Above His Proper Station

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Thank you,” Anrel said again.

  He followed Derhin through the entry hall, around the central bath, and out into the atrium, where flagstone paths had sunk so deeply into the turf they were almost lost. About a dozen men and two women stood chatting, and Derhin joined them, introducing Anrel. The names and places of origin were recited so quickly that Anrel did not remember any of them five minutes later.

  He was startled that none of them seemed particularly interested in him; indeed, he felt somewhat slighted. Then he realized that Derhin had introduced him by his real name, and while he had said that Anrel had come from Naith, he had not explained who he was or why he was there. He stood and listened as they discussed what to expect from the Hots, from the Cloakroom, from the emperor’s representatives, in response to Amanir’s death and the accusations the Hots were hurling at Lord Allutar.

  “And you, Master Murau,” an older man said, turning to Anrel. “What do you think of all this?”

  “I find it very interesting,” Anrel said.

  “I suppose you’ve come to report on your delegate’s actions, to assure the people of Naith that they are being well represented?” another man asked.

  Anrel cleared his throat and looked at Derhin.

  “I’m afraid you have misunderstood,” Derhin said. “Anrel is the new delegate from Naith, replacing poor Amanir.”

  A dozen heads suddenly snapped around, and two dozen eyes focused on the stranger.

  “Here?” one of them asked. “With us?”

  “His final loyalties are not yet determined,” Derhin replied. “He has agreed to speak for the Hots on certain matters in Amanir’s stead, but he does not fully accept their positions.”

  “But will he … That is …”

  “His loyalties are not yet determined,” Derhin repeated. “He is here with us because I am the one presenting him for confirmation. Once confirmed, he will join the Hots until he has given the speech he has promised them. After that, it will be his own choice.”

  “I do not yet understand the various beliefs well enough to have joined any specific faction,” Anrel said. “I intend to listen with interest to today’s deliberations.”

  “Of course! Good sense, young fellow,” the older man said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Anrel might have said more, but he was interrupted by a voice calling from somewhere behind him.

  “Hear me, delegates of the empire’s people!” the speaker cried. Anrel turned.

  “Hear me!” the voice continued. “The Grand Council of the Walasians is hereby called to order! Let every person delegated to speak for their community gather!”

  “That means us,” the older man said, clapping Anrel on the shoulder. “Come on.”

  Anrel joined the men and women of the Atrium as they marched into the great domed chamber and descended the steps into the ruined pool. Derhin led him across the broken tiles to a position almost directly below a raised platform at one side, a platform that Anrel had not noticed before.

  A man in a green and gold robe stood on the platform. When the delegates had all climbed down into the empty bath, while observers were still jockeying for position on the surrounding floor or in the gallery above, the robed man lifted a carved white rod and proclaimed, “I was chosen as today’s first speaker, and as such I hereby declare the Grand Council of the Walasians convened for this fourth day of summer in the five hundred and eighty-ninth year of the Walasian Empire, which is the twenty-fourth year of the reign of His Imperial Majesty Lurias Imbredar, twelfth of that name. Is there any objection?”

  No one spoke out, though a few voices murmured quietly.

  After a brief pause, the speaker continued, “I remind the Grand Council that we are charged by our people with determining the course of their governance, and that we are not bound by past law or custom, but empowered to create what law pleases us. Through us the Walasian people speak their will, and assert their authority throughout the empire. A great responsibility has been placed upon us. If there are any here who feel themselves unfit to accept this responsibility, let them speak now, that we may release them from their obligations.”

  He paused again, and again, no one spoke.

  “This is the one hundred and eighty-fifth day since the gathering of this Grand Council, and the one hundred and sixty-third session of deliberation. As today’s first speaker I hereby propose that we provisionally accept all actions and decisions of the prior one hundred and sixty-two sessions that have not previously been rescinded. All in favor?”

  Hundreds of voices said, “Aye!” in approximate unison, startling Anrel.

  “Opposed?”

  Perhaps two or three voices said, “Nay!”

  “The proposal has been accepted. Business will continue from previous sessions, rather than starting anew. Let it be so recorded.” He waved the white rod.

  “That much is all recited every day,” Derhin whispered in Anrel’s ear.

