Michael Sullivan - Percepliquis

When she was done, no one said a word until she once more gestured toward Arista.

The princess took a breath. “I have already discussed this with the empress. The team will be small, no more than twelve, I think. Two people must go. For the rest, I will ask for volunteers, starting from a list we have already prepared. I will speak with those on the list individually, in order to allow for the privacy of each person’s decision.”

“And who are these two?” Murthas asked. “The ones that must go. Can we know their names?”

“Yes,” Arista said. “They are Degan Gaunt and myself.”

Several people spoke at once. Sir Elgar and the other knights laughed, and Alric started to protest, but by far the loudest voice in the room came from Degan Gaunt.

“Are you insane?” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere! Why do I have to go? This is just another plot of the aristocracy to silence me. Can’t you see what this really is? This elven threat is a hoax, an excuse to oppress the common man once more!”

“Sit down, Mr. Gaunt,” Modina said. “We’ll discuss this in private as soon as the meeting is over.”

Gaunt dubiously sat down and slumped in his chair.

The empress rose and the room went silent. “This concludes this meeting. Sir Breckton will begin by convening a war council here in one hour to specify in detail the reorganization of troops and the requisition of supplies and arms necessary to develop a proper defense for the city. Those not asked to join the Percepliquis party should meet back here at that time. In the future, Chancellor Nimbus and Secretary Amilia will be on hand in their offices to answer any additional questions. May Maribor protect us all.”

The room filled with the sounds of scraping chairs and low conversations. Hadrian rose to his feet but stopped when he felt Arista’s hand on his arm.

“We stay here,” she told him.

He glanced up the length of the table as the kings and knights began filing out of the room. The empress made no indication of leaving, nor did Amilia or Nimbus. He even caught the spindling chancellor subtly patting the table with his hand, as further indication that Hadrian should sit back down. Alric and Mauvin stood but did not advance toward the exit.

The Patriarch, flanked by his bodyguards, exited the hall. He looked back, nodding and smiling, his staff clicking on the stone. He was the last one out of the hall, and with a nod from Nimbus, guards closed the doors. A dull but-Hadrian felt-ominous thud echoed with their closing.

“I’m going,” Alric told his sister.

“But-” she started.

“No buts,” he said firmly. “You went to meet with Gaunt against my wishes. You tried to free him from these dungeons instead of coming home. You even managed to be on hand when Modina slew the Gilarabrywn. I’m tired of being the one sitting home worrying. I may no longer have a kingdom, but I am still the king! If you go, I go.”

“Me too,” Mauvin put in. “As Count of Galilin, it falls to me to keep both of you safe. My father would have insisted.”

“I was just going to say, before you interrupted,” Arista began, “that you’re both already on the list. I’ll just check you both off as agreeing.”

“Good.” Alric smiled triumphantly, folding his arms across his chest, then grinned at Mauvin. “Looks like we’ll make it to Percepliquis after all.”

“And you can take me off your bloody list!” Degan Gaunt shouted. He was on his feet. “I’m not going!”

“Please sit down, Degan,” Arista told him. “I need to explain.”

Degan remained furious, his eyes wide, his hands tugging at his doublet and his tight collar. “You!” He pointed at Hadrian. “Are you just going to sit there? Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

“From what?” he asked. “They only want to talk.”

“From the brutish manhandling of the common man by the rich aristocracy!”

“That’s actually what we need to speak about,” Modina explained. “You are the true Heir of Novron, not I. That is why Ethelred and Saldur locked you up.”

“Then why haven’t I been acknowledged? I’ve seen precious little benefit from that wondrous title. I should be the emperor-I should be on the throne. Why hasn’t my pedigree been announced? Why do you feel it is necessary to speak about my lineage in private? If I really am this heir, I should be sitting for my coronation right now, not going on some suicide mission. How stupid do you think I am? If I really were this descendant of a god, I would be too valuable to risk. Oh no, you want me out of the way so you can rule! I am an inconvenience that you have found a convenient way to dispose of!”

“Your lineage hasn’t been announced for your own safety. If-”

Gaunt cut Modina off. “My own safety? You people are the only ones that threaten me!”

“Will you let her finish?” Amilia told him.

Modina patted her hand and then continued. “The heir has the ability to unite the four nations of Apeladorn under one banner, but I have already accomplished that, or rather the late regents, Saldur and Ethelred, have. Through their diligent, misguided efforts, the world already believes the heir sits on the imperial throne. At this moment, we are in a war with an adversary we have little chance of defeating. This is no time to shake the people’s belief. They must remain strong and confident that the heir already rules. We must remain united in the face of our enemy. If we revealed the truth now, that confidence would be shaken and our strength destroyed. If we manage to survive, if we live to see the snow melt and the flowers bloom again, then you and I can talk about who sits on the throne.”

Degan stood with less conviction now. He leaned on the table, pulling on his collar. “I still don’t see why I need to go on this loony trip into a buried city.”

“The ability to unite the kingdoms was thought to be the sum of the heir’s value, but we now believe it is trivial compared to your true importance.”

“And that is?”

“Your ability to both find and use the Horn of Gylindora.”

“But I don’t know anything about this-this horn thingy. What is it I’m supposed to do, exactly?”

“I don’t know.”

“What will happen if I use it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I don’t know that I am going. You said that if everything works out, we’ll talk about who sits on the imperial throne, but I say we have that discussion now. I will go on this quest of yours, but in return I demand the throne. I want it in writing, signed with your hand, that I will be Emperor of Apeladorn upon my return, regardless of success. And I want two copies, one which I will take with me in case the other is somehow lost.”

“That’s outrageous!” Alric declared.

“Perhaps, but I won’t go otherwise.”

“Oh, you’ll go,” Mauvin assured him with a smirk.

“Sure, you can tie me up and drag me, but I’ll hang limp-a dead weight that will slow you down. And at some point you’ll need me to do something, which I assure you I will not. So if you want my cooperation, you will give me the throne.”

Modina stared at him. “All right,” she said. “If that is your price, I will pay it.”

“You’re not serious!” Alric exclaimed. “You can’t agree to put this-this-”

“Careful,” Gaunt said. “You are speaking of your next emperor, and I remember slights against me.”

“What will happen to Modina?” Amilia asked.

Gaunt pursed his lips, considering. “She was a farmer once, wasn’t she? She can go back to that.”

“Empress,” Alric began, “think about what you are doing.”

“I am.” She turned to Nimbus. “Take Gaunt. Have the scribe write up whatever he wants. I will sign it.”