Indomitus Vivat (The Fovean Chronicles)

by Robert Brady

  “The Fovean High Council can’t depose a leader,” he said, as we turned another corner. Now I could smell the kitchens – beef browning over an open fire, steam from soup or broth, maybe. “However, they can order an attack against another nation, and they can limit trade, although they’ve never done so. I think that all of the other Fovean nations would love to hear that Eldadorian products are going to have to stay in Eldador, and not come to their shores at prices too low for their merchants to compete with. I think that the Uman-Chi have seen a way to limit your power without lifting a sword.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me at all, and I couldn’t help thinking that this was the first thing that should have come to mind. Foveans weren’t stupid. They’d found a way to adapt to what I was doing.

  I was playing in a new ball field now. I needed to step up my game.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Education

  A week and two days later, on the 21st day of the month of Desire, I stood once again at the podium before the assembled delegates of the Fovean High Council. This time every stone seat in the place had someone’s behind in it, and a crowd had assembled outside, where criers were repeating what was said in here. I’d heard that they’d even found a big, blonde Volkhydran to represent me.

  I hadn’t donned my armor. I dressed in royal finery – white shirt with a ruffled front and blousy, fashionable blue pants of some kind of wool, black boots shined to a high polish and a purple over coat like a blazer but with tails, a red cape dragging from its shoulders to the floor. I still had the gold headpiece holding back my long, blonde hair.

  Shela had scrubbed it until my scalp bled. She sat to one side of me with D’gattis and Ancenon, both of them wearing the question-mark, turned upside-down, of the Free Legion.

  I bore that mark as well on an armband, over the wolf’s head which marked the Wolf Soldiers. I also wore the Sword of War at my hip. I’d come here on three of my new Sea Wolves and three hundred warriors.

  Three hundred wouldn’t save me if a fight broke out, but they wouldn’t hurt if some of the locals got froggy. You could still see the damage I’d done here, and no one applauded me as I walked from the docks to the coliseum.

  We’d left the baby at home with Nina and Karel of Stone, who wanted to start the Aschire’s training. Arath, Nantar and Thorn were laying the foundations of a city to be called ‘Metz’ in the center of the Andurin peninsula, and Hectar sat my throne.

  He’d advised me I should come back soon. I wasn’t making any promises.

  One of the Uman-Chi stood to address me. I didn’t recognize him. He wore the white robes of a delegate. “Your Majesty, King Rancor Mordetur, you are charged with the illegal invasion of the south of Andoran, of seizing land there, of an unprovoked attack on several of the tribes there, resulting in loss to the nation of Andoran and strife to the people therein.”

  All of the Andarans were nodding, the Dorkans and the Confluni with them. I took a breath and put my hands on the podium.

  “How do you respond to these charges, your Majesty?” the Uman-Chi asked me.

  “Delegate,” I said. I didn’t call him ‘Sir’ like last time, because I ranked him now, “I am a chieftain of the Wolf Rider tribe, and I ask that you address me accordingly.”

  The Uman-Chi smiled and looked down, hiding his face in his long, green hair while he collected himself. I’d have been surprised if they hadn’t guessed I’d pull this. The Fovean High Council had no power to intervene in an internal matter.

  The Uman-Chi raised his face and turned back to me, letting me see his sharp, angular nose and high-arched brows. “Yonega Waya,” he said to me in Andaran, calling me ‘White Wolf,’ “when you invaded, you were not yet an Andaran, but acting in the auspices of the Eldadorian state, for which you are liable, and for which the Eldadorian state is liable.”

  “And which means that we address you as an Eldadorian, not an Andaran,” a Dorkan said, standing. He was a fat bald man wearing purple robes under those of delegate white and big, gold hoop earrings dangling from his lobes. Despite the cold Desire air, he was sweating.

  “Don’t you try to confuse these issues, Rancor Mordetur!” he warned me.

  I felt my eyebrows rise. “So I’m to be addressed as a common here?” I asked the collected delegates. “This is the etiquette of a Fovean High Council?”