  “I now ask the delegates whether every province of the empire is duly represented, in accordance with the summons that created this Grand Council. Is the full delegation of the province of Demerren in attendance?”

  “It is,” someone answered from the floor.

  “Is the full delegation of the province of Hallin in attendance?”

  “It is.”

  The speaker ran through the list of provinces, one by one, until at last he said, “Is the full delegation of the province of Aulix in attendance?”

  “It is not, sir!” Derhin responded instantly.

  “Identify yourself, sir!”

  “I am Derhin li-Parsil, delegate from Naith in Aulix. My compatriot from Naith, Amanir tel-Kabanim is not present, nor will he be.” Derhin’s voice shook as he spoke these last few words—trembling with grief or rage, Anrel supposed.

  “The council recognizes the delegate from Naith, and asks that he explain his compatriot’s absence.”

  Derhin immediately marched up the steps, circled around the platform, and strode up to stand beside the speaker, who bowed and retreated, leaving Derhin alone on the platform.

  “As you all know, Amanir tel-Kabanim will never again address this gathering. He hanged himself yesterday morning.” He paused after those words, his hands clutched into fists, then swallowed hard before continuing, “As his fellow delegate from Naith it falls to me to name a provisional replacement, and I have made my choice.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “I could talk at length about the horror of poor Amanir’s death, about the suspicious circumstances surrounding it, about the need to find a suitable heir swiftly, about the delicacy required in selecting that heir so that I might properly balance the demands of Amanir’s townspeople back in Naith, the demands of his friends in this council, and a dozen other factors. I will not. Our empire is in a state of crisis, and we have no time to waste on such matters. You all know most of what I might tell you, and no worthwhile purpose would be served by such a recitation. Instead I will say that fate—or perhaps the Mother and Father of us all—delivered to me the ideal individual to take up Amanir’s place in this honorable gathering. He is a man most of you, perhaps all of you, know by reputation, though that reputation now owes as much to myth as to fact. His given name is Anrel Murau; no true name is recorded in the Great List, for although he attempted the sorcery trials, he did not succeed in them. You all know him, however, by another name, a name he gave himself when he addressed the crowds in Aulix Square in our home city of Naith, and that he used again in Beynos. It is a name claimed by others on occasion, but this man, Anrel Murau, is the originator and the original. Members of the Grand Council, I hereby name as heir to Amanir tel-Kabanim the man known to you all as Alvos, the orator of Naith.”

  Anrel had already started toward the steps, but he stumbled and almost fell, startled by the roar that Derhin’s final words provoked. Hundreds of voices were shouting, bellowing, questioning. Then he got his feet back under him and trotted quickly up and around and onto t
he platform, where he stood silently beside Derhin.

  “Members of the Grand Council,” Derhin shouted, trying to be heard over the chaos, “I present Anrel Murau, known as Alvos!”

  “How do we know it’s really him?” someone called out.

  “I give you my word as a delegate and a Walasian that this is the man who spoke in Aulix Square and asked the people of Naith to elect Amanir and myself to this council!” Derhin called back.

  “Alvos! Alvos! Alvos!” someone began to chant; Anrel thought he recognized the speaker as one of the Hots who had come to Lord Blackfield’s rooms the previous night.

  Derhin turned to Anrel. “Anrel Murau,” he said, “do you accept this appointment to serve as a delegate to the Grand Council, to represent the people of Naith, and to do your best to guide the future of the empire?”

  “I do accept this charge,” Anrel replied, speaking loudly and clearly. “If the council allows, I will serve to the best of my ability.”

  The assembled delegates applauded—or at any rate, most of them did; Anrel heard a few objections and catcalls amid the cheers. That was hardly surprising. The noise continued for several seconds while the speaker remounted the podium; Derhin and Anrel stepped back to make way for him. He raised his hands for silence, and gradually the crowd quieted.

  “I call upon the delegates to vote upon Delegate li-Parsil’s nomination of a successor for the late Amanir tel-Kabanim!” he shouted. “In the interests of celerity, I ask for approval by acclamation. Those in favor, say aye!”

  Hundreds of voices shouted in reply.

  “Those opposed, say nay!”

