Sinner

  Caelum stared at him. “And what might that be?”

  “We need,” Zared said, his hand absently hovering where his sword normally hung from his weapons belt, “to discuss restoring the throne of Achar.”

  13

  The Throne of Achar

  The entire Hall was silent, stunned. The notaries and secretaries had paused in their incessant hunt for precedents in their documents to stare openmouthed at the central table. The scribes’ quills had dipped unnoticed to scratch uselessly against cloth instead of parchment. The messenger boys were rigid with terror, incapable of moving.

  The guards, already rigid and expressionless, still somehow managed to register their outrage.

  Restore the throne of Achar?

  “And so now the traitor speaks,” Askam said softly into the silence. “Is this what you have wanted all along, Zared? Is this the reason you so pursued Leagh?”

  “I am no traitor,” Zared said, just as quietly, “to want for the Acharites what every other race in Tencendor has – their own head. Their own pride.”

  “Sit down, Zared,” Caelum said. Nothing about his demeanour revealed the intense shock, even fear, Zared’s words had caused.

  Caelum set his hands flat on the table before him, stared at them a long moment, then raised his eyes to the six men about the table. “Speak to me,” he said.

  “Well,” Yllgaine said, “technically this conversation is academic only. The throne of Achar no longer exists. It is a relic of the past. It cannot be revived.”

  “Achar no longer exists!” Askam exclaimed. His body was stiff with outrage, his eyes bright with indignant anger. As Prince of the West, Askam had the most to lose if the realm of Achar was recreated. Achar had once covered most of the territory he now governed, and had included Carlon, the richest and most populous city in Tencendor. “And thus the ‘Acharites’ don’t exist. Have you not read your Edicts of the First Year of StarSon Caelum’s Reign, Zared?”

  Zared ignored him. “This is not how I wished to raise the issue –” he began, when Caelum interrupted.

  “Nevertheless, this is how you raised it! I – nay, all of us here at this table – would be grateful if you would enlighten us as to the motives…the desires…behind your words.”

  “But now that the issue has been raised,” Zared continued regardless, refusing to look at Caelum, “may I speak without interruption?”

  Askam started to say something more, but Caelum held up his hand for silence. “Let him speak.”

  “My friends, when Axis reunited Tencendor he righted a massive wrong. I cannot deny that. Former Acharite kings and the Seneschal had riven the ancient realm apart with their lies and hatred. Borneheld only made matters worse, and I have no quarrel with the fact that Axis killed our brother in fair duel in the Chamber of the Moons in Carlon.

  “But I do have some reservations about his choices immediately after winning that duel. He reproclaimed Tencendor, yes, but in doing so he destroyed the ancient kingdom of Achar.”

  “It had no place in Tencendor!” Askam said, looking about the table for support. “It was ever an aberration!”

  Two or three other heads about the table nodded.

  “Peace,” Caelum said, laying a hand on Askam’s arm. “Let us hear what Zared has to say.” His eyes were very watchful.

  “That day on the shores of Grail Lake,” Zared continued, “Axis proclaimed Tencendor and created the Five Families representing the Icarii, Ravensbund and Acharite races.”

  “Human races,” Yllgaine murmured. Zared ignored the interruption.

  “He created the House of the Stars as supreme over all others, and created the Throne of the Stars, the throne that you now sit, Caelum. Supreme over Tencendor, below only the Star Gods themselves.

  “But,” Zared’s tone became harsher, and he leaned forward slightly, “Axis left the Icarii with their Talon,” he nodded at FreeFall, “he left the Ravensbund with their Chieftain,” he indicated Sa’Domai, “and he eventually gave the Avar their own Mage-King, Isfrael.

  “What this means,” Zared’s tone now hardened, “is that all races in Tencendor, all cultural groups, if you prefer that phrase, have a ‘king’, save the Acharites – and, yes! I insist on using that term! Both their throne and their identity was destroyed. Damn it, you have even banned the word ‘Acharite’! Caelum, whether you want to hear it or not, that has created dissent and distrust among the Acharites.”

