From Across the Clouded Range (81 page)

Ipid was so busy trying to
interpret those expressions and understand their meaning –
is not a single one of them happy to see me
alive
– that he was almost to the podium
before he remembered Härl. He turned to the giant behind him and
motioned to one of the chairs. He lowered his eyes as he spoke.
“Most honorable teacher, I, your most undeserving student, would
dare to suggest that you sit here. Though it is not fitting of your
great honor, our mission would be aided by your most generous
understanding that I, your undeserving student, may not be able to
translate all the words of this council for your honorable
inspection.” It was the most humble way Ipid could think to say sit
down and shut up. He had written it out and memorized it, and he
desperately hoped that the huge warrior would comply.

Härl looked confused by the complex
succession of words and spent a pregnant moment unraveling them.
When he finally did, he looked with distaste at the embroidered
cushion on the suggested chair. He grunted, nodded his agreement,
then sat on the bench behind the chair as stiff as the boards that
formed the seats. Ipid could only assume that he had been freed
from his need to translate and let out a great sigh. He turned back
to the directors, but a rich tenor broke the silence before he
could even reach the podium.

“
Do we need any more
proof?” the voice demanded. Ipid found the speaker soon enough. He
sat a seat away from the end on the left side, but Ipid would have
known Geoffrey Ahern’s snide derision anywhere. He was one of the
council’s youngest members and had only been elected a few years
before, but he had quickly formed a coalition whose unifying
purpose appeared to be their opposition to Ipid and everything he
represented. Lord Ahern and his cronies, mostly young, landed
nobles, longed for a time before mills, universities, and trade
when power was inherited, not earned. They saw Ipid’s rise and the
wealth he had created along the way as a threat to their very way
of life and vociferated their opposition to such social ascendancy
at every opportunity. Of particular concern over the past two years
were Ipid’s investments in Liandria, which they saw as borderline
treason despite the fact that the Kingdoms and Liandria had never
fought a war and were about as likely to as the Morgs and Sylians.
“I have warned you!” Lord Ahern continued. “I told you he was a
traitor!”

The room erupted into
shouts, most of which seemed, remarkably, to support Lord Ahern.
Ipid could not imagine what it meant.
Traitor? It is not the first time Geoffrey Ahern has called
me that, but why now? Why would it matter now that I have purchased
land in Liandria, have accepted a title there, have opened mills?
What does it matter with an army camped outside the city
gates?

A hammering from the center of the
table returned order. “Lord Ahern, you are out of order!” The huge
man at the middle of the table gestured at the first speaker with
his gavel as he bellowed. “The petitioner has not even been able to
identify himself let alone state his case. If you wish to speak,
you will raise your crest and wait to be recognized. Do you
understand that? I can still have you removed if you insist on
ignoring the principles that govern these meetings.”

The man with the gavel glowered at
Lord Ahern then turned to Ipid with a great sigh. Oban Markovim,
the Governor of Oscante District and Chairman of the Thoren
Directorate, was a huge mass of a man with several chins that
folded in waves down to a tent of a shirt that stretched over his
mammoth gut. His arms were like huge hams, and they barely reached
around his body to the table where his chubby little fingers were
normally woven together like links of sausages in a butcher’s
window. Great beads of sweat ran from under his hat and coursed
down his face where he dabbed them away with a white cloth, a
futile effort as proven by the great stretch of material across his
chest where his sweat had turned the white cotton a damp
grey.

Despite his sloppy appearance, Oban
Markovim was by far the most powerful man in Thoren. His boisterous
personality, invigorating speeches, and extraordinary generosity
made him a legend among the people while behind-the-scenes his
tenacity, ruthlessness, political savvy, and nose for the truth
allowed him to rule the Directorate with an iron fist that did not
betray any of the generosity and kindness he showed the outside
world. He had served on the Directorate for over twenty years and
had been Chairman for eight. But he had never been a rich man until
he became one of the first investors in Ronigan & Galbridge –
even then, Ipid had known which horses to back. Ipid had made him
wealthy beyond his dreams, and he had returned the favor a hundred
times. He just hoped that today would be another of those
times.

