by Brandon Mull
“No longer,” Galloran said. “There has long been a rumor of an Edomic key word that could destroy Maldor. Supposedly the Word had been created by Zokar to keep his dangerous apprentice in check. As it turns out, both myself and my friend Lord Jason, a Beyonder, succeeded in obtaining this key word and speaking it to Maldor. The Word had no effect. It was a fraud.”
Garbled commentary arose from the crowd.
“Order!” Pallas called. The onlookers went silent immediately. “No doubt some here have heard of the rumored Word. Most are probably learning of it for the first time. Some, myself included, have harbored a quiet hope that one day this Word would undo the emperor. Is it wise to mention this Word in public?” The question held reprimanding overtones.
“This false Word has diverted the efforts of many,” Galloran said. “Some of the best blood in Lyrian has been spilled searching for it. All along, Maldor had been using the quest for the Word to stall traditional opposition and waste the efforts of his most ardent enemies. As soon as Jason confirmed that the Word was fraudulent, Maldor began slaying those who had guarded the individual syllables. Once the emperor made that move, I decided it was time to publicly debunk the myth, lest any more effort be wasted.”
“Understandable,” Naman said. “This is news, indeed, and you paid a grievous price to secure this information. But consider the reasoning behind our attitude toward Felrook. We have assessed that an offensive against the emperor would be doomed to failure. Therefore, preparing our defenses became the only acceptable policy. If the Word is false, Maldor is even less vulnerable than we had supposed, which only serves to support our current stance.”
All eyes at the table turned to Galloran.
“That is one way to interpret the news,” Galloran acknowledged. “The main reason most kingdoms have avoided open conflict with Maldor is because they do not believe he can be beaten. Many have surrendered to him without a fight. His conquest of Lyrian has only been slowed by kingdoms like Belaria, Hindor, Meridon, and now Kadara, which have elected to defend their borders. The former three kingdoms I mentioned have all fallen, just as Kadara will fall before next year is through.
“As most of you know, I hail from Trensicourt. My father was king. Like the Amar Kabal, Trensicourt hesitated to go to war with Felrook largely because we did not believe that Maldor could be defeated. Part of the justification for our hesitation derived from the hope that the Word provided. In our highest councils, the Word was viewed as a possible alternative to widespread bloodshed. Had we known the Word was false, we would have accepted that the only remaining course of action would have been to unite the remaining free kingdoms and stand against the emperor.”
Naman folded his arms. “We of the Amar Kabal have no intention of kneeling to the emperor. We know that Maldor despises and fears us more than any nation in Lyrian. We understand that there will never be true peace between us. And we realize that our best chance of resisting Maldor is to force him to bring the war to our gates. We continue to fortify our defenses, knowing that only by repelling his armies will we endure as a people.”
Galloran frowned. “Do you honestly believe the defenses of the Seven Vales can withstand the emperor once the rest of Lyrian has fallen?”
“I would like to think that with proper planning and vigilance, we could hold out for many lifetimes. This is our best hope.”
“You evaded my question,” Galloran said. “Consider the history of your enemy. Consider his resources. Consider his motivation. Do you honestly believe that you can indefinitely keep the emperor out of these Vales?”
Naman pressed his large lips together. “Our defenses will eventually fail.” Some utterances of dismay arose from the gathered multitude. Naman held up a finger. “But if they must resort to an assault on our homeland, our enemies will pay much more dearly to take our lives than if we participate in a desperate offensive abroad.”
“The Vales will eventually fall,” Galloran summarized. “Do you suppose that you can run?”
“For a time,” Naman replied. “We have fallbacks prepared.”
“I agree that you could retreat for a time. Do you imagine that you could run to a place where Maldor will not follow?”
“No,” Naman said. “We might prolong our existence for many lifetimes, but in the end, we will perish. Some talk of fleeing over the sea, but within twenty years Maldor will have massive fleets on both coasts.”
