by Karen Miller
Gar extended his arm towards the left-hand staircase. ‘By all means, sir. Lead the way. Asher and I are ready.’
That earned him another swift look from the king. ‘You think so? Well. By all means let us see, shall we?’
Conroyd Jarralt was an outrageously handsome man even when flushed with anger and shouting. A Doranen in his glorious, powerful prime, dressed in purple silk brocade and seed pearls, with his falcon house-emblem emblazoned on his chest in silver and jet. His aristocratic face was as perfect as a carving in marble, his athletic vigour overwhelming. In contrast, despite his magical power, the king looked pallid and drained of all vitality. Like a moon dimmed by the sun.
Jarralt banged his fist on the chamber table. ‘This is insupportable, Prince Gar! An Olken? With unfettered access to this Privy Council, its members, its decisions? I think not, Your Highness. Barl’s mercy, what possessed you to do such a thing without gaining our permission? To have this reckless appointment announced in chapel without first doing us the courtesy of discussion? And then to refuse an accounting of yourself until now? Insupportable, sir! Insufferable!’
Exquisitely polite, Gar said, ‘I discussed the matter with His Majesty, my lord. As for declining your invitation to discuss it further … as I said, I felt it to be a topic best reserved for the privacy of this chamber.’
‘Indeed.’ Jarralt’s burning gaze turned on the king. ‘So. He discussed the matter with you. And you said yes to this insanity?’
‘I did,’ said the king. ‘Obviously.’
Jarralt clenched his jaw. ‘I see. Well. One is forced to wonder what will come next. Olkens marrying into the Founding Families, perhaps?’
‘Now, now, Conroyd …’
Asher, seated beside Gar on the other side of the table from the raging Doranen lord, slid his gaze to Barlsman Holze, on Jarralt’s left. The elderly cleric’s expression was pained, his lips pursed in disapproval. Steepled forefingers tapped against the tip of his bony nose. Voice mellow, reproving, he continued: ‘I think we must—’
Jarralt silenced him with a white-hot glare.
At the end of the rectangular table, sitting directly opposite the king, Master Magician Durm contemplated the plain white ceiling with a vast, unnerving indifference.
And the king? Well, the king was smiling. Not nicely, but in a guarded way that hinted at possible unpleasantness should Jarralt travel any further down his current path. Asher winced.
‘Intermarriage between our peoples is strictly forbidden, Conroyd,’ His Majesty said, deceptively mild. ‘Gar knows that as well as you do. Surely you’re not suggesting he advocates the breaking of Barl’s Second Law?’
‘Of course he isn’t, Your Majesty,’ said Holze, one thin hand resting on Jarralt’s rigid forearm. His once blond hair was mostly silver now, and thinning. Cut unfashionably short for a Doranen. A single braid, tightly wound with Barlsflowers to denote his devotion, dangled to his frail left shoulder. ‘Conroyd was merely expressing an understandable concern for this – forgive me, Your Highness – potentially rash decision.’
‘Rash?’ Conroyd Jarralt snatched his arm free. His dark gold hair was unbound and fashionably long, with just the hint of a curl. Beautiful hair. Girl’s hair, thought Asher, then quickly discarded the thought in case it showed on his face. ‘Rash is too kind a word, Holze,’ the lord continued. ‘I’ll thank you to answer for your own utterances, sir, not mine.’
He had the most amazing voice, like magic given a tongue. It was a voice to drink deep of, as a thirsty man swallows water. Instinctively Asher stiffened his spine against it. He didn’t trust a man who could say something wrong yet make his listeners swear black and blue it was right because the way he said it sounded nice.
Holze, defeated, dipped his head. ‘As you say, Conroyd. You must speak for yourself.’
‘And I do!’ said Jarralt. ‘I want to know what the king was thinking, to approve this ridiculous appointment. To foist this Olken upstart upon his Privy Council without so much as a by-our-leave!’
The king did not answer immediately. Hands clasped loosely before him on the tabletop, he considered the demand for a moment, then said, ‘Are you saying you doubt me, Conroyd?’ His manner was surprisingly calm, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. Jarralt saw it, and coloured faintly.
