The Sword Saint

by C. F. Iggulden

  Reading those reports, Tellius felt he had come to know the man who called himself King Jean Brieland. The man’s struggle to bring Féal into the world had been like watching a canvas filling slowly with colour, or a child born still – until its heart beat and there it was, suddenly alive. As that beat had sounded, the prince had arrived in Darien. The kingdom of Féal called itself a nation, that was true. The man who ruled there wore a crown and took the name of king. Of course, anyone could, with soldiers and a few villages behind him. The rest was hard to gauge. From the beginning, the prince of Féal had argued for speed, pushing and needling them to make a decision. It was the hallmark of a con and Tellius had never lost that first hint of doubt.

  For a week, the council had argued and discussed the offer. Tellius still wondered at the pressures the prince had been able to marshal in his defence. Blackmail? Certainly. More than one of the lords had changed his vote with a face so bright red and humiliated it could only have been forced. Bribery seemed less likely, though Tellius thought Lord Aeris had probably been bought, perhaps Woodville as well. One by one, he had watched the votes turn with each session and each preliminary vote. Until they had deadlocked that morning, at six on both sides. There had been no give in any of them and Tellius knew he had won. A draw meant nothing changed – which meant they would not be signing any treaty with an unknown power. As they’d broken for lunch, Tellius had signalled he would hold a formal vote that afternoon, then send the prince of Féal away from Darien with their regrets. That formal vote would have been written into the records of the city, no more than a footnote. Now, Canis was gone and the deadlock of the morning was in pieces.

  ‘You call yourself a friend to this city,’ Tellius said slowly, ‘though you threaten us in the same breath. I wonder, if I stand against you, will there be knives waiting for me as I leave?’

  His words caused an intake of breath, though Lord Regis growled ‘Good man’ across the table. He had voted consistently against the proposal from the beginning.

  ‘I am appalled to hear such cynicism from the speaker of this council,’ Prince Louis responded, though he seemed utterly unruffled by the implication. As he began to go on, Tellius too rose to his feet, his voice growing stronger.

  ‘You come here with bribes and threats, to the free city of Darien. Telling us you want to secure a border and nothing more, that the alliance will be a trading agreement, with resources shared. Yet it will be your courts administering those trade agreements, your officials setting tariffs and licences to trade. Your king allowing all – and our free city will be just a vassal.’

  ‘You do not speak for the council,’ the prince of Féal said. ‘You are merely “the” speaker – and the oldest in this chamber. I offer trade, yes, and peace, yes – and how else would you negotiate between our great trading houses? Goodwill between competitors? I do not deny the role our courts will play. If you send us salt fish, must we take any standard? Or will you allow us to demand, assess – and then pay for – the best?’

  ‘Markets decide prices, not you. Yet the judgement remains with you,’ Tellius replied, shaking his head. ‘If there is a complaint, your courts will assess our goods, and then what? Fines? You expect us to believe you won’t beggar our merchants to promote your own?’

  The prince spread his hands in appeal.

  ‘Nations cooperate, even when a great one is facing a lesser competitor. I have asked for nothing you cannot afford to give. Don’t you see …’

  ‘So you do understand perfectly well! Do you think we are fools? If your courts interpret the law, they make the law!’ Tellius shouted over him. ‘At a stroke, you will have us place your courts over ours! You come here with lies spilling from your mouth. You ask for an alliance and promise nothing! You say your king desires a safe southern border. What is that to us? What do we gain?’

  ‘You gain our gratitude, and trade – and wealth beyond the dreams of this small table,’ the prince retorted. He looked angrier than he had to that point, with bright colour darkening his cheeks. His hand trembled as he jabbed a finger at Tellius. ‘And you gain safety. You gain the knowledge that you will not be considered our enemy.’

  Even as the prince spoke the threat, he understood he had gone too far. His expression changed subtly. With an effort of will, he smothered some of his own fire.

  ‘Yet we are not enemies. All I ask …’

  ‘Yes, you have said,’ Tellius replied. ‘All you ask is that your courts decide our right to trade – our laws. That your government will consider fining us if we do not follow those laws. I tell you, when another man makes the laws under which you must live, if you cannot amend those laws, you are a slave! That is what you ask. That is why we must refuse.’

