by Kim Wedlock
For a while Salus mulled his decision over in the carriage, but the details were shortly settled, repercussions established, and his mind soon tumbled onto the looming matter of the rapidly impending meeting.
He'd had no choice but to reel in his temper; Taliel's arrival had been a temporary buoy, but now the bitter mood that had plagued him all day dragged him even lower. Though he'd been vying for this audience for what felt like months, this had not been his making, and that fact had dogged him for the past two days, not least for the short notice. Meetings with the Crown were always scheduled at least a full month in advance, and authority heads were rarely invited. The fact that he'd been summoned in place of Malson meant that the matter was serious.
Though, he could make a guess easily enough: their 'dissatisfaction' had reached new heights.
But while his irritation warred with a begrudging nervousness, his heart was steadfast in its certainty. He was dealing with matters so much bigger than those they threw around across their vast and excessively polished tables, and acting against things they hadn't foreseen despite all of their celebrated wisdom. But while he knew, when it really came down to it, that their opinion meant nothing at all, he couldn't overlook the fact that they possessed a crucial power that he did not. There were more than a handful of situations in which political strength outmatched magical - not to mention that they held the purse strings.
But, summoned or not, he ultimately knew how this would go, and so his mind turned towards ensuring he got the best of the situation. It was, after all, a fine opportunity to observe the palace and the council for himself.
He'd thought hard on the evidence over those past two weeks, and had concluded that the Crown's attempts to send the Arana on nonsense tasks away from critical areas were intended to keep him from discovering the king's plot, to usurp Doana's throne from its child-queen by marriage. There was no other explanation for the backwards orders, unless he was prepared to admit that the Crown was entirely inept, which he found himself unwilling to do. That surprised him, but no one could happily stomach the thought of a country in the hands of a single moron, let alone a whole flock of them.
He would see what he could find. He was duty-bound to do so.
Resolve drew him up taller in his seat, then he irritably tugged the hem of his gold-trimmed doublet back down. Salus wasn't unaccustomed to costumes, but the palace always demanded the worst. Apparently nobles were offended by practicality.
The royal district passed indifferently outside, growing more ornate and self-involved with every turning along the swept roads. The people paraded importantly in their regalia, though not one had anywhere worthwhile to go, moving in close groups thick with gossip they made no attempt to keep among themselves.
Like the stately district, secrets here were not kept under silence, but beneath garish claims and displays of wealth. Their nature, too, was just as frivolous - but nothing that couldn't be useful. Nobles heard their share of rumours, a good many of which were born of truth, and blackmail was so common across the richest districts that his own subordinates used the tactics openly and effectively without drawing suspicion. And such dissipated people would do and tell a great deal to keep an affair, debt or disgraceful child from ruining their social status. It was a ridiculous and valuable practice.
The buildings were just as ostentatious, needlessly grand and overdone, and seemed to get bigger the closer they were to the palace. But the palace itself overshadowed them all from its position atop the hill, standing in a strange combination of elven elements - twists, braids and elegant curves - and simple, angular human, all of which had been painstakingly carved by hand from the stone, without a spell in sight. That was something Salus felt he could be proud of, despite the people within it.
The road took its final turn, and the carriage began its ambling climb up the long avenue. Buildings gave way to gardens, walls to hedges and trees, city guards to imperial, and the number of carriages thinned. Dramatic iron gates opened in time with the horses' pace, and they followed the empty road towards a second pair which opened into a vast, green courtyard. At the foot of the excessive stone stairs that preceded every palace, the carriage drew to a slow, dignified stop.
Salus looked out at it wearily. Beneath the enormous doors made to accommodate egos, a primly dressed valet stood waiting upon the third step. He recognised the unaged man from his last visit, and suspected again that he'd been born with a crick in his neck. Either that or there was a rather short puppet string fixed to the end of his nose.
The carriage door swung open at the hand of the coachman, and he stepped out onto the swept, slushy road with all the pomp that was expected of him. The cold soaked far too quickly through his flimsy doeskin boots, but he showed no trace of it. There were a number of court-goers milling around outside, and each to a one cast him an uninterested look even while their eyes tried hungrily to work out his trade and cast their judgements.
He didn't entertain them with even a glance, and felt the deflation, insult and rising enmity spreading quickly around him with every step. Behind his lofty and disinterested grimace, he was quite enjoying himself.
The valet bowed deeply as he ascended towards him, and Salus returned it with the expected nod once he stood one step above. Salus knew that the bow was meant in mockery - every bow that was not to a member of the royal family was subtly limned in satire - but Salus suspected that he was just as aware of the derision in his own. There was a mutual disrespect between them, but malicious on neither side. Salus could see right through the poor fellow and pitied his weary, prostrated existence, regardless of his substantial wages.
The middle aged man straightened and his nose returned to the air. "If my lord would follow me..." He turned without waiting for a response and began back up the steps, free of haste despite his lack of a coat, as either might appear unseemly, and Salus duly followed, continuing to ignore the stares.
