll ask around. Rikard, you should have agreed to do it outside the city. You probably lost a dozen votes on that alone.”
“Go gauge the vote, Nikas,” Gaius said.
General Hern gave the younger knight a mild look. Rikard felt Nikas’ annoyance at the dismissal, but none of it reached the Moon Court general’s face. Hern made his way across the Lyceum to speak to the other consuls. Castor was no more pleased with Gaius’ tone and stood to one side, arms crossed over his chest and ignoring his fellows. Saul smiled sheepishly and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Not much to do now except wait,” he said.
Rikard turned to Gaius, but his son was already deep in his own thoughts, watching Nikas Hern move through the grouped consuls. Emperor Tychon waited on his lavish throne, tapping his fingers on the gem-encrusted arm and occasionally murmuring to his guards.
Most of the interminably long hour had passed before Hern returned. The Moon Court general gave Rikard a pointed look.
“Insisting that the pact ritual take place in Dormaen lost you a lot of votes,” he reported. “It will be close, but you’re going to lose.”
“What?” Rikard protested. “But the cleansing poses no risk to anyone!”
Saul scuffed his boot on the floor and muttered an oath. “Are you sure about it, Nikas?”
“Including the VEIL vote, which is outside the consul hundred,” he explained for Rikard’s benefit, “that’s about seventy in favor. But with the emperor’s vote, something like eighty against.”
“They can’t do this,” Rikard said. “Can’t they see that we all need this? We’ll feed Dormaen and restore the people’s faith in VEIL!”
“You won in principle,” Saul assured him with a lopsided smile. “More than half of the consuls are voting with you. It’s just Emperor Tychon’s vote that’s the problem. The Lyceum believes in you, in us. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“We serve all Carce, not just her leaders! A philosophical victory won’t feed people starving in the Rows!”
Saul puffed out his cheeks and let out a slow, hissing breath. He shook his head, not sure what to say. Gaius still watched the rest of the Lyceum. With a thrust of his jaw, he indicated Liam Io.
“What’s his vote?” Gaius asked.
“Against,” General Hern said. “Munnan, Uthaille and Forcellus are voting with him, naturally.”
“Naturally?” asked Rikard. Politics. I have no head for this game!
“Liam’s an investor. Nian is a small province and doesn’t produce much worth trading. A few metalworks, but mostly they deal in money. They hold it, invest it and they’re very good at it,” Gaius explained. Rikard was the only one in the whole huge room who didn’t already know this. “Munnan and Forcellus are from Corvo. They invest their provincial products with Liam and usually make a tidy profit doing it. Uthaille’s the junior Fiori delegate. It’s never been a rich nation. Everything they have is banked in Nian. All three will follow his lead, but Liam’s typical Nianese. He plays everything very close, very safe.”
“Nian didn’t survive seventeen Lyncean invasions by taking unnecessary risks,” Castor noted. “Liam Io won’t gamble on us.”
“That’s because he’s thinking with his head, not his wallet,” said Gaius.
Just then, the herald banged his staff and called the Lyceum back to order. Rikard slumped in his seat. All he wanted was to help VEIL, to help Terra and Alterra heal! He never guessed that someone might truly want to stop him.
Gaius and Castor warned me that the emperor would fight me, but I didn’t think anyone would actually side with him!
Still, Rikard had convinced the majority of the Lyceum. Saul was right. It had to count for something… But the consolation was insubstantial as mist. Rikard put his face in his hands and felt Emperor Tychon’s glowing gloat of victory like a bright, hot flame.
“Consuls of the Lyceum, unless you have any further questions for the involved parties, it is now time to cast your vote,” the herald announced.
Rikard heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Gaius raise his hand. The herald gestured and Rikard’s son stood.
“A few final words before we vote. I believe in all that my noble father’s trying to accomplish. Letting our knights feel good about themselves, feeding the city and earning back their trust. All of that. But the legens has been out of the world for a while. There’s another issue at stake that he didn’t discuss,” Gaius said. He paused significantly and looked up at Liam Io. “Money. Even before the entire shipment was blighted, no one planned to give that wheat away. The Erastrasus shipment was bound for sale and had a number of investors.”
The Nianese consul sat forward, listening carefully. Beside and behind him, his allies glanced at each other, curious.
“A lot of investors lost a great deal of money when the shipment went sour,” Gaius went on. “However, if Legens Mazrem and our knights can restore the grain… Well, come winter, people will want to eat and they’ll pay good money to do so. All we need to do is make sure they have something to buy, hae?”
Gaius sat. Emperor Tychon stared after the VEIL captain, fury in his eyes. The herald saw his emperor’s anger, too, and hesitated.
“Do you have any additional response, Majesty?” he stammered.
