From Across the Clouded Range (83 page)

Now, every eye in the room was on the
small, stout man. It was the first time Ipid could remember him
speaking to the Directorate since his appointment, and he did not
look any more comfortable now than he had on that fateful day. He
was an ugly, little man with yellow buck teeth, huge ears, sunken
eyes, a pock-marked face, and bald head. He had blanched a sickly
white that offset his dark hair and brown eyes. Valati Lorenzo
gulped and fidgeted with the wooden medallion that marked his
position. Ipid hoped that he would not faint.

“
Well, what is it then?
With all respect Valati Lorenzo, we do not have all night.” Oban
bellowed at the man, but it just blanched him a paler shade of
white.

“
I am sorry to interrupt.”
The valati started to speak then seemed to think better of it. “Oh
. . . my . . . . Ahh. I . . . ahh . . . don’t know if I should. Ahh
. . . .”

“
Either you can tell us or
you cannot,” Oban roared, “but if you say ‘ahh’ one more time, I am
going to pack you back to Sal Danar. His Excellence the Xi’ Valati
be damned!” Oban seemed to just then realize what he had said. “May
the Order protect and guide him,” he interjected and looked
somewhat nervously toward the secretary. “That does not need to go
into the record,” he instructed.

The secretary nodded. He had been at
his job long enough to know how to keep it.

“
Now, while our fine
instructor from the Church is deciding what he will say, I can
confirm at least part of what Ipid has said.” Oban looked down the
table then turned to Captain Defours, who was standing at the other
end of the room. “Captain Defours, can you tell us what you know of
the creatures?”

“
Certainly, my lord.”
Captain Defours approached the podium, swept his lavish green cape
behind him, and bowed to the directors. “My scouts report having
seen a variety of unexplainable creatures in the skies above the
invading army. They have not approached the city, so we know little
of their number or capabilities, but they are said to be huge and
fearsome in appearance. We have consulted the relevant experts at
the university but have not been able to explain the creatures or
their existence. We have also had unsubstantiated reports of
non-flying creatures. These have been little more than wild tales
from farmers and refugees, but they are generally consistent with
what Lord Ronigan just described.”

Defours bowed again but it was lost in
the explosion of voices. Most of the directors demanded to know why
they had not heard of his threat prior to now. The faces were red
with rage and the spittle flew liberally to punctuate their
outrage.

“
Silence!” Oban forgot his
mallet, hammered his huge hand down on to the table, and stood. His
voice rose over the collective yells. “I didn’t tell you for this
very reason. I didn’t want to start a panic, and I still don’t. Do
you all understand that?”

The yelling ceased, but the hum of
murmured voices continued to pervade the room. Oban spoke over
them. “As Captain Defours suggested, we have recruited the most
learned men in the city to look into these creatures, but we still
know far less than what Ipid just told us, so all I can do is
confirm part of what our colleague has said.”

Oban paused, drew a deep breath, and
glowered at the valati. “Now, Valati Lorenzo, have you decided that
you have something to tell us, or is the guidance of the Church too
much to ask in this troubled hour?” Oban grumbled to himself and
looked at the secretary again. The man was already nodding his
understanding.

The valati seemed to have recovered
some of his color and composure, though he still fondled his
medallion nervously. “Yes, Lord Markovim, I am ready to speak, and
I am sorry for causing your frustration. I am certain that the
Order will forgive your blaspheming, though it trembles at your
temper.”

Oban growled at the valati and
clutched his mallet. The little man gulped and let the
transgression drop. “What I am about to tell you is known by the
barest few within the Church.” He paused again to let the weight of
that sink in. “I am sworn to keep it with my life, but I have to
believe that this is the very reason that the His Excellence sent
me – of all people – to fill this post.” The valati smiled at the
self-deprecation and added under his breath, “Though I can only
imagine how he knew.”