A wall of heat hit him the moment he stepped through the doors. A colossal fireplace burned at the head of the foyer, consuming wood like it was oil, and cast a welcome glow across the uncountable gold surfaces. The flowers that filled every vase had been swapped for deep winter colours of summer blooms, as though to avoid offending any royal sensibilities, and he was sure for a moment that he smelled cinnamon.
Salus decided to spare himself the headache of thinking about it and followed the valet up the winding, sprawling staircase.
All too soon he was drawn to a stop outside one of the many meeting chambers, its twin doors framed by two imperial guards, neither of whom paid him any outward attention. The valet knocked upon the engraved mahogany with a practised weight, and at the muffled call of admittance, opened the door with a deep and ceremonious bow which was, to a careful eye, another perfectly hidden mockery aimed at anyone who might feel important enough to deserve it.
Salus steeled himself and stepped inside, and immediately fell under the glacial stares of twelve pairs of imperial eyes, already peering down their noses at him before the latch fell back into place. Instinctively, he drew himself up to meet them, and tightened his hold over his rapidly spiking fury.
"Keliceran," the gilded man at the head of the table began as Salus bowed sardonically and took his place in the furthest seat. The man's voice was a sneer, no attempt made to hide his dislike or distrust, and the others present peered at him in much the same cavalier manner. Here sat the royal council, the Crown in absence of the king's presence, and they each bore their authority far too easily. The head councillor looked shortly back to his parchments to further the deliberate affront. "Thank you for coming."
"It is my honour."
Not one of them replied, too busy perhaps trying to locate the sarcasm in his perfectly tempered tone. He looked across them neutrally and, one by one, they turned warily towards the council's head, who still seemed absorbed in the papers. "We're all busy men, so I'll step to the point: the Arana is slipping." He glanced up, then, no doubt to see how the statemen
t had landed, but Salus offered him nothing. His dark eyes narrowed and he straightened in his seat, turning his full attention onto the commander of The Crown's Fang in another attempt to intimidate. "Too little information is coming in, and what does is often too late. You've provided us nothing at all with which to take the upper hand - the stalemate went on for far too long, and when Moore finally moved, Doana were gone, and none of your people had seen it."
"Moore's reluctance to move was not our doing," Salus replied coolly. "We provided what we could, and he chose not to act on it."
"But it was your doing that allowed Doana to slip in in the first place."
"We are not the only ones who are supposed to be watching the borders."
"Kalokh also slipped in."
"After you ordered us away." He stifled his victory at the wave of darkened, foolish looks that passed along the table, and didn't miss the lack of any attempt to deny it. "I admit," he continued with perfectly feigned deference, "I've been unable to work that one out, but it is my duty to obey the commands of the Crown, and I trust that the reason will become evident in time."
"You might think to hold your tongue, Keliceran," the council head rebuked, straightening the gold-hemmed sleeves of his perfectly pressed robes. "You are adept at pointing the finger, and had you been employed among the court scribes, it might well be your job to devise excuses. But you are not. It is, rather, to provide the information that His Majesty's enemies would prefer to keep hidden so that we might turn it against them - or prevent them from turning it upon us. But instead you make covert strikes that get two out of three of your men killed, deliver nothing of use, and allow them to overrun us while we're weakened by internal affairs!"
"The Order is a hazard--"
"It is not your business to discuss the Order. The Arana is the subject upon the table at this moment--"
"Perhaps you have your priorities muddled, my lord, but the Order has made it clear that they will tear this country apart and they're undoubtedly going to use the distraction of the war to do it."
"Is this information, Keliceran, or guesswork?"
Salus bit back his snarl.
The councillor straightened with the slightest smile of victory. He was terrible at hiding it. "I thought as much."
"What is the White Hammer's role in all this?"
"The White Hammer does not concern you, their interest with the populace lies within the borders, the Arana's lies beyond."
"And yet the Arana is still expected to provide information on enemy forces within while we're being sent beyond. And Moore's scouts, they can't do it?"
"The military does not concern you--"
"When the safety of the country is involved, everything concerns me."
The councillor flashed him a look of poisonous consideration. "And yet," he spoke calmly, "the fact remains that the country has been invaded twice in four months."
And there it was. The bitter, stinging truth. No matter what conflicting orders he might remind them of, no matter what victories he had secured, no matter what the other authorities might be doing against it - no matter even their enemies' own covert skills - the country had been invaded, twice, and the Arana, who should have been the first to see it, hadn't been able to stop it.
He straightened in defence, but said nothing, raging internally at the councillor's most recent flicker of success.
"There is talk of dissolving the Arana."
And then, suddenly, he was standing beside himself, as though the words had knocked his consciousness clean from his body. He observed that endless moment with a strange detachment that was capable of noticing only the remarkable irony.
"But, many are against it as a permanent measure. Most say it is a necessary evil. Personally, I believe the Arana is due for restructuring. But it is not my decision alone to make. So, we have agreed to give you another chance." His eyes glittered with a subtle dare. Regaining himself, Salus did not stoop to it. "The Grey River has run dry. There is concern that some may try to use its route as passage. Ivaea, or the tribes. The Arana is to survey the area and report any and all movements."
