Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“Ent the whole barony a greatward?” Gared asked.

“Even the baron agrees it’s a redundant waste,” Smitt said.

Gared’s face took on the strained look it did when someone said something he didn’t understand. “A what?”

Child Franq ignored him, glaring at Smitt. “How dare you question the Inquisitor? Hollow Cathedral will be the last refuge if the corelings take the county, as they nearly did at new moon.”

“A project that will take decades to finish properly,” Erny said, “and leave you with irregularly shaped rooms with vastly wasted footage. A basic wardwall would be cheaper and far more efficient.”

“Demons make it all the way into the center of the Hollow,” Gared said, “ent no wall or ward gonna stop ’em. Better to use the place to pray for the Deliverer to return.”

“Mr. Bales himself denies he is the Deliverer,” Hayes reminded him. “By his own words. We must continue to look to the Creator for true succor.”

Gared’s hands curled into fists at the words. He had become more pious of late, but it was due to his belief—shared by tens of thousands across Thesa—that Arlen Bales was the Deliverer, sent by the Creator to lead humanity against the corelings.

The Inquisitor had been sent to the Hollow by the Tenders of the Creator in Angiers to study these claims, preferably disproving them and outing Arlen as an imposter. But the Inquisitor was no fool. A public stance against Arlen would turn the entire Hollow against him.

“With all due respect, Inquisitor,” Leesha said, “Arlen Bales never said any such thing. He denies he is the Deliverer, true, but it was one another he told us to look to.”

Gared’s fists thumped the table, rattling goblets and making papers jump. All eyes in the room turned to his dark glare. “He is the Deliverer. Don’t understand why we’re still talking like he ent.”

Inquisitor Hayes shook his head. “There is no proof …”

“Proof?!” Gared boomed. “He saved us when we’d all have been et. Gave us back the power to save ourselves. Ent none can deny that. You all saw him floating in the sky, throwing lighting from his rippin’ hands, and you still want rippin’ proof? How about how there wan’t a mind demon attack last Waning?”

He looked to the count. “You heard him during the fight. ‘You’re my last piece of business before I take the fight to the Core,’ he told Jardir.”

“Demons still come every night, Baron,” Thamos said. “Homes burn. Warriors bleed. Innocent people die. I’ll not deny what Mr. Bales has done, but neither do I feel ‘delivered.’ ”

Gared shrugged. “Maybe he did the hard part, and we’ve the rest to do ourselves. Maybe it’s gonna get hard again, an’ he just bought us time to grow strong. Ent no Tender. Don’t pretend to know the Creator’s whole plan. But I know one part, sure as the sun rises. Creator sent Arlen Bales to deliver the fighting wards back to us and show us how to fight.”

He looked back at the Inquisitor. “Rest we’ll see when we get down the road. Maybe we’ll be worthy an’ win back the night, and maybe our sins’ll weigh us an’ we’ll fail.”

Hayes blinked, caught for a reply. Leesha could see the man warring within himself, trying to reconcile Arlen’s “miracles” with the desire of his order to hold on to power.

“So we are supposed to bow down to Arlen Bales?” Thamos demanded, giving the thought voice. “All the Tenders and Shepherds—I and my brother and Euchor of Miln? All of us voluntarily abdicate power to him?”

“Abdi-what?” Gared asked. “Course not. You’ve met him. Mr. Bales dun’t care about thrones and papers. Dun’t think the Deliverer cares about anythin’ ’cept keepin’ us safe in the night. So where’s the harm in givin’ him credit for what he’s done, ’specially now when he’s gone on to the Core itself for us?”

“We have only his word on that, Baron,” Child Franq noted.

Gared turned a cold glare at him. “You callin’ him a liar?”

The Child shrank back, clearing his throat. “Of course not, I, ah …”

Hayes laid a hand on his arm. “The Child will be silent.” Immediately, a look of relief crossed Franq’s face, and he dropped his eyes, withdrawing from the debate.

“I don’t see what difference it makes,” Leesha cut in. Gared glared at her, but she met his gaze coolly. “If Arlen had wanted to be called the Deliverer, he wouldn’t have spent his every other breath denying it. Whether he is or isn’t, he thinks folk won’t put their backs into the fight if they’re waiting to be saved.”

The Inquisitor nodded, perhaps too eagerly. Leesha turned to him next. “As for your plans, Inquisitor, I’m afraid I must agree with my father, Speaker Smitt, and the baron. They are impractical and wasteful.”

“That is not for you to decide, Gatherer,” Hayes snapped.

“No, but it is for me to decide how it will be paid for.” Thamos’ voice had taken on the quiet tone that showed his patience was at an end and folk should listen well.

All eyes returned to the count. “If you insist on continuing the cathedral in this fashion, Inquisitor, the Tenders are welcome to shoulder the cost. There will be no more talk of royal funds until you change plans to something more sensible.”

Hayes gave Thamos a cold look, but he dipped a shallow bow. “As you wish, Highness.”

“As for the matter of Arlen Bales,” the count said, “I can assure you, Baron, this will be a topic addressed during your visit to court. You’ll have the opportunity to make your case to Shepherd Pether and the duke in person.”

The zealous look on Gared’s face melted away. “Ent no Speaker, Highness. Plenty others got better words’n me on the topic. Tender Jona …”

“Has been questioned at length on the matter,” Thamos said. “But my brothers remain unconvinced. You have witnessed his rise firsthand. If you truly believe Arlen Bales is the Deliverer, you will speak for him. If you haven’t the courage, it will say even more than your words.”

Gared’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Deliverer told me life ent always fair. If the weight’s on me, I’ll carry it and more besides.”

The meeting went on for some time, each councilor in turn asking the count for funds to pay for one project or another. Leesha rubbed her temple as she tried to follow each councilor’s accounting, and calculate the true numbers they sought to hide. Even when she disagreed with his choices, she didn’t envy Thamos in having to make them. She wished she were at the other end of the table by his side, so she could touch him and whisper advice only he would hear.

She was surprised at how strongly the image resonated with her. The more she thought of it, the more she wanted to be countess.

She took her time gathering her papers when the session ended and the other councilors began to file out. She hoped to steal another moment with Thamos before heading to the hospit, but the Inquisitor moved over to him, stealing the opportunity.

Leesha left the room slowly, passing as close to them as possible, ears open.

“Your mother and brother will hear of this,” the Inquisitor warned.

“I’ll tell them myself,” Thamos snapped back. “And that you’re being a ripping fool.”

“How dare you, boy,” the Inquisitor growled.

Thamos raised a finger. “I’m not beneath your cane anymore, Tender. Try to swing it at me again and I’ll break it over my knee and send you on the next coach back to Angiers.”

Leesha clutched her papers, smiling as she left the room.

Smitt was lingering outside, speaking to his wife, Stefny, and their youngest son, Keet. The Speaker looked at her, bowing. “My apologies if I offended you earlier, mistress.”