  ‘I see the speaker is more obstinate than the noble families of the council,’ the prince said. ‘Well, call the binding vote, Master Speaker. See if you have the votes you need.’

  ‘Take your seat, Prince Louis of Féal,’ Tellius said. ‘We will not vote on this today. If you must truly leave tomorrow, it will be without a treaty.’

  There was a moment of stillness, then Lord Aeris cleared his throat. Tellius pressed his hands hard onto the oak table as he turned to face the lord whose traitorous brother had almost brought the city to ruin four years before. For most of the families at the table, their right to rule sprang from ancient ownership of a stone. Over the centuries, some had been destroyed, or taken as a spoil of war. Two or three stoneless families retained their seat on the council from a combination of vast wealth and stubbornness. Yet the Aeris family had been poor. When their stone had been lost, they’d made themselves soldiers, in hereditary command of five thousand men. It gave them status still.

  Four years before, an Aeris son had gambled his family honour and lost. He’d brought the legion against the city during the Reaper Festival. It had been a night of savagery and that particular general had not survived it. The Aeris legion had endured decimation as a punishment, one man in ten murdered by his friends. It was a stain on all those who sat at that table, but it was not forgotten and there were scowls when the young lord spoke. The current Lord Aeris seemed a lesser man than his brother, at least as far as Tellius could judge.

  ‘I think, Master Speaker, that we might test the waters here,’ Aeris went on. He would not meet Tellius’ eyes as he spoke. ‘I would like to move for a vote on this issue.’

  The man was not quite shameless in his refusal to look up, but Tellius let the contempt ring out in his voice.

  ‘You’d vote, with Canis dead in the anterooms? Are you the creature of this foreign prince, then, Lord Aeris? What did he offer you for your honour?’

  There was a grumble of anger from some of the other lords at that, along with a cry for Tellius to sit down. None of them were used to being spectators. They wanted to be heard.

  Tellius paused long enough to allow one of his clerks to whisper in his ear. He shook his head and murmured a few words, sending the man away at an unseemly pace.

  ‘I have been informed that Henry Canis has arrived in the building. He has the right to vote in his father’s place.’

  ‘How old is he, ten?’ Aeris demanded.

  Tellius shrugged.

  ‘If he was about to speak his first word, that word could be his vote, my lord Aeris. His father is dead. The boy is Lord Canis, from that moment.’

  ‘Has the royal physician pronounced the death, then?’ Lord Woodville said suddenly, forcing Tellius to turn his head from the seething Aeris. ‘I cannot accept some boy’s vote without even a certificate of death, acknowledged and accepted by this council. No, we are all here. I move we vote at once.’

  Tellius summoned another of his clerks for instruction, bending to his ear and sending him off at greater speed even than the last.

  ‘Seconded!’ Lord Aeris snapped. ‘The vote before this council is whether to accept a peace treaty with the kingdom of Féal. Terms as discussed this morning and yesterday and right back to the crack of record
ed time, as far as I can tell. Will you have us grow old and grey in this place, Master Speaker? Call the vote now. I cast mine for the treaty.’

  Tellius could feel the meeting slipping away from him in the smile that creased the prince of Féal, watching his every move. Almost as one, the gathered nobles looked for some sign of the new Lord Canis or the doctor’s death certificate on their way. The doors remained closed and every face turned to Tellius even as he exchanged a second silent communication with Lady Sallet and witnessed the tiniest of shrugs. He had done all he could, but the round was lost. There would be another ditch to die in, another day. Or so he hoped. He could not escape the sense that he and the fools in the Twelve Families had been squeezed tight, forced along a path they would regret, for a long time or a short one.

  ‘Vote!’ Lord Aeris called again.

  Other voices joined him, though they were all the ones who might support Féal in the treaty. Tellius said nothing, still caught in the simple prayer that the door would open.

