The False Martyr (26 page)

Finding a place on the
Chancellor’s other side was Di Valati Rylan, the Order’s voice in
the Kingdoms. A stout man in his middle years, his traditional
brown robes looked more like a suit. Made of finely woven lamb’s
wool, it had been starched into lines and embroidered with complex
patterns so that it could be considered a work of art. In its
center was the gold medallion that marked his position. His face
was held up, bald head barely visible, showing his clear contempt
for those across from him.

The other members of the
Bureau streamed in behind and distributed themselves on either
side. They all looked remarkably similar – men in their middle to
late years in dark suits marked in some way to denote their office.
Ipid checked each of them off a mental list: friends, rivals,
allies, and enemies. It seemed so long since he had seen them,
since he had been concerned with their intrigues and alliances,
that it felt like a dream. In only a few months, these men who had
been, in many ways, the center of his life had been reduced to
little more than curiosities from a bygone age.

The only surprise among
the faces, was that of Hector Bellon. He was young relative to the
others, but from a wealthy family with great holdings east of
Talmney, near the border with Liandria. The great jeweled broach on
his left lapel had been in Ipid’s office the last time he had seen
it. It marked the man as his replacement, the new First Advisor on
Trade and Commerce. Ipid shook off the sting of that. What else had
he possibly expected?

“
I will not negotiate
while that traitor is present,” Chancellor Kavich demanded to begin
the session. His finger pointed toward Ipid, a great sapphire
sparkling next to it. “Please, remove him so that we may
begin.”

Ipid was aghast. He felt
his insides shake at the implication, not only that he was a
traitor but that he may have to leave, that he may be excluded
while the fate of his nation was decided. He opened his mouth not
sure what would come out.

Arin saved him the
trouble. He laughed, a single great humorless blast. “You are
mistaken, fat man. This is no negotiation. This is your surrender.
As for K’amach-tur Ipid, he is my translator and advisor. If he
goes, this session is ended.” Arin spoke in Darthur as was proper
in the presence of other warriors. When he was finished, he
gestured to Ipid.

Ipid translated. With each
word, the Chancellor’s face grew a brighter shade of red. His
advisors sputtered their indignation and glared, hatred boiling
from their piercing stares. The looks were so strong that Ipid felt
his insides trembling under their force.

“
Very well,” the
Chancellor conceded and waved Ipid off with a bejeweled hand. “The
traitor can stay, but be forewarned, we will not be lured into your
traps. You are known to us, Ipid Ronigan. We know your words are
lies, and they will be treated as such.”

Ipid desperately wanted to
protest, to defend his honor, and explain his role in everything
that had happened, but a grunt from Arin brought him back to the
moment. He swallowed the bile that was rising with his indignation
and translated.

When he finished, the
Darthur grunted in disapproval, but the Chancellor spoke over them.
“You should know that we have not come here to surrender. Wildern
has the strongest walls in the Kingdoms. Our forces stand ready and
our allies will soon rally to our side. Your treachery is done. You
will have to take this city street by street, will have to scale
our wall or tear it down brick by brick, find your way across our
bridges, and do it all again on the other side. You may defeat us,
but we will cripple you in the process. We will sap your strength,
drain your will, and leave you for our allies to finish. This I
promise on behalf of every man, woman, and child that you
slaughtered in Thoren. Your tyranny shall end here!” His hand
slapped hard on the table, and he scowled at the men before him,
but Ipid knew that the speech was meant for his own men, not the
invaders. He was trying to build himself and his fellows up for
what had to be done. It was all bluster, and Ipid and Chancellor
Kavich both knew it.

Nonetheless, Ipid
translated the words as closely as he could manage. To no surprise,
the Darthur laughed. They slapped one another and made jokes about
the daring words of the fat man before them.

Except for Arin. He did
not laugh, did not smile, did not seem amused in the slightest.
“You have missed the meaning of Thoren,” he said. “I want to spare
this city that same fate. Surrender now, join us, and live. This is
your chance to save your people. Refuse and you will see firsthand
what happened to Thoren.”

Ipid translated, but the
Chancellor waved off the words. “You will not lure us from our
walls as you did the men of Thoren. You will have to fight to burn
our city. We will not leave the gates open and unguarded. Your
trick, like all tricks, can work but once.”

“
Enough,” Arin bellowed
before Ipid had a chance to translate. “This is not a negotiation.
It is not the place for your empty pride.” Arin stopped so that
Ipid could translate then continued before the Chancellor could
respond. “Either you accept our terms and join us now, or we
destroy your city, and you accept them after. Know now that
you
will
accept.
This scene has played in a dozen nations on our side of the
mountains.
All
have accepted.
All
have joined. The only question is how many of
your people will die before you swallow your honorless pride and
accept what is so clearly obvious.” Ipid translated as Arin spoke,
trying to keep up with the rant, quaking all the time under Arin’s
rage. When he finished, he gestured to Ipid. “K’amach-tur Ipid,
present our terms.”

As long as Ipid had known
him, Chancellor Kavich had been a man of great confidence and even
greater pride. It was in many ways his greatest strength. Today, it
would be his most glaring flaw. Even as the leader of a massive
invading army – an army that had reduced a city to smoking rubble
in less than a day – bellowed at him, the Chancellor’s resolution
only seemed to grow. Ipid knew then and there that he would never
surrender. He had convinced himself that he could fight, that he
might hold out for longer than an afternoon, that he had any chance
at all. He was dreadfully wrong.