  In fact, it didn’t bug me, but being able to play offended didn’t hurt me, either. If I could get them squabbling among themselves as to how to treat me, this could all fall apart.

  Another Dorkan, a woman with long, straight brown hair and chubby cheeks, stood up next to the first and put a hand on his shoulder. “We apologize, your Ma – Yonega Waya,” she said. “My compatriot here is somewhat distressed, in that you murdered his brother.”

  “And a lot of other brothers!” an Andaran said, standing.

  “And some very good friends,” a Sentalan shouted from their delegation.

  Now more of the delegates stood and started shouting at me. A storm of white robes shook on the floor of the coliseum below me as those wearing them started to vent their feelings about what I’d done, to whom, and what they thought about it.

  I took a step back and acted surprised. The Uman-Chi were shouting to the other delegates for order and being ignored. I allowed myself a sideways glance at Ancenon, D’gattis and Shela and, while the two Uman-Chi were scowling in exasperation, Shela was grinning fiercely.

  In the stadium seats, those watching were clearly enjoying the show. I’m sure we weren’t quite as good as gladiators, but more entertaining than the regular evening in a winter month. I saw Uman, Uman-Chi, Men and even some Scitai in attendance.

  No Xinto. It would be a bad day for Xinto, if I found him here.

  “Delegates, delegates, please,” the flustered Uman-Chi called out over his peers, making a pushing-down motion with his hands. “All of these grievances can be addressed –“

  “No,” I said, in my best battle-field voice, “I have to say I think that they cannot.”

  That got a few curious looks, so I pushed on.

  “People of Fovea,” I said, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but this ‘High Council’ of yours is a morass, and if you can’t even control yourselves, then I can’t imagine how you plan to hold me accountable to whatever it is you imagine that I did.”

  “You invaded our nation!” an Andaran shouted back at me, standing and almost sputtering. From the beads sewn into the leather pants and jacket that he wore, I could tell he’d come here from the city of Chatoos.

  “I returned two Andarans to their home tribe, and they attacked me,” I said, shaking my head. “Did I push my advantage after that? Yes, I did, but now I’m your buffer against the Slee.”

  “We didn’t need a buffer against the Slee until you wiped out the Drifters and the Wet Bellies,” the Andaran shouted. Others of their delegation stood.

  Other nations’ delegates quieted a little but the Dorkans were still shouting and the Uman-Chi were still trying to shush them.

  “Then better for you if they hadn’t attacked me,” I informed him. That was purely argumentative, however I wanted the argument.

  I didn’t want an embargo against Eldador. We could be self-sufficient if we had to be – we certainly had enough citizens to consume all of our own wares, however I wanted to pursue these new interests in the Black Lake as well as my own projects at home, and I needed to be able to tax to do that.

  I didn’t want to drain my people dry. I needed foreign trade, and that meant that I didn’t want an embargo.

  “Better still if we attack you again,” the Andaran threatened. “Don’t underestimate our power, and your few thousand are far from home.”

  There it was. The Uman-Chi’s mouth dropped open. Probably smarter than I am, he saw where I was going right then.

  “You mean to declare war on my tribe?” I demanded, gripping the podium’s top with both hands and leaning forward.

  “We’l
l kill your warriors and take your herds,” he swore to me. “Your women will only be available to the lowest among us, so your children will shame you.”

  Shela straightened. That had to be a serious oath.

  “And we will stand with the Andarans,” the fat Dorkan swore, speaking for his country.

  “Then I declare the Andoran nation in civil war!” I shouted, and slammed a hand down on the top of the podium. “And I call on the Fovean High Council to protect our borders from those who would exploit this situation.”

  “You can’t request that –“ the Dorkan began, but he caught himself.

  I couldn’t request that as an Eldadorian, but I definitely could as an Andaran chieftain.

  And the Uman-Chi had all but recognized me. Certainly close enough for me to make my case.

  “The Andaran people, then,” the Andaran delegate declared, “demand protection for Eldadorian intervention in this civil war.”

  “The Dorkans second,” the Dorkan woman said, standing. Her fat friend was still spluttering and probably wondering what was going on.