  There was a crash at the back of the hall, revealing a young lad, his face still wet with tears. Though he wore the black of Canis house, he had never been touched by the stone in the way his father had. He wore his emotions openly, in the grief and confusion that wracked him. Tellius recognised the man at his side as the coachman who had helped carry his dying master. The man walked with one hand on the boy’s shoulder, lending Henry Canis his strength.

  Tellius took advantage of the interruption. He needed time.

  ‘My lords, there are formalities to be observed while the business of the council is suspended. Please stand to welcome Lord Canis to his seat at the table.’

  It was chaotic for a time. Some of the families stood as he asked, led by Lady Sallet, though she was pale with anger for the boy. Tellius saw her hand twitch on the swell of her dress. She wanted to comfort a weeping child desperately trying to do what he had to do, while his world lay in tatters.

  Lord Aeris sat down rather than seem to stand in support. A sharp gesture threw a sheaf of papers into the air, so that they settled like leaves in a gale. Through the angry voices of those used to their every word being obeyed, Tellius heard the words of the prince of Féal once more.

  ‘Has the vote begun, Master Speaker?’

  Tellius ignored it for a time, but Aeris picked up the cue and repeated it, hardly trying to hide his delight.

  ‘Has the vote begun, Master Speaker?’ Aeris bellowed, silencing the others.

  Tellius bowed his head. He knew the rules. He had written some of them.

  ‘It has begun, my lord Aeris. However, there are exigent circumstances. As with a fire, or a flood. Statute number thirty-four, my lord. I invoke that part of our charter and propose a halt, while the new Lord Canis swears his oath of loyalty to the city. Given the tragic reason for his entry to this hall, that would give honour to his family name. The alternative is dishonour to ours.’

  It was a challenge and Tellius saw Aeris colour and look away for a moment. Tellius shook his head slightly as he watched the man’s bounce return. The chin jutted a fraction and Aeris filled his lungs with air once more. What had the prince of Féal promised him? Or any of the others who had lent their votes?

  ‘Seconded,’ Lady Sallet said before Aeris could reply. ‘Vote to delay proceedings.’

  It was a desperate ploy, but it gained them time. Tellius inclined his head to the woman he loved in thanks.

  ‘Vote then, lords and ladies. The issue is whether to suspend proceedings until Lord Canis is sworn in to his seat. Ready, tellers.’ There would be a formal record, written in black ink on lambskin sheets that would last a thousand years. The truth would always be there to see. It was a small comfort.

  ‘Those in favour of suspending proceedings, raise their right hands.’

  Tellius counted slowly and consulted with the tellers making their marks on a wax slate before transferring the tally of five votes to the permanent record – all while Aeris tutted and huffed in impatience, hurrying them on.

  ‘Those against.’

  As Canis could not vote, the result was five to six. There would be no further delays allowed.

  Tellius glanced once more at the door to the hall, still firmly shut. He breathed out, closing his eyes briefly in resignation.

  ‘Very well. The vote is passed. We return to the original motion before the council – whether to accept alliance with the kingdom of Féal.’ He pronounced it to rhyme with ‘fail’, though the prince had always given the name a sound closer to ‘heal’. Whatever they called it, the treaty was a form of vassalage. Yet the struggle was lost.

  ‘Those who wish to accept the terms of the treaty as laid out by Prince Louis of Féal, raise their right hands.’

  Aeris was first, with Woodville. They had surely been bought with gold. Tellius hardly knew the Herne family, or the new Lord Bracken. He thought the old master of the Bracken house would never have given up freedom for mere trade, but they’d had a stone then. Perhaps that loss made a difference.

  The hand of Forza rose a beat behind them. Tellius had known the young man’s mother. She would have been disgusted with her offspring, he thought. Or perhaps the reason these families had thrived for so long was because they bent with the wind. Reeds survived the keel that cut the channel. Tellius shook his head in disgust.