Ipid looked around to see if anyone
else had heard the comment, but he was by far the closest to the
valati. No one else made a point of the comment, and Ipid did not
have a chance to note it before the man continued.

“
The Exiles are real,” the
valati announced. All his trepidation had gone, and the conviction
of his tone left the directors stunned. “The great teacher did not
believe in metaphor or allegory. Every word in
The Book of Valatarian
is true.
There are those, such as the honorable Lord Ronigan has suggested,
that can muster the powers of chaos and use them to break the laws
of the Holy Order.”

The room exploded. Every director
stood and yelled at the same time. Oban finally did break his
hammer trying to bring them to order and was just calling for the
guards when a powerful voice cut through the confusion. “I will be
heard!” It was the valati. His eyes were sharp and his words echoed
through the room even after it had fallen to silence. Every eye was
upon the little man, but not a sound disrupted the sudden
silence.

“
I have studied those
scriptures and the time before the Exile most of my life, but I
have to admit that, from what he has said, Lord Ronigan already
knows more about the Lawbreakers and their abilities than I. The
only thing I can tell you is that they existed and, before our
great savior Xionious Valatarian, their powers were vast. I cannot
confirm anything about their time in exile or their espoused change
of heart. I can tell you that their reign was a time of terrible
suffering. They worshipped turmoil. Hatred and pain were their only
goals, and order was their most dire enemy. But my knowledge is
entirely of the past, of a time almost a thousand years gone. As we
all know, much can change in that time." The valati dropped his
head and went silent.

Still, Ipid wondered. If what the
valati had said under his breath was true, then someone knew more.
Someone knew to expect the Exiles’ return, and they had known it
for some time. He watched the valati carefully as the directors
rumbled. The little man looked nervous. His eyes roved the room
like a caged animal. He was hiding something. Ipid could not say
what, but he was certain of it.

“
My fellow directors,”
Oban ended the mumbled conversations and Ipid’s contemplation of
the valati. His voice was somber but powerful and commanding. “I
thank you, Valati Lorenzo, for sharing this information. I wish we
had more time to discuss the significance of your words and why the
Church has deemed to keep them secret, but that is a luxury for
another time.” Ipid had to look twice to confirm the sincerity of
Oban’s conciliatory tone. Another look at the valati showed a small
smile that did not mask his desperation.

“
Given these revelations,”
Oban continued, “I have to say that I believe every word that our
colleague, Lord Ronigan, has told us. I also believe that Ipid was
a prisoner of the invaders, that he was forced to learn their
language and aid their leaders.” He paused but did not allow
interjection. “Now, we could say that he should have died rather
than aid these bloodthirsty criminal, but I also agree that his
death would have bought nothing, that it is valuable to have
someone working inside the enemy, someone who is learning their
ways and influencing their movements. Already, Ipid’s insight into
their numbers and plans is more than every scout in the Kingdoms
could have hoped to learn. And his knowledge of the Exiles eclipses
even that of the Church.”

He looked hard at each of those
gathered around him. “Still, I am but one voice in a directorate of
eleven elected voices. As the chairman, I call a vote. How say you,
bearing in mind not only what Ipid has told us but also what you
have seen and what you know about him as a man? Those who believe
that Lord Ronigan is a willing traitor and accomplice to the
enemies of our people, please, raise your crests to be
counted.”

Ipid looked expectantly down the table
one way then the other and back again. He was stunned by the sudden
call of a vote and realized that he had no idea which way it would
go. He wished that Oban had allowed more debate, so he would at
least have an idea of his fate. As it was, several of the directors
clutched their crests, watched one another, waited to see what the
others would do. Geoffrey Ahern’s fingers were white from the death
grip he had on his medallion, but it did not rise off of the table.
It was as if a magical force was holding it down, making the circle
of gold too heavy for him to lift.