Tychon shot him a venomous look and said nothing.
Reluctantly, the herald called the vote. “All in favor of granting VEIL, under the leadership and at the command of Legens Rikard Mazrem, access to the Erastrasus wheat, please rise. Those in opposition, remain seated.”
One after another, consuls rose to their feet, including Liam Io. A pair of clerks, one seated at a desk on either side of the Lyceum, counted out those standing and recorded their numbers on waxboards. After they compared their numbers, one of the clerks wrote the final count on a scroll of paper and delivered it to the herald, who glanced nervously at the smoldering Emperor Tychon again.
“The… the final count is seventy-eight for, twenty-six and the imperial vote against, for a total of seventy-six. The measure is carried in favor. Legens Mazrem, the Lyceum releases the full five hundred tons of Erastrasus grain to VEIL. A courier will deliver the storehouse key to the Star Court archouse by the day’s end.”
Rikard was stunned. He stood on legs that felt like water-filled sacks. His mouth was dry, but he managed to speak. “Thank you, noble consuls. We will repay the faith you have shown in us!”
A chorus of praise, suggestions, condemnations and answering thanks were indecipherable as the consuls shouted over one another. They died away in an instant, replaced by tense silence as Emperor Tychon separated himself from his gold throne and stood. Tychon stared intently at Rikard, saying nothing. Then the emperor spun on his heels and stalked away, out of the Lyceum. His guards hurried to follow.
“He’s not going to forget that anytime soon,” said Gaius.
Rikard had to agree.
Everyone had questions. A handful of the consuls hurried from the Lyceum, chasing after the emperor, but most remained to speak with Rikard and the other VEIL knights. Did they truly mean to act so soon as tomorrow? How did VEIL plan to distribute the grain when it was cleaned? How would legens coordinate seven thousand blood pacts? Would Rikard scribe his blood, too? Did their act require the actual presence of the Erastrasus shipment, or would it remain in the Lyceum storehouse until it was cleansed?
“Intentions matter, as I said,” Rikard explained. “Alterrans don’t eat as we do. They have little understanding of what healthy wheat should be, just as they would if we were healing a person. Without our guidance, they could turn that wheat into sand. Hae, we will need to cart the blighted grain into Mazrem Square so that the knights entering into this pact will be able to see it, to… to understand it for the Alterra.”
“So with the appropriate guidance, Alterrans could turn wheat into gold, hae?” Liam asked.
“They could, but how long until that entirely ruined the value of your gold, consul?” Gaius said.
The Nianese representative surrendered the point with a nod and then took Gaius aside to work out the details of hauling the grain. After all, Liam pointed out, as an investor, he had an interest in making sure the shipment arrived safely in Mazrem Square. Rikard watched Gaius with growing pride. His son was a clever man. Without his help, Rikard would have never wrested an agreement from the Lyceum.
A chilly presence jerked Rikard’s attention back up out of this own thoughts. Castor stood at his elbow.
Rikard nodded. “Thank you for your vote today, Castor.”
“Honor demanded that we put forth a unified front,” the Sun Court general said quietly. “You are my ranking officer and this is what you have commanded us to do. It would undermine your efforts if I voted differently.”
“Do you believe in what we do, Castor?”
“I want the Sun Court restored to a position of honor, legens. We were the guardians of the imperial person. There is no higher calling.”
Rikard didn’t think so, but now didn’t seem the time to argue.
“I will follow my orders,” Castor said. “I’ll be there tomorrow and I’ll bleed.”
“Thank you, General Castor. It will be an honor,” said Rikard gravely.
Castor pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line and pushed his way through the crowd, out of the Lyceum. Nikas Hern waited not far away and actually smiled at Rikard for the first time since he first woke up in the Moon Court archouse.
“Well, even Castor’s agreed to this pact,” he said. “His sense of honor is just as unbending as yours, I suppose. I think it broke his hard old heart when you stole the Lyceum vote from Emperor Tychon.”
“I stole nothing,” said Rikard stiffly.
Nikas’ smile deepened until it looked like the white crescent of his court. “Figuratively only. It was close. Anyway, I suppose it was Gaius who did the stealing. I trust you won’t be offended when I say that you never would have thought of the financial angle.”
“Hae, you’re right.”
“I confess that I’m surprised that Gaius argued on your behalf. Your family is a rich one and Gaius certainly wouldn’t have been facing an empty plate at year’s end.”
“He surprised me, too,” Rikard admitted. “Earlier, he said that he wouldn’t mind losing the vote.”
Nikas arched an eyebrow and glanced back at Gaius, who was arguing with Liam about some detail of tomorrow’s shipment. “You must have said something good to make him change his mind.”
“I said nothing. The decision was his own.”