  Dozens of voices—perhaps hundreds, Anrel could not be certain—responded. The volume was unquestionably less than had been the roar of approval. A new round of applause broke out.

  Bellowing to be heard, the speaker proclaimed, “Since provisional acceptance requires approval from only one-fourth of this body, I hereby declare Anrel Murau to be the new delegate from Naith.”

  The applause—and an admixture of jeers and protests—continued for a moment, and as it gradually faded one voice began to stand out.

  “Master Speaker! Master Speaker!” someone was calling.

  “I recognize the noble delegate from Naith.”

  Anrel followed the speaker’s pointing finger and saw a well-dressed man of middle years, tall and slim.

  “Lord Oris,” Derhim murmured in Anrel’s ear.

  “I must insist upon a proper election!” Lord Oris shouted.

  “That is your privilege,” the speaker replied. “As a friend of the burgrave of Naith, I trust you can arrange the matter, Lord Oris?”

  Lord Oris seemed discomfited by this immediate acquiescence. “I … yes,” he said.

  “Then Anrel Murau will serve until such time as the results of the election are known to us. Delegate Murau, do you wish your name to be entered in this election Lord Oris proposes?”

  “I do,” Anrel replied.

  “Then let it be done.” The speaker took a deep breath, and said, “Let me say a few words now to congratulate the newest member of the Grand Council, and instruct him in a few of the expectations he must now face.”

  Anrel raised his chin and tried to look interested as the speeches began.

  22

  In Which Anrel Proposes a Compromise

  The speeches rambled on for almost an hour. The speaker, whose name Anrel still had not learned, spoke in grand generalities of the council’s heritage and promise. He was followed by Derhin, whose speech was to all intents and purposes a eulogy for both Amanir and Lord Valin, mentioning Anrel only in passing. Lord Oris then spoke about the beauty and importance of the city of Naith and the province of Aulix, and concluded with the hope that Anrel would be worthy of them, while making it clear that Oris himself doubted that Anrel could achieve such a height.

  Then there was a stir as someone made his way toward the platform, and Anrel was startled to see Lord Allutar mounting the steps.

  “Master Murau,” Lord Allutar said with a nod.

  “My lord,” Anrel acknowledged.

  Then Lord Allutar turned to address the delegates.

  “Members of the council, I stand before you to congratulate this young man on what he has accomplished today. Through the influence of his foolhardy friends and the clever manipulation of public sentiment, Master Murau has found his way onto the Grand Council, and has thereby earned a pardon for any crimes he might have committed before today. An hour ago he was under sentence of death for sedition, inciting riots, assault upon an officer of the peace, innumerable counts of theft, conspiring with witches, and undoubtedly other offenses of which I am blissfully unaware. To dismiss all that with a few well-chosen words, a friend’s assistance, and a round of applause—that’s quite remarkable, and I must confess my admiration for his audacity. I must also admit to relief on a purely personal level. As some of you may know, I am affianced to Lady Saria Adirane, daughter of the burgrave of Alzur. What you may not realize is that Master Murau is Lady Saria’s cousin. It is indeed a relief to know I will be marrying into the family of a delegate to the Grand Council, rather than rendering myself kin to a traitorous thief and brigand.”

  The crowd stirred at that; Anrel’s familial connections were obviously news to most of them. Anrel saw that by mentioning this link, Lord Allutar was using his own infamy as the despoiler of the Raish Valley to taint Anrel and undercut Anrel’s standing with the Hots and other populist factions. He was also making sure that everyone present knew that Anrel had a base personal motive for accepting appointment to the council.

  That was, Anrel thought, probably far more effective than open opposition.

  “I have known Master Murau for some time,” Lord Allutar continued, “and I know him to be a man of learning, a man of sense, a man who values his friends above his own political principles. I trust his actions as a member of the Grand Council will continue to be guided by expedience and personal loyalties, rather than any great passion for justice or deep moral convictions.”

  A stunned silence had fallen over the crowd; Lord Allutar turned to Anrel and smiled sardonically. “Master Murau, I believe it is now time for you to address your compatriots in this body.”

  Anrel stepped forward. “Thank you, Lord Allutar,” he said. He turned to face the crowd, and took a deep breath as he looked at the upturned faces in the great pool, and at the watchers in the gallery above. He thought he spotted Lord Blackfield, but was not entirely sure.

