Juliet McKenna - The Warrior's Bond

Temar glanced at Messire D’Olbriot but the Sieur’s face was unreadable.

“Secondly, I declare the House of D’Alsennin has no claim on properties presently enjoyed by Tor Alder or any other Name. Grants and bequests made countless seasons ago cannot outweigh generations of care. I will not see ancient legalities used to upset the trades, households and livelihoods of so many innocent tenants. This decree also denies claims by scions of Tor Arrial, Den Domesin or any other noble House that ventured over the ocean in times past.”

The Emperor’s tone of mild regret was no comfort to Temar, who felt sick misgiving hollowing out his belly. Was he being sent back to Kel Ar’Ayen deprived both of D’Olbriot aid and of any property that might have yielded coin to pay the mercenaries he’d surely need to defend his hapless colony now?

“But Raeponin’s scales must be balanced, if justice is to be done.” The Emperor’s stern words interrupted congratulatory smiles being passed between Tor Bezaemar and Den Thasnet. “Just as D’Alsennin has no claims on this side of the ocean, no Name here may assert rights over or demand dues from the people of Kellarin. Haffrein Den Fellaemion was determined his new settlement would offer freedom from the shackles of greedy nobility…” Tadriol paused just long enough for affront to settle on various faces around the room. “Hardly surprising, given they were fleeing the debauched excesses of Nemith the Last. I am minded to honour that great seafarer by respecting his wishes, so I repeat: no Name here has any rights over Kellarin.”

The Emperor took a slow sip from a glass of water.

“But the prestige of all our Names rests on the care we take of our tenantry. You have granted the House of Tadriol the additional responsibility of caring for the Empire as a whole and its peoples wherever they may be. I cannot simply abandon these colonists. Every Prince of the Convocation would rightly condemn me if these blameless people were left undefended, their wealth plundered and their liberties curtailed by unwanted settlers heedlessly shipped overseas.

“Fortunately, we have a ready solution to hand. If the House of D’Alsennin is a dead tree on this side of the ocean, it has a flourishing offshoot in the present holder of the Name. Accordingly, I decree that Temar D’Alsennin be raised to the dignity of Sieur of that House, with all the obligations and entitlements of that position. He will sit as the equal of any Sieur in the Convocation, where he may call any House abusing his tenants before the judgement of Emperor and Princes. All colonists of Kellarin are hereby designated tenants of the House of D’Alsennin and as such are under his protection. Anyone wishing to trade across the ocean must refer their proposals to the Sieur and submit to his scrutiny. I’m not about to leave Kellarin as a D’Olbriot monopoly but I’m not having some free-for-all where these people are bamboozled by any chancer who can hire a boat!”

The Emperor’s sudden lapse into breezy informality won smiles from various Houses, some relieved, some reluctant. Tadriol raised a hand as subdued comment threatened to break into open conversation.

“But one man cannot build a House on his own. Since there are other sprigs of nobility planted in Kellarin’s distant soil, I decree that these and their descendants be considered cadet lines of D’Alsennin and I ask the Sieur to ensure that they style themselves accordingly.”

The Emperor reached into a pocket and the entire room fell silent as he walked over to Temar. Temar swallowed hard. The hollowness he’d felt when he’d thought Kel Ar’Ayen was being abandoned was nothing compared to the crushing weight he felt resting on his shoulders now.

The Emperor halted in front of Temar and held out an open hand. A silver badge lay on his palm, three holm oak leaves, parallel and overlapping. “Your insignia is granted, Messire.”

Temar studied the brooch for a moment, until he could be sure his hands wouldn’t tremble as he pinned it to the breast of his coat. The leaves shone bright and untarnished against the dark blue silk that echoed the great sapphire of his father’s ring.

“My undying gratitude, my Emperor,” Temar said with archaic formality.

“From you, that’s quite some promise,” murmured the Emperor in an undertone.

An isolated pair of hands began clapping somewhere in the crowd, soon joined by others. The Emperor turned to acknowledge the applause and the expectant faces.

“There are a few more trifles to settle before we can all enjoy the rest of the afternoon. One of the most noteworthy aspects to the Kellarin tale is the sudden reappearance of magic in our midst. I confess I’m still uncertain of much that’s gone on, but some things I am sure of. Firstly, while the colonists of Kellarin owe a great debt to the wizards of Hadrumal, that changes nothing on this side of the ocean. All Houses may make whatever use they wish of magecraft, just as they have always done, and I will continue to listen to the advice of the Archmage Planir or any other wizard who wishes to offer counsel. But I will not grant such words any undue weight nor allow any wizard undue influence within Tormalin.”

Temar could see various people glancing smugly at the Sieur and his brothers, eager to see how they were taking this perceived rebuke.

“Indeed, what need do we have of Hadrumal’s magic?” the Emperor asked abruptly. “It was Tormalin Artifice saved the people of Kellarin in those far-off days, the same ancient skills that helped Correl the Stalwart carry Tormalin rule to the very edge of the Great Forest. I confess I’m curious to see what benefits Artifice bestows on Kellarin, and who knows, we may all benefit from judicious use of its proficiencies in years to come.” Tadriol paused and took a thick silver ring off one finger.

“But we cannot expect the people of Kellarin to share their Artifice with us if we deny them those still hidden in the enchantment that protected them through their lost generations. As many of you already know, Messire D’Alsennin came asking for our help. He needs to find the jewels and ornaments, the swords and badges of allegiance that safeguarded the very minds of his people as they slept.” Tadriol shrugged. “I do not pretend to understand how this was accomplished, but I am shocked to learn some people have been tempted to extort coin or advantage in exchange for these items, all but demanding ransom for the very life of some helpless individual. This is my final decree, and I will summon a muster of the Cohorts to enforce it if need be. Every item that Messire D’Alsennin even suspects may be needed to restore his people is to be surrendered, without question, objection or recompense.” The Emperor’s outrage shaded into scorn. “We can all stand a little loss, even of heirloom pieces, and we gave up putting a price on a life in Tormalin when Inshol the Curt closed the slave markets.”

Tadriol handed the ring to Temar. The faceted band was flattened on the top into a hexagon carrying an inscription worn illegible by age. Temar’s first thought was he’d never be able to manage the concentration needed to summon any image from the ring, his next that doing so would in any case be a very bad idea. He ransacked his memory, but before he could match the ring to any sleeper the Emperor had walked away to stand squarely before the Sieur D’Olbriot.

“Messire, as Adjurist of the Princes, do you need to summon a Convocation to ratify these decrees?”

D’Olbriot smiled calmly. “Since we are returning to ancient forms today, shall we content ourselves with a simple show of hands? Forgive me,” he commented dryly. “I didn’t know I’d need the rod of office.” He turned to borrow Leishal’s stick and thumped the floor three times. “Stand forth, Sieurs, to uphold the dignity of your Name!”