“
I am glad you are well,
Ipid,” Oban’s deep, gravelly voice pulled Ipid from his thoughts.
“We feared the worst when word of the invaders arrived and there
was no sign of you. We have heard the rumors, of course, but I
never believed it until now.” Oban gave a great sigh and looked
down the long table in both directions. He looked tired and deeply
disappointed. He sighed again and shook his round head. “I think
this saddens me more than word of your death would have. But I
suppose you have made your choice. So why have you returned? Do you
wish to demand our surrender? Will you offer us the same deal that
the invaders gave you? Do you wish us to join you as traitors?”
Oban looked like he aged twenty years just by speaking those
unimaginable words.

Traitors?
Then it hit him. The looks he had received in the
outer chamber, the hatred in the eyes of the directors, the gasps
when he spoke with Härl.
They think I’m a
traitor. That I am in league with the invaders.
It was all that Ipid could do to keep his jaw from hanging
open in surprise. After all he had been through, he could not
imagine that someone could see him as complicit with the Darthur,
but all the evidence was there.
I speak
their language. I arrived on a fine horse with one of their chiefs.
I appear to give that chief an order and he sits on the benches
behind me without a word. How could I be so stupid? Even I would
think that I was a traitor.
Ipid’s heart
sank. He saw all his well-prepared arguments crumbling before his
eyes. They were worthless now. He would be lucky if he wasn’t
driven back to the Darthur in tar and feathers.

“
By the Order,” he
whispered. Then stronger, “This is not as it appears. I am no
traitor. I do not serve the Darthur.”

“
Come now, Ipid,” Oban
replied. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but don’t insult
our intelligence. Did you not think word of your standing with the
invaders would reach us? Your friends have not killed and captured
everyone, you know. Many refugees have made it to the city. They
have told us how you ride at the front of the invading army with
their king, how you are included in his councils, how you translate
for him. And now, you arrive here with one of their chiefs? You
give him orders like your servant?” Oban shook his great head in
disgust. “We may not have the might to face your friends, but we
are not stupid, so don’t treat us as if we are. Tell us what you
have come to say and then be gone. As you may have noticed, we are
under siege. We have much to do.”

Applause echoed through the Hall of
the People. Oban sat as far forward as his gut would allow and
glowered. Lord Ahern, far to his side, beamed. Ipid’s mind was
shattered. His eyes could not rise above his feet. His shoulders
slouched, hands balled, knees trembled. He did not even know where
to begin.

“
So not even you can face
the depth of your deceit,” Lord Ahern crowed over the fading
applause. “How long have you been in league with the invaders? Is
that the real source of your wealth? Has all of your work simply
been an elaborate plan to undermine the power of the Kingdoms, to
pave the way for your benefactors? Who else is involved? Do you
have agents in other cities? Have you infiltrated our allies in
Liandria? I call for a trial so that we can find the full depth of
this deception, root it out, and punish all those involved,
starting with its originator.” The room erupted, this time into
shouts. Nearly every voice called for Ipid to answer the questions,
to admit his crimes and pay the consequences. The guards started to
move from the walls. Things were getting out of control.

Oban pounded the other directors down,
beating the table until it nearly collapsed. “Wait!” he yelled. “As
Ipid himself told Captain Defours, he has come as an envoy of the
invaders. And as he suggested to the esteemed captain, we have not
fallen so far that we would arrest an ambassador who arrives under
the symbol of the Order. We will hear his proposal then he will
return to his masters where his punishment will be to live with the
guilt of his betrayal until such time as we defeat these . . .
Darters and throw them back across Clouded Range.”

The room exploded. Directors cheered.
Guards pounded their spears on the tiles and beat their gauntlets
against their chests. The sound pulsed through Ipid like waves,
nearly sending him to his knees. By the Order, he wanted more than
anything to cheer with them.