  “From this day forward,” I said still holding the podium but leaning back, “I declare for the Eldadorian nation as an Empire, the Black Lake and the city and the village of Wisex as a protectorate, and myself as an Emperor.”

  I had no idea if I could do that, however this was as good a time as any to find out.

  “Eldador as an empire is outside of the charter of the Fovean High Council,” the Uman-Chi informed me.

  “As the only admitted, and not founding, member of the High Council,” a Confluni said, standing, “I believe that Eldador is not within the charter of the Fovean High Council at all.”

  This came as a complete surprise to me. The little yellow-skinned man, his grey and black hair down past his shoulders, had his face turned up toward me, but his eyes unfocused. I couldn’t tell if this was support, or a delegate who felt honor-bound to state a fact.

  “It is true,” the Uman-Chi said, drawing out his words, “that Eldador is entered on the rolls only as ‘Eldador,’ while Conflu is actually entered as the Confluni Empire and Trenbon as the nation-state of Trenbon.”

  “And Andoran,” Ancenon said, standing up behind me, “as ‘the tribes of Andoran in unison, albeit individually sovereign.”

  The grin on his face was unmistakable. The collective Andaran delegates turned to each other in alarm. If Eldador could carve out a tribe and then demand a portion of their nation, then why couldn’t anyone else?

  I think the Confluni were thinking the same thing.

  Now the Uman-Chi were in a pickle. They had to recognize their own charter, but they had to keep me out of Andoran, or they’d be dealing with the rest of Fovea carving it up and a return to the open warfare that had made the Fovean High Council necessary.

  “Volkhydro recognizes Eldador as an Empire, and the Emperor Rancor The First, of the House Mordetur,” a Volkhydran said, rising.

  I recognized Count Tezzen of Myr. His hair looked a little longer and a little greyer. His body still kept the muscle that I’d associated with him, and his eyes the same hard calculation that keeps a warrior alive on a battle field.

  Henehk had asked me what my plans were, and I’d warned him not to be the first to get in my way. I had to think that he’d had a conversation with his countrymen.

  “Conflu seconds,” that same Confluni delegate called out.

  “Protection must be granted to Andoran until we can decide what happens with this Wolf Rider tribe,” another Andaran delegate demanded, standing. He’d also dressed out in the leathers that Andarans wore in the winter, with beads identifying him as being from Chatoos.

  A Toorian stood, sighing. He wasn’t anyone I recognized from the coronation. His hair was completely grey and his deep-brown face lined with age wrinkles. “Toor will recognize this Eldadorian Empire,” he said. “Let the Fovean High Council defend Andoran until this civil war is settled.”

  “Rest assured that the Dorkan nation will pay close attention to this civil war,” the fat Dorkan delegate informed us all, sitting.

  “I leave the task of working out these details to my Eldadorian delegates,” I informed the group of them. My delegates were busy loading their robes with their own sweat while all of this had been going on. I had to think that the best news they’d had all day was that I’d be leaving right now.

  The silver-on-silver eyes of an angry Uman-Chi delegate seemed to find mine. I couldn’t differentiate the cornea from the iris at this distance, but the irritation was unmistakable.

  “This Fovean High Council dismisses this Emperor of Eldador, with our thanks,” he said.

  I nodded, swept the collected delegates with a glare, and turned on my heel. Shela ran up beside me and took my arm in both of hers. Ancenon and D’gattis lined up behind me and we all exited the podium area for the tunnel that lead out of the coliseum of the High Council.

  I held my face plain but I wanted to be grinning like an idiot. Victory! I couldn’t help thinking. Beat them again! The Fovean-friggin’ High Council and haughty Uman-Chi were choking on my dust again.

  I stepped out into the cold crisp air outside of the coliseum, finding a crown of mostly-Uman waiting for me, behind a barrier of warriors in Trenboni livery whose job it was to control the crowd and keep their common hands off of my royal person.