So, The king could bring Conroyd Jarralt to heel when he wanted. That was good to know. Beside him, Asher felt Gar twitch. The prince’s gaze switched abruptly to the other end of the table, where Durm continued to inspect the ceiling for spiderwebs or inspiration or whatever it was he hoped to find there. Feeling eyes upon him he slowly lowered his own regard. Considered Gar in speculative silence for a moment, then returned his attention to matters seemingly above the heads of everybody else in the room.
‘All I doubt,’ said Jarralt, ‘is the wisdom of the decision. Ordinary, uneducated Olken have never concerned themselves with the running of this kingdom and I see no reason for that to change. They should tend to their farming and their shopkeeping and leave important matters of government to those who can best address them.’
Patronising bastard. Asher cleared his throat. Lowly Olken or not it was time he let certain folk know he wasn’t some kind of deaf mute simpleton. Or a horse to be sized up and debated on, complimented on the strength of his back or criticised for the knockiness of his knees.
‘Y’Majesty?’
The king looked at him. ‘You have something to add, Asher?’
Heart thudding, Asher nodded. Under the table, Gar kicked him. He ignored the warning. ‘Yes, Y’Majesty. I just wanted to say it be an honour and a pleasure to sit at table with you and these other fine lords. And, beggin’ your pardon, Lord Jarralt, I reckon you be gettin’ y’self all knotted up over nowt. I ain’t come here to fret and fust you. His Highness be after an extra pair of hands on the halyards, is all, and I reckon if there be somethin’ I can do to help him and His Majesty, here, then sink me if I won’t.’
Silence. Then: ‘I’m sorry,’ said Conroyd Jarralt, staring around the table and sounding not the least bit sorry at all. ‘What did he say?’
Another kick under the table, harder this time. ‘Asher merely assured you, sir,’ Gar said quickly, ‘that he has no intention of causing any problems for this Council.’
‘Did he?’ retorted Jarralt. ‘How can you be sure? The man is scarcely comprehensible! But if that is what he said then I’m bound to point out to you, Your Highness, that the assurance comes too late! His very existence is a problem!’
‘I disagree,’ argued Gar. ‘Anyone who can help me do my job as Olken Administrator more efficiently can only benefit His Majesty and this Privy Council.’
‘You expect this … this … Olken to improve your efficiency?’ said Jarralt. ‘How? You’ll be spending all of your time translating for him!’
‘Asher has recently arrived here from the coast.’ From the look of him, Gar was only just keeping hold of his temper. ‘Olken fisherfolk are wont to speak in a colourful vernacular, it’s true, but I have every confidence he’ll soon adjust to the more measured speech of the City.’
Shifting in his chair a little, moving his still-smarting ankle out of Gar’s reach, Asher frowned. Speaking slowly, trying to mask the effort of mimicking the likes of Darran, he said, ‘Prince Gar has employed me to be his assistant, Lord Jarralt. As an honest man I’ll do my best not to disappoint him, the king or this Privy Council. I may be just a magickless Olken, but that don’t – doesn’t – mean I ain’t trustworthy.’ Well pleased with himself, he sat back in his chair and smiled.
Jarralt leapt to his feet. ‘What? You have the gall to mock me?’
‘Mock you?’ said Asher, bewildered. ‘I weren’t mockin’ you, I were just tryin’ to explain how—’
Now Jarralt was leaning across the table, pointed finger stabbing. ‘I am the head of a Founding Family! My house is second only to that of the royal family! I will not be mocked by an ignorant Olken fisherman! Your Majesty, sure
ly you can see this appointment is folly! Madness! This Privy Council is a solemn gathering of learned men whose sacred duty is the protection and governance of this kingdom. How in Barl’s holy name can we be expected to uphold our oaths if we must constantly consider what we say before this … this interloper! He cannot be granted membership of this Privy Council! It is an affront to everything we stand for!’
‘Asher, for the love of Barl hold your tongue!’ hissed Gar, then turned to Jarralt. ‘My lord, it appears we are at cross-purposes. It was never my intention that Asher should join the Privy Council. I apologise if that’s the impression I’ve given. As my assistant he’ll be helping me – helping us all – continue this august body’s ongoing dedication to the betterment and prosperity of Lur. Naturally he will not be concerned with the making of policy or interpretation of law or any other Privy Council duty. I merely wished you to meet him. That’s all.’