“Many lifetimes suggests a very optimistic time frame,” Galloran said. “The emperor will not relent until all of Lyrian is secure. Barring collaborative opposition, you and the drinlings will be the last free people in Lyrian within five years. Rooting out the drinlings will take time, but Maldor will succeed. He will then spend some years mustering his strength, laying plans. By my most optimistic assessment, within twenty years Maldor will attack the Vales from the north and the south simultaneously. In the north he will merely cut off your retreat; from the south he will storm your gates. He will not fight fairly. He will show no mercy. You will die alone and cornered. Some of you will be tortured. Some will be examined. Maldor is curious to study how you were made. In the end, your seeds will burn.”
A boisterous outburst from the assemblage made Rachel cover her ears. Apparently the notion of dying permanently did not sit well with the audience. It took Pallas some effort to restore order.
“These are vile prospects to consider,” Pallas recognized, once he could be heard, “but such are the times in which we live.”
“I have heard your assessment,” Naman said reasonably. “I have answered your questions candidly. Now show me equal courtesy. With the present resources the free kingdoms have at their disposal, is it possible to mount an offensive against the emperor with any reasonable expectation of success?”
Galloran straightened. “I don’t know.”
The crowd reacted raucously. Again Pallas called for silence.
“I find myself wondering why we convened this conclave,” Naman said, earning a chuckle from the onlookers.
“I believe there is hope for a successful offensive, or I would not have traveled here,” Galloran explained. “Nevertheless, I do not intend to lead the free people of Lyrian to a hasty demise on a hopeless campaign. I do not desire to spend your lives casually. Without a truly viable offensive strategy, I would rather you died defending your homes. My concern is that if we never take the offensive, there is no chance we can win.”
“What are you here to propose?” Pallas asked.
“We have a small window of opportunity while the armies of Maldor toil in the east against Kadara. His forces have simultaneously besieged their three largest cities, which entails a massive commitment of resources. I am the heir to Trensicourt. I am ready to regain my kingdom and to lead a rebellion. I have come into possession of a vast new stockpile of orantium. I cannot divulge the location publicly, but in private I will share the whereabouts of hundreds of globes, including a score of the larger spheres known as gatecrashers.”
This earned an excited buzz from the crowd.
“I believe we can also enlist the drinlings. They only fell out of the war after Kadara abused them. I expect we can also arouse Meridon. My sources there report that Maldor does not have a strong enough presence to suppress a revolt.”
“Assuming all of this is true,” Naman said, “how does it amount to sufficient power to combat the emperor? He has the resources of more than twenty kingdoms at his disposal. Not to mention the displacers, the manglers, the giants, and the torivors.”
“I do not imagine we could stand against his full might,” Galloran said. “We would have to outmaneuver him. Fight the battles we can win. Earn victory one step at a time.”
“Such tactics could yield modest success in the short term,” Naman allowed. “But once the emperor has dealt with Kadara and brings his full strength against us, we would fall.”
“We could fall,” Galloran admitted. “But embracing any other strategy makes our doom certain.”
Naman
shook his head. “Not only will we fall just as certainly if we pursue an offensive like you describe, we will fall sooner than with any other tactic. Our nation applauds your motives. For years the citizens of Trensicourt have tacitly followed the orders of imperial puppets. We would welcome them to openly resist the emperor. And we would rejoice to add orantium to our defensive stores. But we have no need for that breed of heroism that only hastens destruction.”
“You foresee absolutely no hope for a successful offensive,” Galloran said. “This is the problem?”
“Correct,” Naman replied.
“Do you or any among the Amar Kabal profess the gift of prophecy?”
“Not prophecy. But we have centuries of experience with observation and reason.”
“I have a proposal,” Galloran stated. “There remains a living oracle in Lyrian. The true gift of prescience survives in the Temple of Mianamon. Why not consult the oracle to see if a combined offensive could succeed? Get a definitive word on the matter? If the oracle foresees no possibility of success, I will wholly support your defensive posture. In fact, I will adopt the same philosophy with Trensicourt.”
