Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

The highspeaker raised his ivory baton for silence and a hush fell. "A quorum being present, this emergency session of the High Council is called to order."

Tension hung thick in the air. Elyril saw it on the faces of the assembled council members. She noticed that almost all of the members and wallmen bore blades-unusual for a session of the High Council.

"Word has come that Kendrick Selkirk has died in office," Lossit said, obeying the formalities. "The realm is without a leader. It is therefore this council's obligation to select a successor from among its members. The dais is open for nominations."

Several members of the High Council stood to be recognized, though not Endren or Mirabeta. Custom demanded that candidates for overmaster not speak on their own behalf.

The highspeaker pointed his baton at Zarin Terb of Selgaunt and recognized him. Elyril knew Terb to be a supporter of Endren.

Terb straightened his long black coat and smoothed his full moustache before stepping from behind his table. He maneuvered his corpulent frame through the circle of tables and stepped atop the dais. The highspeaker surrendered his place and his baton.

"I will not waste time with pontification," Terb said, bouncing the highspeaker's baton on his palm. "The state is without a head, and without a head, the body will die. Now more than ever in our past, Sembia needs wise leadership, honorable leadership." He looked pointedly at Mirabeta as he said the last, and several members stirred in their seats. "We all know who among us can best provide that. It is therefore my honor to formally nominate Endren Corrinthal for the office of Overmaster of Sembia."

The hall remained silent and Endren remained still. Terb stepped down from the dais and returned the baton to the highspeaker. As Terb took his seat, Lossit stepped atop the dais and said, "Endren Corrinthal is nominated to the office of overmaster. A voice vote to second the nomination."

Half the assembly shouted loudly enough to make Elyril wince. "Aye!"

"The nomination is formally entered," said Lossit, and he banged his baton on the lectern. "Are there any other nominees to be put forth?"

Three council members stood, all of them loyal to Mirabeta, and the highspeaker recognized the stately, elderly Graffen Disteaf of Urmlaspyr, who stepped to the dais.

Graffen's slow pace and clear diction lent his words gravity. "Sembia has endured many hardships recently and there are many more to come. The Rain of Fire and continuing drought have brought poor harvests in the upcountry and wildfires in the west. The dragon rage brought ruin in the north. The people crowd into the cities, now havens for disease. The winter will prove difficult for the realm."

He took a deep breath and it turned to a cough. When it had passed, he continued. "And yet there is more for us to endure. We know that the elves have returned to Cormanthyr and propose to retake what they think to be theirs. With our aid they have defeated the daemonfey, but who knows now where their ambitions will end? Cormyr, meanwhile, is ruled by an unseasoned girl queen whose nobles rebel in all but name. Now more than ever," he looked at fat Zarin Terb pointedly, "stability is needed, steadiness, political wisdom. Kendrick Selkirk provided such, and so too will the cousin who shares his name and blood. I feel it is my duty, therefore, to nominate the Countess Mirabeta Selkirk to the office of Overmistress of Sembia."

The highspeaker called for a voice vote to second the nomination and half the assembled members shouted, "Aye!"

"The nomination is formally entered," the highspeaker said, and banged his baton on the lectern. "Will there be any other nominees?"

The chamber was silent. The battle would fall between Mirabeta and Endren.

"In accordance with custom," the highspeaker said, "we will proceed with the Speaking. Who will advocate for these nominees?"

Almost everyone in the chamber except Mirabeta and Endren stood to be recognized. Lossit selected one member, then another. Elyril heard at least two bells sound from the great hall's belfry while a procession of members rose and extolled the virtues of Mirabeta or Endren. Not all members spoke, but enough did to reinforce what they already knew-the vote would be close.

Throughout the Speaking, Elyril kept her eyes on the doorways, waiting for the priests of Tyr to arrive with Kendrick's body. She knew her aunt had arranged for the body to be brought forth, and Elyril knew that Kendrick would name his murderer. She grew increasingly frustrated when the priests did not arrive. Mirabeta showed no sign of expectation or uneasiness.

During a brief recess, the wallmen left their stations and hurried to their lords or ladies to give counsel and receive instructions.

"The vote will be close," Mirabeta said to Elyril. "Inmin speaks not, nor Weerdon."

"I have marked that," Elyril said. She cleared her throat. "Aunt, when will the priests arrive with Kendrick's body?"

Mirabeta smiled and whispered, "They are now just outside. I arranged for street traffic to delay them."

Elyril could not hide her surprise. "Why?"

Mirabeta tapped her magical earring. "I wanted the arrival appropriately timed for dramatic effect. Watch, niece."

The highspeaker stepped to the dais and called the chamber back to order. Elyril and the rest of the wallmen retreated to their places.

"We will continue with the Speaking," Lossit said.

Before anyone else could stand, Mirabeta broke with custom and rose to be recognized. A surprised murmur ran through the assembly. The highspeaker appeared momentarily discomfitted by Mirabeta's unexpected action, but recovered himself.

"Countess Selkirk. You… wish to speak?"

Mirabeta stepped out from behind her table and strode to the Speaker's dais. She put her hands on the lectern and affected a look of dignified grief.

"These proceedings are premature. The overmaster was more to me than the head of state. He was my beloved cousin."

The chamber erupted in shouts. Terb shouted above the tumult. His face reddened and his paunch shook as he spoke. "This is most irregular, Highspeaker! She must not advocate for herself! It is unheard of!"

The highspeaker shouted for order and the chamber gradually quieted. Before he could speak, Mirabeta stared ice at Terb. "I do not wish to advocate for myself, Zarin Terb. In fact, I am withdrawing my nomination."

She paused to let the surprised glances and gasps circle the room. Elyril noticed Weerdon and Inmin paying close attention. Mirabeta continued. "Even if this council deems me fit to hold the office of overmistress, I could not accept it until the questions surrounding the death of my cousin are answered."

No one dared take issue with Mirabeta's words. Elyril smiled, understanding at last, as her aunt continued.

"I-" she shook her head. "No, not just I, but none of us can look to the future until we have answered fully the questions of the past. Rumors swirl through the capital. Can a new overmaster take office with such a cloud hanging over Ordulin, over Sembia? This matter must be put to rest fully and finally, and that should happen before the entire High Council. Let us put all rumors to rest. Only then should we proceed with an election."

As if summoned by her words, the awaited procession of priests arrived. All heads turned. Quiet fell.

The Tyrran High Lord Abbot, Feldinor Jemb, entered first. A white sash cinched his deep blue robe, which featured a scale embroidered in gold on his chest. He wore a white linen glove on his left hand and a glove of black leather on his right. Elyril knew the latter symbolized Tyr's missing right hand.

"Enter, High Lord Abbot Jemb," Mirabeta said.

Jemb nodded and announced, "The Justicar's eyes are upon this assembly. Let none speak falsely."