Ipid sighed as he released
the clasp from his satchel and brought forth the single, terrible
sheet. The Chancellor read the list with sputters of disapproval
then handed it to the man immediately behind him, his Chief
Advisor. The old man, who had served the Kingdoms for nearly longer
than Ipid had been alive, looked at the list with a much greater
level of thought and consideration. Ipid saw the briefest glimmer
of loss in the old man’s
eyes, saw him
retract, saw his face fall before his defiance could return.
So he knows
, Ipid
thought
, he knows that the demands are too
much, that the Chancellor could never be convinced to accept them,
that all this is for naught.

“
The rest,” Arin reminded
without ever taking his eyes from the Chancellor.

Ipid cleared his throat.
“Beyond these items, you will subjugate yourselves to the Darthur.
You will continue to govern the Kingdoms as you see fit, but you
will respond immediately to any request from the Darthur. Their
warriors will have complete immunity in your lands. You will
provide for them without question or hesitation anything that they
require. All your military forces will answer to them. They will
fight where and when the Darthur say, or they will be killed as all
coward should be. No city shall deny entrance to them or their
allies. No road shall be blocked. No house made off limits. You and
all your people will be known as k’amach-tur, those who fight with
honor. As such, you will be treated with respect, but you are not
Darthur, and until you prove yourselves worthy of such a
magnificent distinction, you will remain a people below.” Arin had
told these things to Ipid that morning as an afterthought, a
consideration that the people on this continent might not know what
it meant to be k’amach-tur.

The Chancellor heard them
with increasing disapproval. His face took on a look of shock, and
he stuttered to respond. The advisors flanking him showed the same
disdain and muttered among themselves.

Before the Chancellor
could voice his disdain, Arin spoke, “There are two more things:
first, you will put all your efforts into finding a young man who
is wanted for the murder of a warrior. He is of great interest to
the te-am ‘eiruh. If he comes without a fight, he may accompany
them to be trained. If not, he must die.”

Arin paused. The
Chancellor frowned. Schemes seemed to play behind his eyes. Ipid
felt his stomach churning and could only silently thank Arin for
not naming Dasen here. “And the second thing,” the Chancellor
sneered.

“
Ipid will have absolute
authority over any city he occupies and any forces that accompany
us. Wherever he goes within this nation, he shall be the ruler. His
word shall be law, and there shall be no disputing it.”

Ipid choked. They had
never discussed this provision, and he nearly refused to translate
it. As it was, he stared, pleading at Arin. The man had just
cemented his place in the annals of time as history’s greatest
traitor. And Arin had the temerity to smile.

“
Translate,” Arin ordered.
Ipid could barely make his tongue form the words. He thought to
change them, to at least lessen the damnation, but Arin spoke the
Imperial tongue perfectly and would certainly not stand for his
words being altered.

As he spoke, Ipid kept his
eyes down, not wanting to see those of his friends as the depth of
his betrayal was revealed. When, finally, he let his eyes stray up,
he saw the Chancellor boiling. His entire face had turned crimson,
and he very nearly trembled. If there had been any chance of the
man agreeing to Arin’s terms it had just been lost.

“
Never!” the Chancellor
hissed. “May the Maelstrom take you, Ipid Ronigan. I considered you
a friend, a trusted advisor. I see you now for what you are, and I
promise that I will never give you what you want. Let it be known
that Alden Kavich does not cede to traitors and tyrants. Bring your
armies, storm our walls. We will wash them with your blood. And
you, Ipid, will fall. We will find you, try you, convict you for
your crimes. By the Order, I promise you that, traitor.”

And before Ipid could even
translate, the Chancellor was striding from the tent. His advisors
fell in behind him but only after they had each delivered their own
baleful stare. Ipid sighed, felt his knees shaking, and prayed that
he not collapse.

When the last of the
knights had departed, when they had found their horses, and were
riding back to the city, Arin spoke. “Fools,” he hissed. “How many
demonstrations do they need?” He turned. “Belab, you know what to
do. Focus on the center of the city, destroy the homes and meeting
places of those pompous fools. They brought this upon their city so
let them suffer first, but do not touch those bridges. By your
eyes, I don’t want a single brick of them so much as singed. Do you
understand?”

“Perfectly, va Uhram,” Belab said from
within his cowl. The hood turned toward Ipid. Enough light
penetrated the shadows to reveal his regret and disappointment.
Then Ipid was following Arin from the tent, was mounting his horse,
was riding back toward the tower.

Chapter 16

The
22
^nd
Day of Summer

“
Va Uhram,” Ipid began as
humbly as he could through his desperation, “may I ask a question?”
He had just completed the climb to the tower with Arin and now
stood behind the broad backs of the te-ashute hoping and dreading
that he might be able to catch a glimpse of what was about to
happen.

“
You may, but be brief. We
are about to begin.” Arin scowled. His temper had been up ever
since the negotiations had ended. Ipid knew that now was not the
time to question him but could not help himself. Arin turned from
the window of the tower where he was watching the gray sky cracking
into sections with gold just shimmering through the lines like a
tray of crystal candy dropped by the confectioner. In a few hours,
the clouds would be nothing but puffy sheep wandering across a
field of blue. It was bad news for the city below. It meant that
there would be no rain to quench the fires.

Ipid cleared his throat
and spoke in his own language. “Why did you make that final
request? They already think me a traitor. There was no chance that
they would allow me to be their ruler as well.” Ipid stuttered as
he saw Arin’s eyes darken, but he had to finish. “And . . . and I
did not want it. I do not need you to reward me . . . .”

“
Reward you,” Arin
scoffed. A few of the te-ashute turned to look at them but showed
no more interest than curiosity. “You think too much of yourself.
You have served me well, and that has earned you your life. That is
as much reward as a te-adeate should ever expect. In fact, if you
were still te-adeate and made such a presumption, it would be your
last. Be glad that you are k’amach-tur.” Arin scoffed again, his
disdain clear, and turned back to the window.