The amphitheater was silent. All eyes regarded Naman.
“I have no particular objection to consulting the oracle,” Naman finally ventured. “Yet you came here with imperial troops in pursuit, Galloran. You have been informed that the emperor has demanded we release you and your comrades into his custody. A cynical man might call your desire to appeal to the oracle an effort to postpone the apprehension of your friends.”
Galloran’s posture changed, as if getting ready for a fistfight. Even without eyes, his expression hardened. “Would you turn me over to Maldor, Naman? Would you hand him my daughter?”
“We might consider handing over the displacer in your company,” Naman replied accusingly.
The crowd gasped.
“The displacer Ferrin betrayed Felrook to join the rebellion,” Galloran affirmed. “To prove his sincerity he gave me a chunk of his neck, which I could use to dispose of him at my whim. I heartily vouch for the loyalty of all in my party. Otherwise I would not have brought them here.”
“You chose a poor hour to test our hospitality,” Naman said. “You knew what signals your presence would send. You knew that our relations with Felrook have never been more tenuous.”
“Your relations become more tenous as Maldor fears you less. Obviously, he fears my presence here. Why else would he show such interest? Naman, my understanding is that you control the military.”
“I serve as High Commander.”
“Then, as a military expert, please demonstrate a single instance when Maldor has respected weakness.” Galloran paused, but Naman offered no response. “If you can, name one occasion where bowing to his will forestalled invasion or yielded any measurable benefit?”
“When has provoking the emperor led to prosperity?” Naman countered.
“Ask Drake, or any man in Harthenham,” Galloran growled. “I can identify many who have gained respect or reward for defying the emperor. Unless you mean to surrender, it is the only sane course. Those who treat Maldor as an honest and reasonable adversary soon discover that he is neither. If you are so afraid of Felrook that you close your gates to friends and scurry to obey imperial mandates, your cause is already lost. You spoke of Trensicourt as being run by imperial puppets. Who is pulling your strings here in the Vales? Imperial forces defied your treaty by chasing us across forbidden neutral territory, and you react how? With apologies? Those same forces remain camped outside of your passes unchallenged. You lead your military? A cynical man might label you a coward.”
Naman stiffened. “No one degrades my honor!” he thundered. “If you had eyes, I would challenge you this instant!”
Galloran faced him silently. The tension of the moment had Rachel wringing her fingers. Galloran drew his sword, the blade gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. He did not speak loudly. “If naming your deeds sullies your honor, perhaps I’m not the man to blame. I need no eyes to crush a cockroach. I accept your challenge.”
Naman looked off-balance. “Don’t be ridiculous. Striking down a blind opponent will bring me no satisfaction.”
Galloran strode toward him, sword held ready. “When you speak of duels to a king in public, you had best have a weapon ready.”
“This is madness,” Naman protested, looking to Pallas.
Pallas rose. “Must this escalate to violence?”
Galloran stopped directly in front of the stone table. “I was not the first to mention a challenge.”
“Very well,” Naman said. “You insist too fervently. If you desire to meet your end with a sword in hand, I will oblige.”
“You don’t foresee me emerging victorious?” Galloran asked.
“No, and if you expect that outcome, your judgment is far more corrupted than I had suspected.”
“We have plenty of witnesses present,” Galloran said. “Sufficient space. Have you a sword?”
Naman drew a sword from beneath his robes. “Nothing so fine as yours, but I stand ready.” His gray blade looked a little longer than the torivorian weapon.
Drake arose. “Let me stand in for Galloran,” he declared. “Even if he had eyes, I would not sit by and allow a man of his stature to cross swords with one of our people.”
Naman sized up Drake with a smirk. “I’m willing.”
“I am not,” Galloran said. “I fight my own duels. There are more senses than sight.”
“Please, Your Majesty,” Drake implored. “Do me this honor.”
“I appreciate the gesture,” Galloran said. “Be seated.”
Drake plopped down beside Rachel. “Naman is an accomplished swordsman,” he muttered. “This can’t end well.”