Unappeased, Jarralt bared his teeth. ‘In other words, you are incapable of carrying out your duties as Olken Administrator without help from an uneducated labourer. If that’s the case, perhaps the matter of your appointment to the position should be revisited?’
The king looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Have a care, Conroyd. And take your seat.’
As Jarralt obeyed, lips thinned, Gar raised a hand and turned to his father. ‘It’s a fair question, sir, if ungraciously framed.’ He turned back to Jarralt. ‘My lord, I’ve learned many things since assuming the responsibilities of Olken Administrator, but the most important is this: that nothing but good can come from a deeper Doranen understanding of Olken society. History shows us a score of examples where unpleasantness and discord might well have been avoided if only we truly knew each other better. Can you at least agree with that?’
Asher smothered a grin as he watched Jarralt’s expression congeal. ‘Agree?’ the lord echoed suspiciously. ‘Possibly. But that doesn’t—’
‘Good,’ said Gar. ‘And surely we can also agree that nobody is in a better position to occasionally advise this Privy Council upon matters important to the Olken than one of His Majesty’s Olken subjects?’
Jarralt glowered. ‘Yes. I suppose. In theory. However—’
‘So if,’ Gar continued ruthlessly, ‘by appointing Asher as my assistant I can facilitate future harmonious Doranen and Olken relations, then it must logically follow that this Privy Council – as the decision-making instrument of our kingdom – can only benefit. And if that’s true, I’d say I’ve proven my fitness for the position of Olken Administrator, not undermined it. Wouldn’t you?’ Spreading his hands wide, he appealed to the table at large.
Holze’s smile was gentle and approving. ‘Well said, Your Highness. Above all, Barl desires Doranen and Olken to live peacefully side by side in the paradise she created. If this is indeed your objective, I see no reason to thwart this young Olken’s appointment as your assistant. Can you, Lord Jarralt?’
Jarralt snorted. ‘Oh, to be sure, it sounds well and good. But what of practicalities? How often can we of the Privy Council expect this incomprehensible addition to grace us with his dubious presence? How much credence are we to lend to his profoundly experienced observations of good government? Tell us, Prince Gar, is it your intention that we allow your fisherman to lecture us? Instruct us? If it is, then I’m afraid I must decline the honour. The day some upstart Olken can march in here and presume to tell me my business—’
Durm cleared his throat. Jarralt swallowed the rest of his objection. Eyes narrowed, the Master Magician lowered his piercing gaze and considered the now silent lord. ‘You are raising a storm in a teacup, Conroyd. And that, I believe, is solely His Majesty’s prerogative.’
Jarralt stared. ‘Does that mean you approve of this …’
Durm shrugged. ‘It means, Conroyd, I have been given no cause to disapprove of him.’ His cold glance flickered. ‘Yet.’
Seared by that swift look Asher stared at the table. Suddenly he knew how a mouse must feel when the shadow of the hawk passes over it.
‘So,’ said Jarralt. For the first time, he sounded subdued. ‘Your mind is made up … Your Majesty?’
‘Yes, Conroyd,’ said the king, his voice and face implacable. ‘And not to be unmade. I have complete faith in my son’s choice of assistant.’
‘As have I,’ added Holze. ‘His Highness has proven himself a most capable Administrator. Isn’t that so, Conroyd?’
Conroyd Jarralt laced his fingers and frowned at them. ‘Most capable.’
Gar said carefully, ‘Your Majesty, my lords, I thank you. It was never my intention to take up so much time with this trifling business. I merely wished you to know that should there be anything of an Olken nature you wish to discuss or have clarified, Asher shall henceforth be at your disposal.’
‘And on behalf of this Privy Council,’ said the king, ‘I welcome his knowledge and assistance, wherever and whenever it may be extended to us.’
There was an expectant pause. Asher, feeling the weight of all those Doranen stares, coughed. ‘Like I said,’ he muttered. ‘Reckon it be an honour to serve the Privy Council.’
‘Indeed,’ said the king. ‘Then I declare this subject closed.’
‘Well done,’ Gar murmured in Asher’s ear as Jarralt and Holze exchanged whispered comments and looked at their paperwork to discover the next problem for discussion. ‘Now I think it’s best if you go back to the Tower. Ask Darran for a copy of next week’s scheduled appointments and be ready with your thoughts when I return. Don’t forget to ask His Majesty’s permission to withdraw.’