“
So what is it you want,
Ipid? Speak, so that we may cast you out and return to our
preparations?” Oban yelled over the cheers, no longer bothering
with order or protocol. He was in his political element, unifying
his constituents against a common enemy. It just happened that the
enemy was Ipid.

“
I want exactly what you
want!” Ipid found himself yelling. “I want these bastards
destroyed. I want to see them crushed. I want them to know no
peace, no mercy, no rest until they all are cast from this world
into the storms of chaos where they belong. That is what I
want!”

The room fell silent at
the fervor of Ipid’s words. The very emotion of them seemed to suck
the air from the room leaving it ghostly quiet . . . except for
Härl’s grunt of approval. A look behind showed him sitting, arms
crossed, with a look of satisfaction on his face.
The bastard is enjoying this.

“
I am not in league with
the invaders!” Ipid continued. “I want to see them defeated more
than any of you could ever know. After what they have done, after
what I have seen, I have pledged my life to that goal alone.
Despite what you have heard, what you have seen, I come to you
today as a prisoner, a slave. I was captured when the Darthur took
Randor’s Pass. I was forced to learn their language and beaten when
I did not do so fast enough. I have starved. I have suffered. I
have witnessed atrocities that you would not even imagine possible.
I hate the Darthur with every fiber of my being. I would give
everything I have to see them defeated. You have to believe me when
I tell you that my hate for them is the only thing that allows me
to rise each morning and the only thing that I dream of when I
sleep at night.”

The silence in the room
stretched for a long moment. The directors sat as if stunned. Then
a slow, mocking clap snapped the silence, shook the gathering from
its mesmerism. “Bravo!” Lord Ahern applauded with dripping sarcasm.
“Lord Ronigan, I never knew that acting was one of your many
skills, but that was a truly masterful performance. Could you
perhaps recite de Nardees speech to Liandria from
The Fall of Order
? It
has always been one of my favorites.”

The other directors laughed, but it
was half-hearted, uncomfortable. Ipid had struck a nerve. Now he
had to drive it home. He ignored Lord Ahern, focusing his attention
on the center of the table where Oban and his allies sat. It was
there that this battle would be won or lost. “Though I was not born
in this city, though I have holdings outside of this district, even
outside this nation, the Kingdoms have always been my home. I have
given my entire life to making them better, stronger, richer. I
have turned these Kingdoms from a forgotten backwater to a nation
respected across the world. How would that have helped the
invaders? What have I ever done to weaken this nation? Oban, you
have known me for twelve years. You have been my partner and friend
for all of that time. You know the love I have for this country,
for this city. Do not tell me that you could now, in your heart,
believe me a traitor.” He stared at Oban to be sure the
implications of his words had settled – part of his goal had been
to remind the chairman how closely they were linked.

The room fell silent. The directors
watched each other warily. Oban looked stunned. It was clear that
he now realized the dangers of the road he was taking. He and Ipid
were too intertwined. Any investigation into Ipid’s activities
prior to the invasion was destined to ensnare him as well. It was
also clear that several directors were thinking back, searching for
evidence that supported their accusations or remembering all the
ways they too were tied to Ipid Ronigan. For most of them, there
were many of the later and none of the earlier. Ipid had made
fortunes for many of the men at this table, but he had also served
the Kingdoms honorably, had built schools, had expanded trade, had
been a favorite of the Chancellor himself.

“
I do not want to believe
it,” Oban nearly mumbled. “Truly no one here could say you have not
served the Kingdoms well. And I cannot believe that you had allied
yourself to the Darters before you were captured, but it does not
take a lifetime to be a traitor. How can we know what has happened
since the Darters arrived? If you were beaten, where are the
bruises? If you are a slave, how could you order their chief to sit
while you speak? You are not even translating our words for him. It
is you that speaks for them, not their chief. It is as if he is
nothing but your guard. I want to believe you, but the facts don’t
fit your claims.”