  “Nonsense!” Askam looked angrily at Zared. “I am Prince of the West, and you Prince of the North, Zared. Between us we provide the Acharites – the peoples of the West and North, dammit! – all the royalty they need. This talk of the throne of Achar is –”

  “Necessary!” Zared said.

  Askam slammed his fist on the table, but before he could speak Caelum shouted, “Enough!

  “Enough,” he repeated in a more reasonable tone. He waited until Askam and Zared had calmed themselves. “Zared, what exactly are you saying?”

  “I am saying that the Acharites have paid enough,” he said. “They do not have to keep on paying. They look about and they see that all other racial groups have their kings and leaders, but the Acharites have been denied that right. They look about and they see that they are the only ones to carry any heavy burden of taxes. Caelum, they are feeling persecuted. That is dangerous. Very dangerous.”

  “So what are you saying that you want?” Caelum said very quietly, his gaze riveted on Zared’s face.

  “I, as so many of the Acharites, want the throne of Achar restored.”

  Utter silence greeted his words.

  Finally FreeFall dropped his head into his hand, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then looked up. “Axis should have foreseen this,” he said quietly.

  “Listen,” Zared said, “I want only for the Acharites what every other race in Tencendor has got – its own leadership, its own pride. As with every other race and seat of power, the throne of Achar would be subject to the Throne of the Stars. To you, Caelum. I am in no way disputing your claim to overlordship.”

  “And I suppose you want all the land west of the Nordra back to go with your throne, Zared! And Carlon! And the palace in Carlon!” Askam yelled.

  No-one missed Askam’s inflection of the “your”.

  “No, I do not, Askam,” Zared said hurriedly. “There is no need to give up any land or any of your power. A ceremonial throne, nothing more. But something to give the Acharites their pride back.”

  “And when they have their pride, will they again take up their axes and come after the Avar and the Icarii?” Isfrael asked.

  “There was no need for that remark!” Zared retorted. “The Wars of the Axe are long gone, Isfrael. The Seneschal is dead. I talk only of resurrecting a people’s self-worth, not of ancient hatreds. Do not confuse my request with the mistakes of the past.”

  “And I say there was every need for that remark!” Isfrael’s lips curled, as if he were about to snarl. “The ‘Acharites’ have been feeling persecuted for how long? Forty years, if that? Why don’t you ask FreeFall, Zared, or any one of my people, what it was like to be repressed for a thousand years! What it was like to have to haunt the shadows and the ice caves to escape the murderous axes of your…of the Acharites! And why not let Sa’Domai speak of the generations his people were reviled as carrion-eating barbarians? I feel no pity for your cause.”

  His last words came out almost as a growl, and everyone at the table stared at him, mesmerised by his wild anger.

  Caelum finally dropped his eyes to the table where he traced a forefinger through imaginary dust on its gleaming surface. “Are you saying you want to be King of Achar, Zared?”

  Zared just stared at him.

  Caelum raised his eyes, very calm now. “The line is dead, Zared. It died with Borneheld on the floor of the Chamber of the Moons.”

  “No,” Zared said quietly. “The line lives. There is a legitimate heir. I am the only son of the Princess Royal’s only legitimate marriage! Bo
rneheld was illegitimate, Axis is illegitimate, and I –”

  “You can’t prove Rivkah’s marriage to Magariz,” Askam said. “There are no records.”

  “Does anyone at this table call Rivkah a liar?” Zared asked, his eyebrows raised.

  Silence again, and eyes dropped to the table. Both Rivkah and Magariz had been honourable people. No-one doubted their claim to their teenage marriage.

  “So,” Caelum said very slowly, back to his irritating play with his forefinger. “Zared wants the circlet and ring of office back.”

  Zared gave a bark of harsh laughter. “I have the circlet and the ring, Caelum! Did you forget that Axis gave both to Rivkah? What I am asking is that you give the throne back to the Acharites.”

  “It’s too dangerous, Zared. You must realise that.”

  “Dangerous to whom, Caelum? Can you not see that it is dangerous if you do not give it back?”

  “No wonder you want my sister,” Askam said. “She would almost guarantee you the entire territories of Achar.”