Twelve pairs of eyes turned patiently upon him. His expression was mild as he stared back, thoughtful, as though already weighing the most suitable candidates. Privately, though, he was sceptical.
The region they proposed was empty, and for good reason: it was treacherous, not least for the chasm he'd steered through it himself, cutting off that very river, and more trouble than it was worth for even a desperate felon to reach. No one would use that sheer-sided river bed for travel, even had it been whole.
But, more than that, he had eyes among Ivaea. Recent evidence may have proven that lack of obvious motive meant nothing at all, but Ivaea were embroiled entirely in their own affairs, with no resources to pour into a surprise assault. They were in no position to attack them. The tribes, too, had been almost eradicated within Turunda, and they had no reason to come further inland.
The suggestion had been pulled from the soles of their boots. And it was, he felt, not the first.
Any recent orders he'd obeyed had happened by chance, missions he'd assigned on his own initiative and only received official orders for up to four weeks later. But though he knew watching the ravine was a waste of resources, this time, he would obey - and if this was an attempt to probe the Arana's skills, then he would use it to probe the Crown's intentions in return. Because this didn't add up.
Once again, it seemed as though the Crown was trying to divert their attention, if not outright remove them from the picture. The council seemed to be doing their best to keep him in the dark on the other authorities, too, even though it was far from unreasonable that he should ask after the military given the present state of affairs. It was as though they wanted to keep the two apart. And he still had no explanation as to why Moore had taken such a ridiculously long time to move - and why, when he finally had, Doana had already vanished without the Arana's knowledge. Suddenly, it all seemed too convenient.
Despite himself, he was curious. So he would obey this command - but he would do so cautiously. And he wouldn't waste one of his best on jumping through the Crown's hoops.
The councillors continued to watch him. None of his thoughts had shown through, so he smiled obligingly. "Whatever the Crown wishes. But it is a secluded place - it will take some time to get to, and it will be troublesome in this weather."
"You will manage."
"What about our funding?"
"Earn it."
Salus's expression didn't waver.
The head councillor returned curtly to his parchments, sparing not even a glance as he proceeded to dismiss him.
With perfect composure, Salus stood, bowed briefly, turned, and left, stepping silently out through the door which had opened in perfect time, as though the valet had been waiting outside with his ear up against it. Wrapped in a veil of crystalline thought, he allowed him to lead him back to his carriage.
His suspicions were gaining ground. He would handle Malson more meticulously now, and would soon find his answers. The Crown had been vague, using disdain as an excuse to withhold all the details - a foolish choice to make when dealing with a man trained in uncovering the truth, but such was the Crown, and such was he. It was not so straight-forward. But they had at least been right about one thing: the Arana was due for restructuring - but that was a matter that only he was qualified to oversee it. And oversee it he would. It would happen on his terms. And it would begin in just over an hour.
That hour couldn't come soon enough. With all need for decorum and finesse lost, he stormed through the Arana's halls, stopping only to change his ridiculous attire, and stood now in the oppressive safety and mastery of his office in front of seven stalwart faces, expressions and eyes tempered to steel, nailed to the furthest wall. And so few. Before him half of the Arana's mages - and one had recently been lost to a sudden attack in their very own city.
His mages were valuable; he couldn't afford to lose a
ny others, but more crucially, he couldn't afford to lose their loyalty. Without loyalty, their power was a risk, and how could he possibly rely on them to strike true in the face of Koraaz, a half-elf demon, if they were not loyal and dedicated?
His eyes panned over them, evaluating them intensively, one by one. None looked back nor showed discomfort, not even when he finally addressed them, his voice clear but weighted and retaining even now a degree of bite from his ordeal with the council.
"No mage has ever been allowed to ascend beyond the ranks of phidipan. For decades, you have been prevented by blood from reaching your potential, because past kelicerans have never trusted you. Yet they readily used your magic as a tool and ignored your every other skill, like using a knife to butter bread rather than to cut, stab or sever. Over time, the blade will dull until all it can do is butter bread." An edge crept into his eyes, and his tone heated with resolution. "Today, that changes. Today, I give you the chance to excel. Today, each of you is being given the opportunity to become the first portian mages. Whether you embrace that opportunity or not is entirely in your hands."
Nothing disrupted the stillness of the room. There was no excitement, nor uncertainty.
Teagan watched impassively from the side as Salus stepped towards Erran. A 'breaker' - an expert in torment and the ripping of secrets. He was his most trusted magic-wielder. He'd been teaching him how to utilise his own long before Liogan had imposed herself, and there was no one he would rather gift with the honour of being the first.
The black haired mage didn't move when he stopped in front of him, and yet somehow stood both taller and straighter, and there came only now the slightest trace of anticipation. "Erran - will you accept it?"
"Without question, Keliceran." He spoke calmly. Absolutely. There was no doubt that his training would take perfectly.
Salus stepped then towards the shorter man beside him, much rounder, and common in every way. He was often overlooked and taken for a fool, and he used that to his advantage. He overheard much and was quick to find his mark, he cast flawless distractions and always took his targets by the sheerest surprise. He was also much faster than he looked. Here was a mage who could deceive other casters. "Roland - will you accept it?"