  The last of the six in favour was the house of Saracen, said once to be the keepers of an extraordinary weapon, though they had not brought it out when the city was threatened. Tellius wondered if it wasn’t just another myth. He’d heard a rumour the thing had been stolen, though no one was saying anything. The prince of Féal must have spent fortunes to buy those families – or promised them attractive terms. That was more likely. They would refill their family coffers and expect the city to remain around them, quiet and subservient. Tellius had lived above those streets for many years. He wondered if they understood the strength of resentment that could build. Men will bend the knee to those they respect, for a long, long time. Then, one morning, they will not – and the streets run red.

  ‘Against,’ Tellius ordered. He jerked as the doors banged open and the royal physician himself came through, holding a white paper in his hand.

  ‘My lords!’ he began.

  Guards stepped in front of Master Burroughs and he was forced to come to a halt. Tellius saw nervousness on the face of the prince of Féal for the first time. Yet it was too late. Aeris looked round in triumph and actually laughed, though the son of a murdered man stood just a few paces away, shaking in grief.

  ‘Let him through,’ Tellius ordered.

  The guards stood back and the physician approached.

  ‘My lords, I bear the death certificate of Lord Canis, murdered close by these rooms.’

  ‘Well done, sir,’ Lord Aeris replied in waspish triumph. ‘His son will be sworn in the very instant we have finished this current vote. Carry on, Master Speaker.’

  ‘Against,’ Tellius called grimly. When they had written the council charter, it had been all too easy to imagine false alarms interrupting key votes. Once they had begun, only the rarest of emergencies could halt them. Tellius had pushed his luck and his authority as far as he could.

  Lady Sallet raised her hand, as did Lord Regis and the new Lord De Guise, a cousin from a distant holding. Lord Hart added his vote and Lord Garland was a beat behind him. Five.

  Tellius waited while the tellers wrote it into the official record.

  ‘The motion is passed, six to five. The treaty is accepted.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the prince of Féal said. Once more he rose from the benches, hardly able to hide his relief. ‘I am only sorry to have had this moment marred by such terrible tragedy. There will be a toast to Canis tonight in my house on Vine Street. You are all invited to share in the better part of the news – our alliance. His Majesty King Jean of Féal will be delighted.’

  The prince dipped his head and left in a swirl of cloaks, his two advisers falling in behind. Tellius watche
d him go every step, until the door closed. He turned then to the new Lord Canis.

  ‘Henry, Lord Canis, will you swear loyalty to this council, as the Goddess watches you and knows your heart?’

  The boy shrugged off the hand of his father’s servant on his shoulder and stood as tall as he could, showing for an instant the man he would become.

  ‘I will,’ he replied, his voice firm and cool.

  There was more life in his eyes than Tellius had ever seen in the father, but there was also anger there. Tellius met the eyes of Lady Sallet in silent communication. The boy would have to be watched for a time, at least until the prince of Féal was out of the city.

  3

  Tellius

  ‘I wanted to strangle him, Win,’ Tellius said, pacing. He had returned to the Sallet estate, within the city. He had rarely appreciated the privacy of gates and walls quite as much as he did at that moment. ‘I wanted to have the guards smash that smug expression off his face and throw him in a ditch. Or tie him backwards on a horse and return him to his father. You saw them! That damned prince of “Fail”. Some two-horse king, that’s all his father is. And then Aeris and his cronies! How long is it since his traitor brother brought the legion into the city? Four years, five? I’d have thought it takes longer than that to wipe away such a stain! I’d have thought it would be a generation or two before that blasted family put their heads up again. And for money? I have known men who would cut your heart out for a ring or a brooch, Win. And they were more honest than those who would sell their city to a foreign king. I swear, I should have cut Aeris’ throat, just to even the votes.’

  He mimed a slashing blow in the empty air, showing his teeth. Lady Win Sallet waited for his temper to run down, as it always did in the end. The man she loved blew up like summer storms. Over time, she’d quietly removed the sort of thing Tellius might stumble across and kick in her private rooms. Just a week after accepting his position as speaker for the council, he had broken a toe launching an umbrella stand after it became tangled between his feet. It had taken six months of limping and walking with a stick before he could clench his toes again. Even there in the day room, Lady Sallet eyed an orchid on a mahogany pedestal. If Tellius clipped that in his temper, the plant would surely go flying.