Still, if one of those men gained the
courage to vote, others would follow. The struggle was obvious.
Their minds fought their hearts. Their minds told them that they
should vote – all the evidence pointed to guilt – yet their hearts
told them that it could not be, that it did not fit. If they had
the support of others, their minds might have the justification to
defeat the conviction of their hearts, but without it, they did not
have the courage to go against what their hearts told them was
true. Thus it was that each man in turn released the grip on his
crest, and they fell to the table with a ringing clatter until even
Geoffrey Ahern could no longer maintain his hold, and his crest
rattled to the planks.

Oban let out a great sigh, and Ipid
suppressed a laugh of joy. “We are only half way there, my friend,”
Oban mouthed so that only Ipid could see then looked back to the
directors seated around him.

“
I am pleased to see that
you all had the courage to trust your hearts. I ask you to do so
once more, for we still have not decided on the proposal brought to
us by Lord Ronigan that the people of Thoren should participate in
this ‘Battle of Testing’ at the request of our enemies, that we
should meet them in a battle that would most certainly be our
destruction in order to save the lives of countless
others.”

The big man paused to
allow the gravity of his words to resonate. The table was silent.
“Again, I will give you my view on this issue. We have already said
that our trusted colleague is not in willing league with the enemy.
Thus we must believe that Ipid believes that he is speaking the
truth. That, however, does not mean that he
is
speaking the truth.” Ipid’s heart
sank at the words. Was he destined to win the battle for his name
only to lose the one for his home? “It is possible that our
colleague has been deluded by the invaders, that he has been
tricked into bringing this proposal to us on false pretenses. In
fact, I think that is likely the case. The alternative does not
ring true to me, does not sound logical, does not make
sense.”

It was over. Ipid felt the wind go out
of him as if he had been kicked in the stomach. His shoulders
slouched. He wanted to collapse onto the ground and die.

“
However,” Oban’s voice
rose to a roar; hope was reborn. “I am not sure that we can risk
making that assumption. What if Lord Ronigan does speak true? What
if we don’t heed him and countless thousands are murdered as a
result? Is that risk worth the gain of holding the city? There will
be other cities to stand against the invaders, and if they are
lying now, we will not fall for their tricks again. But if they are
telling the truth, we will not have the option to try again. We
have already heard what these depraved men are capable of doing, of
their disregard for life. We have confirmation from Valati Lorenzo
that the invaders are in league with the Lawbreakers. Who is to say
that they would not do as Ipid suggests? And if they do, if women
and children are slaughtered because we stayed hidden behind these
stout walls, do you think that the Holy Order will welcome us when
we too have met our end? I for one, think that this is a small
sacrifice to make given the risks we run. One city, one garrison
weighted against the lives of every person in the Kingdoms. In my
mind, it is not a difficult measure.”

They had a chance, Ipid thought as
Oban finished. He looked at the faces gathered around the table but
could not read them, could not tell which way a vote would swing.
Oban opened his mouth to call for that vote, but a crest rose into
the air before he could.

“
I will have my say, Lord
Markovim.” It was Geoffrey Ahern. He was not defeated after all.
“You cannot withhold debate on such an important topic. I will be
heard.”

Oban sighed. “You are quite correct,
Lord Ahern. Please, proceed.”

Having won the right to speak appeared
to surprise Lord Ahern, and he spent a long moment searching for
his voice. When he managed to gather himself, however, his words
were smooth and confident. “I, along with the rest of you, agreed
that Lord Ronigan is no willing traitor. I too was moved by his
words, by his story, and I stand by my vote in that matter, but I
see his motives in a different light. He is no willing accomplice,
but rather a broken man who will do anything to please his masters.
You heard him talk about his torture, his fear, his desire to
improve his standing with the invaders. He claims that this
willingness to aid them is fueled by a desire to influence and
defeat them from within, but what if it is really done to save his
skin? What if Lord Ronigan has been so abused that he no longer
knows the difference? What if his real desire is to gain some
slight security from his new masters by delivering to them the
jewel that is Thoren intact and undefended?”