Robert Newcomb - Rise of the Blood Royal

He looked back at Wigg. “Although I am the nation’s sovereign and the leader of the Conclave, I must leave this matter to those who command the craft,” he said. “Only you four have the knowledge needed to decide.”

Wigg nodded. “I agree,” he answered. He looked at the others. “What say you all?” he asked.

Faegan took a deep breath. “We can’t leave the Tome and the Scrolls up there indefinitely,” he said. “We need them too badly. We could wait for the spell to subside, but that might never happen. I say we liberate the documents and take our chances. I understand that the risk is huge, but what other choice is there?”

“I agree,” Jessamay said.

“As do I,” Aeolus replied.

“Very well,” Wigg said. “Faegan will dismantle the box. And may the Afterlife grant us luck.”

Faegan swiveled his chair to face his invention, then closed his eyes and raised his arms and began his spell of reversal.

For several long moments the box glowed brighter. To Tristan’s relief, the three sacred documents inside did not. Slowly, the sides of the box came apart and vanished. Tristan held his breath as Faegan reversed the last fragments of the spell, freeing the three relics from their places high against the wall.

As Faegan opened his eyes and lowered his arms, the Tome and Scrolls suddenly flew toward the center of the room. Tristan looked worriedly at the wizard.

“Was that your doing?” he whispered.

“No,” Faegan replied. “What happens now must be the purview of the Ones.”

To everyone’s amazement, the documents began to spin. Faster and faster they went, until their forms became little more than glowing blurs. Then there was a great explosion, and an intense wind sprang from nowhere.

All the fallen Archives documents went flying into the air. As the precious books and the papers whirled about, three explosions followed in quick succession. Their immense force took the visitors off their feet. Tristan landed hard beside Faegan’s overturned chair. He turned his head to see the wizard lying beside him.

Tristan groggily did his best to look through the whirling paper blizzard. He could barely see that the Tome and the Scrolls had stopped spinning. But something else was happening. The three relics were emitting some type of azure dust. The quickly growing cloud grew and grew until it engulfed the room.

As the azure cloud drifted over him, Tristan sensed his consciousness slipping away. He tried to look around; it seemed that everyone except him and Faegan had been overcome.

Tristan managed a last look at Faegan. The old wizard’s face showed great delight.

“The legend is true…” Tristan heard Faegan faintly whisper, as if the wizard’s voice was drifting to him from some faraway place. “Subtle matter exists…subtle matter exists…”

Unable to stay conscious, the prince finally surrendered.

“THAT’S MERE SNIVELRY, GRACCHUS!” VESPASIAN SHOUTED. Raising one hand, he pointed an accusatory finger at the lead cleric. “It was hardly a worthy comment from someone of your station!”

The emperor was clearly angry, as were many others present. Soon the meeting chamber again burst into loud, disorganized rancor.

Lifting his scepter, Vespasian repeatedly banged it on the floor, and the room gradually quieted. From his seat among the other tribunes, Lucius Marius gave his emperor a quick nod of support. Vespasian returned the scepter to the golden holder beside his chair.

The meeting had been going on for nearly an hour. Vespasian had spent some of that time castigating Gracchus not only for what he saw as Gracchus’ furtive try to murder an inordinate number of skeens in the arena for his own aggrandizement, but also for what Vespasian saw as a clear affront to his authority. Gracchus had apologized, but Vespasian sensed that Gracchus’ contrition was superficial rather than heartfelt, forcing him to doubt whether he had seen the last of his lead cleric’s impudence.

It was early morning of the day following the opening of the games. Vespasian knew that this meeting must be brief, for the games were scheduled to resume at midday. As the visitors quieted, Vespasian took a moment to look around the room.

The rulers’ meeting chamber was called the Rectoris Aedifficium, or simply “the Aedifficium.” Like the Rotunda of the Priory, it occupied the top of one of Ellistium’s seven hills. Aside from a few skeens selected to serve them, admittance to the Aedifficium was strictly limited to the emperor and empress, the members of the Priory, the clerics of thePon Q’tar, and the eighty legionary tribunes. Also like the Rotunda, it was guarded by specially chosen centurions. It was here that all laws and important decisions were crafted and voted on.

Compared with many other structures in Ellistium, the Aedifficium was small, taking the form of an amphitheater measuring thirty meters across. Vespasian’s chair sat alone in the center of the room facing the curved rows of seats.

The walls, floor, and flat ceiling were made of pure turquoise. Gleaming onyx pilasters stood against the curved walls every six feet, each crowned with a golden eagle, the empire’s symbol of authority. Leaded glass skylights let in the morning sun. During nighttime sessions, wall torches enchanted to burn without smoke were set ablaze, granting the Aedifficium an august presence.

The section to Vespasian’s left held the seats of the twelvePon Q’tar members. The center section was the province of the twenty Priory women, and the seats on the right were for the eighty legionary tribunes. Custom dictated that the empress always sat in a place of honor beside the First Tribune.

The Aedifficium was seldom in full session because some tribunes were always afield, prosecuting the war. Because the tribunes outnumbered all the other members combined, only the thirty-two highest ranking tribunes could vote, lest the empire’s military wing conspire to control every voting session. Taken as whole, the voting body was called the Suffragat.

One legionary tribune was designated the Suffragat scribe, responsible for recording every word. After each meeting, Vespasian and thePon Q’tar heavily censored the scribe’s report. Only then was a copy sent to every herald in the city. The heralds would then shout the report’s contents from towers standing at each of the forum’s four corners, so that interested citizens could hear the Suffragat’s latest pronouncements.

A dozen male skeens stood by, waiting to pass important documents among the Suffragat members and to perform other services as needed. As a precaution against the leaking of state secrets, not one Aedifficium skeen could read or write. Additionally, each skeen’s tongue had been cut out and his eardrums pierced. Members of the governing body communicated their needs to the skeens by way of hand signals. From the day he entered the service of the Suffragat, every Aedifficium skeen was forced to live out his life in modest quarters on the Aedifficium compound.

As the room finally quieted, from his place on the Aedifficium floor Vespasian again looked his lead cleric in the eyes. Then he glanced toward the tribune scribe, and he smirked. Today’s session report would be even more heavily censored than usual, he realized. Because Lucius had already given the war report, Vespasian decided to move on to the next topic. He looked at Julia Idaeus.

“Will the Femiculi please stand?” he asked.

Julia stood from her chair and gracefully smoothed her gown. She was an attractive woman, with a lovely face and long dark ringlets. Julia and her sisters were not allowed to wear their veils in the Aedifficium, largely because the other Suffragat members wanted to be able to gauge the women’s expressions as various topics were debated. The Priory was important to the people of Rustannica, and Vespasian knew full well that he needed its support if he was to rule effectively. With her hands respectfully clasped before her, Julia regarded her emperor.