Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

"The temples would never stand for such a step. They will make food for their loyal worshipers, but not for all."

Elyril finished her wine. "You are the overmistress, aunt," she said simply. "If they refuse to comply, threaten to revoke their land charter, or tax them until they accede."

Mirabeta cocked her head. "An interesting idea."

One of the mute serving girls appeared at Elyril's side and refilled her wine chalice. The ceiling chandelier cast her silhouette on the table and the faces sprouted fangs and tore it to pieces. The mute's shadow, silent no more, screamed as it died.

"Have you determined how best to control the moot?" Elyril asked.

Mirabeta's face tightened. "There is no controlling it. I should not have agreed to it. There is no predicting the outcome of such a thing."

Elyril shook her head somberly and played the fool niece. "I do not understand why we have need of it. An overmistress has been selected. The moot creates uncertainty at a time when Sembia is most in need of stable leadership."

Mirabeta set down her wine glass and nodded. "Indeed."

The faces fed Elyril her next words. "I suppose there is little that could prevent the moot, now?"

Mirabeta tore a wing from a second quail. "Little."

Elyril made a point of pondering. "Aunt, may I be candid?"

Mirabeta regarded her over the rim of a wine chalice. She took a sip and placed the vessel on the table. "Have you not been candid in the past?"

"What I am about to say is of a different cast," Elyril said.

Mirabeta studied her face and turned to the serving girls.

"Leave us," she commanded, and the mute girls scurried from the chamber, leaving behind the Uskevren wine.

When they were alone, Elyril said, "Aunt, you hold power. Deservedly so. You cannot let it slip from your grasp because your election was held hostage to the threats of a murderer. The state will need you for more than nine tendays."

Mirabeta nodded. "Agreed. We are at a critical point in Sembia's history. My cousin and the rest of the High Council stood by in idleness while the elves returned to Cormanthyr, while Cormyr drifted into chaos, while the harvest failed, and while the dragons raged. They were and remain fools. Endren did Sembia a service by killing Kendrick."

Elyril smiled at that. She enjoyed knowing the truth of the murder while her aunt did not. She said, "And now you must do the state a service by holding power."

Mirabeta nodded slowly and bit her lower lip. "I confess to having similar thoughts. There are some among the nobility who would support me in such a move. There are others I could buy. I do control the treasury. But they are too few to ensure my election."

Elyril shook her head in sympathy. She looked up as if struck with an idea. "Then why an election at all? Why not dissolve the High Council?"

Mirabeta scoffed. "Because it will ensure a rebellion, foolish girl."

Elyril recognized the turned soil of the row and planted her seed. "Has not a rebellion already started, Aunt? A member of the High Council has murdered the overmaster and his men do battle on Ordulin's streets. No doubt Abelar has returned to Saerb to raise an army to challenge you and free his father. It appears to me that sitting idly while such things progress is to play more the fool than Endren or the council ever did."

Mirabeta frowned, but Elyril could tell from her tone that she was intrigued.

"You are venturing into deep waters, Elyril."

"But I learned to swim from you, Aunt. Endren's treachery provides the opportunity for a great woman to take power and make her nation great. The time for a council of so-called peers has passed."

Mirabeta took another drink of wine. "The High Council has ever been an ill instrument of state. Speak your mind fully, Elyril. You are holding back."

Elyril rose, took the bottle of wine, and filled her aunt's goblet. She stood beside her and affected a hesitant tone. "Aunt Mirabeta, imagine if some of those invited to the moot did not arrive safely because they were attacked by forces that appeared to be in service to Endren's rebellion, now led by his son. They will be traveling the main roads of the realm. Only a modest guard will accompany them."

Mirabeta stared straight ahead and Elyril could not read her expression. The faces swarmed around her aunt's distorted reflection in the table.

Elyril tried to make the course more palatable.

"I know that such a thing is hard to contemplate. But so, too, is Sembia with yet another weak leader. An attack by traitorous revolutionaries on the nobles traveling to the moot would precipitate an acute crisis. A strong leader could step to the fore and Sembia would thank her."

Mirabeta tapped her fingers on the table. The faces gnashed at her fingertips. Elyril took her seat and studied her aunt. She knew that what she proposed was feasible. Despite its size and wealth, Sembia maintained little in the way of a standing army. Small forces of Sembian soldiers, known as Helms, quartered in the realm's major cities. Their duties consisted largely of patrolling the roads around the cities and supplementing city guards as necessary. The garrisons were decentralized; their commanders answered to the local nobility.

"To what end would forces loyal to Endren attack?" Mirabeta asked.

Elyril waved her hand as if the answer mattered little. "Perhaps they fear the outcome of the moot. Perhaps they are mad for power and are attacking those who would not join in their treason against Kendrick, and now you. The minds of traitors can be fickle."

Mirabeta shook her head. "No one would believe Endren or Abelar to be behind it."

"People will believe what you want them to believe," Elyril answered. "The story need not be true, it need only be plausible. And it is that. Properly characterizing events is critical, but you can control that. Proclamations could go out mere hours after the attacks, blaming them on Abelar Corrinthal and whichever other nobles suit your needs. Most of the rest of the nobility would rally to your cause. Given Sembia's current state, the idea of a war would terrify them. They would want it ended quickly and decisively. The High Council would beg for you to take power as war regent."

Mirabeta shook her head, took another drink of wine. Elyril could see her aunt warming to the subject. Mirabeta said, "The High Council could be made irrelevant. We could hold a rump moot instead. They would elect me."

Elyril finished her aunt's thought. "The very existence of the nation would be at stake. Who in the rump moot other than traitors would risk opposing your election as war regent?"

Mirabeta looked thoughtful. "None." She looked up at Elyril, her eyes gleaming. "It could work."

"It will work," Elyril said. "Sembia will prosper again when the reins of the realm are once more in firm hands. History will name you Sembia's first monarch. Your people will thank you."

Mirabeta leaned back in her chair and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

Elyril let the matter rest. Her aunt was taken with the idea and Elyril had done as Rivalen had demanded. Sembia had been a tinder-box for over a year. Mirabeta would be the spark to set it aflame.

The Nightseer would have his civil war.

Another night arrived and so did another dream of fire. Cale awoke, soaked in sweat and shadows, and slipped from the bed. He must not have been thrashing in his sleep because Varra still slept.

He stepped through the shadows and into his sanctuary, the meadow outside the cottage in the dead of night. Stars shone out of a clear, moonless sky.

"Where are you, Mags?" he said, worried.

Cale did not know what to do next. Or rather, he did know what to do next, but did not want to do it. He had scoured Starmantle and Teziir but had learned nothing more than what Grathan had told him. With each night that passed, he felt more and more as if he were betraying Magadon by not turning to Mask for aid. Yet he felt that turning to Mask would betray Jak's memory, or worse, betray himself.