Rachel felt words in her mind. Keep your eyes on the fight, especially on Naman. You must serve as my eyes.
Galloran assumed a fighting stance. “Would you be so kind, Pallas?”
“Begin,” Pallas said solemnly.
Rachel tried not to blink. How well could he use her eyes? Was it possible for Galloran to fight effectively while only viewing himself and his opponent from off to the side? She could not imagine how he would stay oriented.
Focus on opening your mind to me, Galloran conveyed in response. Corinne will be doing the same.
Rachel exerted her will, attempting to send everything she saw toward Galloran’s mind.
“Win or lose, this duel will not resolve your problems,” Naman warned, slowly approaching Galloran. “The current quarrel is between the two of us.”
“Should I fall, I trust Lord Jason to speak on behalf of our cause,” Galloran said.
Naman extended his sword probingly and Galloran knocked it aside. Naman moved in, slashing aggressively, and the swords clashed, ringing almost musically. Galloran pivoted so that his back was mostly to Rachel, but on a diagonal, so his body didn’t impede a view of Naman. Galloran deflected another fierce sequence of blows.
“How are you doing that?” Naman asked, backing off. “Are you truly blind?”
Galloran cast aside his blindfold in reply.
Their blades met again, and Galloran’s sword became a blur. Naman paced backward sloppily, struggling to hold off the onslaught. Rachel could see fear and disbelief in Naman’s eyes. Then Galloran lopped off his sword hand and impaled the seedman without hesitation.
Galloran withdrew his sword, and Naman fell to his knees, his expression bewildered, one hand over his punctured chest. The seedman tipped onto his side.
Rachel stared up at the crowd. Most faces gaped in astonishment. Some people shifted uncomfortably. The only voices spoke in whispers.
Thank you, Galloran sent to Rachel. Well done. She could sense weariness behind his psychic message. There was a slight tremble in his hand as he wiped his sleeve across his forehead. He looked pallid and winded. She realized that the effort of seeing through her eyes must have required much more energy and willpower than mentally exchanging wor
ds. She wondered how apparent it was to the other bystanders how greatly the endeavor had taxed him. Galloran was doing his best to disguise his fatigue.
Galloran sheathed his sword. “Dorsio, please fetch his seed and place it on the table.” He raised his voice. “As you all know, Naman is not truly gone. He’ll be younger and stronger a couple of months from now. I regret the interruption. We’ll need a new rebutter.”
Drake chuckled softly, covering his grin with one hand. He spoke in hushed wonder. “I’ve never seen a man fight like that. Such economy of motion. It was over the instant Galloran attacked. Imagine if he could see!”
The four seed people at the stone table conversed privately. Finally Pallas addressed Galloran. “I will rebut. Although not without trepidation.”
The crowd laughed uneasily.
Dorsio placed Naman’s seed on the table and returned the fallen blindfold to Galloran, who covered his gaping sockets. He already looked more steady than immediately following the duel. Pallas walked to where Naman had stood previously.
“Where were we?” Pallas asked.
“I believe Naman was insinuating we hand over my daughter to the emperor,” Galloran said flatly.
“I do not envision us handing anyone over to Maldor,” Pallas said. “All other considerations aside, it is true that letting him flout our treaties and issue mandates will only reduce his respect for us. We may have begun to lose sight of that truth. Galloran is a sworn friend of our people. I move that our guests should enjoy our full protection. Unless there are any dissenters?” He looked first to the rest of the Conclave and then scanned the audience. Nobody volunteered a complaint. Rachel felt herself relax a bit.
“Is the vote unanimous?” Pallas asked the Conclave.
Three voices responded, “Aye.”
Pallas nodded. “So be it. Galloran, I wish to explore your proposal regarding the prophetess.”
“Naman was quick to dismiss the possibility of me besting him in a duel,” Galloran said. “Yet there he lies. I imagine that most present would also doubt the feasibility of vanquishing the menace who lurks in the Drowned City.”