  One of them, an Uman-Chi in military red-and-blues of the Trenboni High Guard with a golden star burst on an epaulette on his left shoulder, stepped forward and regarded me with a hand on the hilt of the sword on his hip. Behind him, I could see three Uman-Chi in the white robes of their ‘Casters,’ or Wizards.

  Shela stopped dead in her tracks, even her face frozen in an expression of surprise. D’gattis and Ancenon both leapt to one side. Three hundred Wolf Soldier guards stood at attention to one side of the entrance to the coliseum, but they had a whole crowd between them and me.

  “What is this?” I demanded.

  “Your Imperial Majesty, Rancor Mordetur of Eldador, we present to take custody and possession of the common Andaran woman, Shela, for her war crimes against the sovereign nation of Trenbon, sedition of the Scitai people and her personal attack on Outpost IX,” he informed me.

  I pulled the Sword of War. He leapt back, and the three Wizards each raised a right hand white with power. Shela stood where she was, but I recognized a commander’s voice among the Wolf Soldiers calling them to ready.

  This was going to be bloody. Really bloody. We were both outnumbered and separated from our troops, and rest-assured that the locals were going to chime in.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see D’gattis regarding me. This time, I could see the cornea of his silver-on-silver eyes.

  “There is no victory here,” the Uman-Chi informed me. “Black Lupus, you must accede to this noble warrior and relinquish your slave girl.”

  “My wife,” I said to him. “The Empress of –“

  “No,” Ancenon said, stepping forward. “You’ve had no ceremony and the Trenboni government recognizes no slave. She is a free common the moment her foot touches the Silent Isle, and as such she is responsible for her own actions and her own crimes.”

  My eyes flicked back between the one ally and the other. I could feel my scar twitch. “They’ll kill her,” I hissed.

  “They’ll do that now,” Ancenon informed me. “I am still a Duke of Trenbon, from an important house, and I think you have no small friendship in Avek Noir, the Heir. I’ll speak to her safety, and where I might fail, I’m certain he shall not.”

  D’gattis gripped my shoulder harder. “I’ll fight beside you,” he informed me, “but we’ll lose. You see three casters but don’t see thirty more. I believe you told me once about existing for another day of combat.”

  “Live to fight another day,” I corrected him. I turned away and faced the Uman-Chi commander.

  “Harm her in any way,” I informed him, looking into his eyes now, “scratch her skin, bruise her fle
sh, do anything, and it will be my life’s work, not just to hunt you down, but to find everyone you love, and everyone you’ve ever loved, and visit horror on them that you couldn’t imagine if you live another thousand years.”

  “Not wise to threaten a Commander of the High Guard,” the Uman-Chi informed me, seeming unimpressed.

  I stepped into his personal space and almost touched the end of my nose to his. “A threat is something that I might not do,” I informed him. “I vow to you, unto the god War, one bloody massacre after the next visited on your friends and family if she comes to any harm.”

  The Uman-Chi met my stare and nodded. He ordered four of his warriors to pick Shela up off of the ground, and they carried her past their warriors and mine toward the palace at Outpost IX.

  D’gattis kept his hand on my shoulder the entire time. The Major commanding the Wolf Soldier guard kept trying to catch my eye but I looked right through him.

  This had turned into a really not good day.

  While a noble might own a property in a foreign land and stay there, the Eldadorian nation did not, in fact, have an embassy to Trenbon and there was no concept here of embassies being sacrosanct within another nation’s boundaries.

  I could buy land here and have something built, but that would take years. I could have had Shela raise something but that really wasn’t her thing, and bellied the actual problem that she was in a dungeon somewhere, where her magic was likely negated.

  So I was pacing the captain’s cabin of one of the Sea Wolves I’d brought here, and trying to rely on Karel of Stone’s spies whom we employed here, through what I remembered him telling me about them, which wasn’t much.

  I didn’t want to tip my hand and actually expose one of them, because I didn’t want it in the head of whoever ran this city that they had a real security problem. I didn’t want to go running around the city, either, because I had to think that the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had wind of what had happened here by now, and they’d said a lot of times that, if not for Shela, they’d have had me.