  “Not if you weren’t so lax about getting yourself an heir, Askam.”

  Askam leapt to his feet, as did Caelum, who had to physically restrain the Prince. “Askam, sit down! I command it!”

  Askam sank resentfully back in his chair. “And as ever again,” he muttered, “the devious brother from Ichtar shall seize the throne of Achar.”

  “That is enough!” Caelum shouted, then turned back to Zared. “Have you no idea what dissent you have created with your request, Zared? Have you no idea of the fears you have resurrected?”

  He threw a hand about him. “Stars damn you! Look at what has happened about this table, then multiply that one hundred thousand times!”

  “I know only of the dissent and anger that will be roused if you refuse, Caelum.” Zared paused. “I can see that I have created uncertainty and discomfort among my fellows – for that I express my regrets. But I do not regret having mooted the possibility of a restored King of Achar. It should have been discussed years ago.”

  “Zared, if you will remain silent a few minutes,” Caelum said, then he took a deep breath and looked about the table. “Talk to me.”

  Sa’Domai raised his eyebrows, and Caelum nodded at him.

  “Zared has a point,” the Ravensbund chief said. At Askam’s irritated gesture, Sa’Domai hurried on. “Certainly regarding the human population feeling victimised, and probably about the need for a throne as well. What he says makes sense, and yet I understand the concerns that go with the idea of a restored Acharite King.”

  Askam scowled at him, wondering if Zared had paid the Ravensbund Chief for those words.

  “FreeFall?” Caelum asked. “What do you say?”

  The Talon of the Icarii hesitated. He had never foreseen the possible resurrection of Achar, and the thought filled him with foreboding. Yet he liked and respected Zared. Trusted him. But what if, several generations into the future, another Borneheld was born? Or if the Acharites, having got their throne back, started to hunger once again for the Seneschal? Could he accede to a request which might eventually result in yet another devastating civil war? Another forest burning? Another exile for the Icarii?

  “I say the restored throne is too dangerous,” he said. “It is too soon. The scars of the past could too easily reopen. Achar is best left a memory.”

  Askam nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Isfrael?” Caelum asked. “Your people bear as many scars as FreeFall’s, and must have the same fears.”

  The Mage-King had quietened since his previous outburst. He sat in silence a moment, his eyes introspective. “I must protect my people,” he finally said, “as also the infinitely precious souls who roam the magical Minstrelsea. I must think of the forests, and of the pain and blood that my mother, Faraday Tree Friend, expended in planting those forests. She was once Queen of Achar, but she abandoned her place for the trees. I say,” and now his eyes sharpened and he looked about the table, “that the peoples of the West and the North have their respective heads in the two Princes of those regions. I say they should look for their pride to both Zared and Askam. I say the throne of Achar is too dangerous. Let it stay buried.”

  Zared turned his head away slightly, his mouth twisting.

  “Yllgaine?” Caelum turned to the last of the Five.

  Yllgaine sighed. “Like Sa’Domai I can see both sides of the issue. I have myself heard murmurings among the peoples of the West, but I can also,” he looked at FreeFall, “understand the fears generated by the past. If a marriage bed is too dangerous an item with which to unite the West and North, then how much more dangerous a throne? I say no.”

  Caelum nodded. Only Sa’Domai had come out in favour, if it could be called that, of Zared’s request. Caelum knew he had to refuse – Stars damn it! He had no choice! What was Zared thinking of? But what would happen when he did refuse? Was Zared likely to mount a rebellion? Was it inevitable war if he granted the request, or inevitable war if he refused?

  No, Zared could never hope to mount a rebellion. He had the resources of the North, true, but that did not stretch to such massive manpower that it could defeat a combined army from the rest of Tencendor, or the Lake Guard and Strike Force combined, if it came to that.

  No, Zared would sulk, but he would not fight the issue.

  But, by the Stars! Caelum decided, he had to do something about Zared. How many people in the West and North did see him as a possible heir to the dismantled throne? If Zared wived, and then bred, then how long might that line continue to haunt Tencendor?