Nikas glanced at Gaius again, and then shrugged. “I could not have predicted it, but I think you’ve had a good effect on your son, Rik. I’ll see you in the square tomorrow.”
“Will you bleed on the pact, then?” Rikard asked the general, surprised. “Will you actually commit to our road?”
“Hae,” Nikas said as though there had never been the slightest doubt. You won today, beat Tychon at his own game. I was wrong. Maybe you actually can change things, Rik.
“I can,” Rikard told him. “We can fix everything.”
Nikas stiffened. “You heard that, then?”
“I don’t mean to, but some thoughts are very summer… loud, I mean,” Rikard apologized. Nikas had never given him permission or trusted him so closely as Thainna did.
“It’s alright,” Nikas said, reassuring himself as much as anyone else. “You can’t help what you are now and you became that way in service to the empire. Tomorrow, Rikard. I’ll notify the Moon Court. Then I’ll go home and pour myself a stiff drink. An Alterran pact. Hae, I never thought I’d make another one of those.”
“It’s not a frightening thing, Nikas. We used to do it all the time.”
“Maybe we will again. One step at a time, Rikard. Some of us are old men and we can’t move as quickly as you.”
“I’m as old as you are, Nikas!”
The Moon Court general laughed quietly. “No, you’re not. You’re really not. But enjoy it.”
Rikard looked back at Gaius. “It’s so strange sometimes.”
“Hae, I can only imagine. Until tomorrow, my friend.”
Nikas embraced him firmly and then retreated. Rikard rejoined Gaius, feeling as though he was walking on clouds, something he hadn’t done since leaving Alterra. Gaius looked up at his father’s approach and nodded to the Nianese consul. Liam Io inclined his head to Rikard.
“Legens, the wheat will be delivered to Mazrem Square early tomorrow. It will be ready for your ritual an hour or so after noon. There’s a great deal of it to move and we can’t divert all of the street traffic on such short notice.”
“I didn’t argue the point too strenuously,” Gaius added with a smirk. “You want people to see what we’re up to. Keeping the roads clear might rather undermine your purpose.”
“I’m curious to see this done,” Liam admitted. “I’ll be in Mazrem Square tomorrow. My men and I will take care of distributing the grain when it’s palatable again.”
“You mean sell it.”
“We were the original investors, legens.”
“Don’t worry your noble heart, Father,” said Gaius. “The price of wheat was set three months ago when the Erastrasus first counted their harvest. Liam’s not going to cheat anyone. You’ve saved him considerable embarrassment and inconvenience, in fact.”
“Just so. I look forward to your ritual tomorrow, Legens Mazrem. Thank you for your time, captain,” Liam said to Gaius. “If you will excuse me, I have wagons to hire.”
When the consul was gone, Gaius turned back to Rikard.
“Think we’ve done enough damage here?” he asked. “Maybe we should collect Saul and get back to the Star Court. Seven thousand is a lot of knights to organize.”
“Hae, it is. Let’s go, then.”
They found Saul waiting outside, sitting at the base of a striped column and chewing on the stem of a pipe. He watched the people passing in the street outside the Lyceum. Saul took a few more puffs before tapping out the tobacco against the column’s plinth and then tucking his pipe away. He stood with a grunt, pressing his hands to the base of his spine.
“Got everything we needed, then?” he asked.
“Down to the last acorn,” Gaius confirmed. “Liam didn’t even try to talk up the price of the wheat. He’s amazingly eager to please, really. He’s only charging twenty-three willows for each wagon and drive team.”
“I wouldn’t know if that’s a good rate or not. I’ll take your word for it,” Saul said. He grinned. “You two won the day. All I had to do was vote. I’ll head on back to the Star Court and spread the word that you got us the grain. We’ll be ready tomorrow, Rikard. Why don’t you two drive home? I’ve got this in hand.”
“Thank you, Saul. Thainna will be so happy to hear of our victory,” Rikard said.
Saul laughed, saluted and headed for the stables to retrieve his chariot. Rikard and Gaius followed more slowly.
A thin film of clouds covered the sky, sunlit in brilliant and shining white like a bridal veil. Overhead, a ragged V of geese flew and honked raucously to each other as they made their southern journey. Rikard stopped Gaius outside the stables.
“What? I thought you were in a hurry to get back to your little foster,” Gaius said. He was just as sharp and sarcastic as ever, but Rikard felt no malice in his words.
“I couldn’t have gotten the wheat shipment without your help,” Rikard said. “You saved everything. Thank you. I would never have even considered the investors.”
The smile that lit up Gaius’ round face was like the sun rising.
“I know,” he said. “You’re far too straight-backed and honorable. It makes for great stories and statues, but it’s not at all practical.”
“It’s good that I have you, then.”
“Hae, lucky for you.”