Half out of his chair, Asher straightened and offered the king an awkward bow. ‘Y’Majesty. His Highness has work for me back at the Tower. Can I get on with it?’
Was that a smile, strictly denied? Maybe. And if so, what did it mean? That he had the king’s support, or that he was little more than a joke? He couldn’t tell and he didn’t much care. He just wanted out of the small, crowded chamber. He could feel Conroyd Jarralt’s eyes on him, staring.
The king nodded. ‘By all means, Asher. Return to your duties. Doubtless I shall see you again in the fullness of time.’
‘Y’Majesty.’
Straightening from his farewell bow, Asher looked square into the frozen fury of Conroyd Jarralt’s gaze. The force of it made him step back. Thudded his heart and stole his breath. That was hatred in the Doranen lord’s eyes …
‘Well go on, then,’ said Gar, nudging him. ‘Don’t stand there with your mouth open, catching flies. I’ll see you later.’
Deeply disconcerted, Asher headed for the door. But as his hand reached for the handle it opened all by itself. An agitated young Olken in City Guard livery shoved him aside and barged into the chamber. He rushed to the king, dropped to one knee and held out a rolled parchment.
‘Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty,’ he gasped. ‘An urgent message from Captain Orrick.’
Frowning, the king accepted it. Untied the scroll’s binding scarlet ribbon. Unrolled the message, read it, read it again, and blinked. Asher, looking closely at his face, thought he was in sudden pain.
‘Very good,’ the king said quietly. ‘Return to the captain. Tell him to make the appropriate preparations and await further instructions. And tell him also – discretion is paramount.’
The young City Guard nodded. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
As the chamber door banged shut behind the guard, the Master Magician spoke.
‘What is it, Borne? What has happened?’
CHAPTER TEN
Something bad, Asher judged, if the king’s face was anything to go by. It had lost all its washed-out colour, leaving him as grey as the paper in his hand. He looked a score of years older, just as Da had looked a heartbeat after Ma exhaled her last rattling breath.
Gar was on his feet, one hand reaching out. ‘Sir, what is it? Mama? Fane? Are they—’
The king shook his head. ‘No. It’s not family. It’s worse.’ Lifting his gaze from the message he st
ared the length of the Council table and locked eyes with Durm. ‘Barl’s First Law has been broken. The man is in custody and being brought to the City as we speak. He will be here by this evening.’
Asher bit his tongue. What? Some bloody fool Olken had been caught pissin’ around with magic? Why? Olken couldn’t do magic, everybody knew that. And everybody knew that to try, to muck about mouthing words of Doranen power overheard in passing even, was as bright as jumping off Rillingcoombe Cliffs when the tide was out.
As bright … and as fatal.
It was Holze who shattered the shocked silence. ‘Your Majesty, there must be some mistake. Perhaps a misunderstanding …’
‘No,’ said the king, still looking at the message. ‘No misunderstanding.’
Holze shook his head, his blue-veined hands tight-clasped and trembling. ‘I find this quite incredible. There must be an explanation.’
Lord Jarralt laughed, crudely amused. ‘Of course there is. They’re jealous of us, any fool knows that. It’s not enough that we provide them with a perfect world to live in. Predictable weather that is never too hot or too cold, too dry or too wet. Heat, light, plumbing … a veritable cornucopia of domestic comforts. They want more. They want to subvert the proper order of things. Usurp power that does not belong to them.’
Well, that was just a lie, pure and simple. Asher opened his mouth to put Jarralt straight, caught Gar’s glare and swallowed his angry denial. A curt nod directed him away from the door and against the wall, where he could observe unnoticed. Gar sat down again, his expression unreadable.
‘No, no,’ protested Holze. His voice shook with distress. ‘Barl’s Laws are taught throughout the kingdom. I cannot believe any Olken would willingly break the first and greatest of them!’
‘Advancing age has withered your brain, Holze,’ Jarralt sneered. ‘This isn’t the first attack on our most sacred law and unless we show no mercy to this blasphemous criminal it won’t be the last!’ He turned to the king. ‘You must make an example of this vile traitor. Every Olken man, woman and child must be shown, once and for all, what happens when Barl’s sacred edicts are transgressed.’