  This was different from his speeches in Naith and Beynos. Here he was not addressing a random group of citizens, but the Grand Council. There would be no riot—but his words might have effects much more widespread and lasting.

  He had planned out much of what he intended to say, but now, after hearing Lord Allutar’s speech, he quickly modified it to suit the situation. “I am afraid I must correct you in one matter,” he began. “Yes, my cousin is your fiancée, to my dismay. Yes, I am glad to be free of the outrageous charges against me—I am always pleased when common sense vanquishes folly. I am also pleased that I am pardoned for those thefts and other offenses I did indeed commit in order to survive as a fugitive, and I hope that now I am able to live openly again I will eventually be able to make recompense for them. You were correct in those particulars, my lord.” He paused, and turned his head to look at Lord Allutar.

  The landgrave met his gaze calmly.

  “However,” Anrel proclaimed, “when you speak of my personal loyalties overriding my passion for justice, you malign me. You sorely misjudge me.” He turned back to the crowd in the great round pool. “It is a passion for justice that has always driven me. It was my passion for justice that compelled me to speak out in Aulix Square against your own injustices, Lord Allutar. It was my passion for justice that drove me to speak again in Beynos, and that forced me from my comfortable home in Alzur. It is a passion for justice that has brought me here today. I am here in pursuit of justice, my friends and fellow Walasia
ns. I seek justice for my predecessor, Amanir tel-Kabanim, who I believe you, Lord Allutar Hezir, murdered by sorcerous means. I seek justice for Lord Valin li-Tarbek, who I know you murdered—who died in my arms with his chest torn open by your magic. I seek justice for a young woman named Reva Lir, who harmed no one, yet who you hanged for witchcraft over the vigorous objections of the people of Beynos, using your sorcery to ensure that she put her own head in the noose—just as did Amanir tel-Kabanim. I know you can make an innocent hang himself, my lord—I saw you do it in Beynos. Can I doubt that you did the same here in Lume? We have witnesses who can swear that Amanir went to meet with you the night before his death; was that when you ensorceled him? Was that when you condemned him to die?”

  “You have no evidence of any such thing,” Allutar replied, addressing Anrel rather than the crowd. “Amanir tel-Kabanim died by his own hand. I was not even present.”

  Anrel stared at him for a second, tempted to argue, but he resisted the temptation. This was not a trial, and he was not a prosecutor. He was making a broader point than merely accusing Lord Allutar of murdering a delegate.

  And in fact, the landgrave was right; he had no evidence.

  “I seek justice for those three deaths,” he said, “and for a fourth, as well. I seek justice for Urunar Kazien, my lord, who you executed for petty theft because you needed his blood for a certain black sorcery—the spell that so polluted the fields of the Raish Valley that crops grown there are inedible. That young man died for nothing, my lord, and his death brought only corruption and hunger.”

  For the first time, Allutar looked visibly angry. Anrel did not pause in his speech.

  “I seek justice for the people of the Pensioners’ Quarter,” he shouted, “who were burned out of their homes, many of them burned to death in the streets, for daring to protest when they were sold your tainted wheat! I seek justice for all the ordinary citizens of the Walasian Empire who have been betrayed and abused by their rulers! I am indeed driven by a passion for justice, Lord Allutar. Without justice we are nothing more than beasts. It is in pursuit of justice that I stand here now and ask the Grand Council to do what was once unthinkable, and place real restraints upon the sorcerers who rule the empire, who do not concern themselves with justice, and who place their own interests above the welfare of the empire. I know that nothing Lord Allutar has done is necessarily a crime under the laws of the empire, I know that the deaths he caused were within his rights as landgrave, I know that his ruination of the fields of the Raish Valley was permitted. I know all that, fellow delegates, but I say to you all that we must have justice even when the law does not demand it, even when the law denies it. I say that the sorcerers must be brought to account for their offenses against our common humanity. Under the laws we have accepted for centuries there is no provision for such an accounting, but we, we who are gathered here today, we are the Grand Council. We are the empire. We are the font from which the law derives. We can bring the sorcerers who have done so much damage to the empire to justice.”