  Caelum, as his father had so many times before him, silently cursed Rivkah for producing an heir to the line when by rights she should have been too old to breed.

  “Your request was foolish in the extreme, Zared,” Caelum said. “Gods, man! Why resurrect the hatreds of the past?”

  “I was not trying to resurrect the –”

  “Your request is refused, Zared. You will never mention it again. Isfrael was right. The peoples of the West and North have their respective Princes as their source of pride.”

  He stood up. “So I have said and so it shall be done,” he stated formally, nodding at the notaries and secretaries. “This Council of the Five is formally disbanded.”

  14

  A Moot Point

  Herme, Theod and Jannymire Goldman awaited Zared in his chambers. It was risky, perhaps, but they’d felt it better to wait there than lurk about corridors.

  The three men were silent, apprehensive. None of them could sit: Theod leaned against the mantelpiece of the fireplace, playing with a candlestick; Herme stared out a window, his hands clasped behind his back; Goldman stood behind a great wing-backed chair to one side of the chamber, his hand resting on its high back, his fingers drumming restlessly.

  No word had come from the Great Hall, although one of Goldman’s new-found friends among Sigholt’s servants relayed that the Princess Leagh had been hastened from the hall, her face stricken, and had not emerged from her chamber the entire afternoon.

  Now it was approaching dusk.

  What was happening? What had been decided?

  The door flung open, and all three men jumped.

  Zared strode in, stared at them, then slammed the door behind him.

  “Nay, nay and nay!” he snarled, and poured himself a drink from a wine decanter on a sideboard. His hands shook so badly, fat red rivulets of the wine ran down his fingers and pooled on the sideboard, but no-one noticed.

  Herme glanced at Theod, then both nobles looked at Goldman.

  “The taxes?” Goldman asked softly.

  “Oh, you will do well, good Goldman,” Zared said, his tone harsh, and he gulped down half his wine. “For those residing in the West the tax has been reduced to one-tenth.”

  Goldman visibly relaxed, as did Herme and Theod.

  “But…” Herme said, noting well the anger radiating out of Zared’s eyes.

  “But for everyone else the tax has been raised to a half. O
ne-half!”

  None of the others missed the new tax’s significance.

  “Caelum must think you are made of diamonds,” Goldman said carefully.

  “Caelum,” and the way Zared said it, the word became a curse, “believes that Askam has become indebted only because of his service to the Throne of the Stars. Thus it is only fair that someone else help shoulder the burden of that debt. Me, no less! I ask you, gentlemen, would I have received more sympathy if I had lost all my wealth in flooded gloam mines as well? No – don’t answer that!”

  He refilled his glass and swallowed some more wine. “The border tax has gone. At least Caelum managed to right that wrong.”

  “Nevertheless,” Herme said evenly. “It seems that only the Acharites must bear the burden of the tax, and of the debt Askam accrued in Caelum’s name. I assume the Icarii and the Avar, even the Ravensbund, will contribute nothing to its repayment?”

  Zared shook his head. “The Acharites only.” He paused. “My friends…I tried to argue against this, but…but, gods, I cannot believe this!… Caelum spoke such words into our minds that I am still reeling. He said this was only right as the Acharites had spent a thousand years persecuting everyone else, desecrating this land. We are repaying the debts of our forefathers, my friends, not Askam’s debts.”

  Silence, then…

  “May his liver burn with the heat of sunfire,” Theod muttered savagely, “and his testicles feel the nibble of –”

  “Silence!” Zared cried. “Speak not against Caelum in this enchanted Keep!”

  Theod took a deep breath and half-turned away, but if he held his tongue, then his fury was shared by all in the chamber.

  “And Leagh?” Goldman eventually asked.

  “Nay,” Zared said. “She and I must bed elsewhere, it seems.”

  Again the three men exchanged looks.

  “And our pride?” Herme said very, very quietly. “What judgment did Caelum make on the throne?”

  Zared raised his head and looked at him. “Nay, my friend. What else?”

  Then, in a movement so sudden and vicious it shocked everyone else in the room, he turned on one heel and threw his glass into the fireplace.