“Dire enough to send untrained citizens to their deaths? Willem, the current raids are alarming, but even with the uptick in attacks, we still count the weekly casualties with one hand. If we take your strategy and go on an offensive with untrained and underarmed peasants, we could lose hundreds, if not more.”
“What kind of city are we?” Willem’s voice rang through the hall. “Did Forge become the great city it is by shrinking into the corner at the first sign of an enemy? By hiding like a mouse? Last month, our Defense Minister assured us the Demon Riders were a diminishing threat. Last night, we were called out of our beds by reports of not one, not two, but three attacks. What will next month bring? The only way to protect ourselves is to remove the threat now. Our neighboring cities have already taken steps to fight the barbarians. Edlan’s people do not suffer the shame of sitting by while their farms are ravaged. Do we of Forge continue to be meek, or do we step up and show our strength?”
Kyra shifted uncomfortably. Tristam gave her hand a quick squeeze and received a grateful smile in response. Kyra hated the farm raids as much as anyone, but it was hard for her to hear people talk of Demon Riders as monsters and barbarians, to be reminded what kind of reaction she’d get if her secret was revealed.
Back on the platform, Willem raised his voice. “Answer me one question, Malikel. If we sweep the forest with the numbers I propose, given what you know about these clans, will we succeed in driving them out?”
There was a long silence as all eyes settled on Malikel. The Defense Minister stood with one hand on his table, staring down at it as if he meant to crush it by thought alone. “We have a reasonable chance at success,” he said slowly. “But our casualties will be many times theirs, and the citizens of Forge would be bearing a burden that should rightly fall to the military.”
“Let the Council decide where the burden should fall,” said Willem. “I call for a vote.”
Tristam leaned forward, his eyes fixated on the Council as Willem called each Councilman in turn to speak his vote. As the numbers fell evenly on each side, the air in the room became increasingly tense. When the last Council member gave his choice, Willem nodded. “The final tally is eleven for, eight against, and one abstain,” he said. “The measure is passed.”
Tristam stayed motionless as the scope of what had just happened sank in. When Willem formally ended the meeting, the room filled with the sounds of a hundred different conversations. He glanced at the stage to see Malikel in forceful dialogue with one of the Councilmen who had voted in support of Willem.
The crowd filed out, and Tristam waited with Kyra in the courtyard for Malikel. Servants were already running from the Council building, foregoing the pathways and running directly over the snow in their haste to carry their masters’ messages. Councilmen and courtiers split off into groups, some huddled in quiet conversation, others shouting. When Malikel finally appeared, he was angrier than Tristam had ever seen him. Tristam got the impression that anyone in his way would have simply been knocked down.
“Follow me,” he said.
Once they were in Malikel’s study with the door closed, the Councilman turned to address them.
“Were you able to hear the proceedings?” he asked. When Kyra and Tristam indicated that they had, he continued. “Willem knew I wouldn’t support a conscription of the citizenry. A similar thing was done in Minadel. It’s how I became a soldier, and I’ve seen what happens when you throw peasants into battle with no training,” said Malikel. “But the Council is scared, as is the nobility, and I’m bound by the oaths I’ve taken to uphold the will of the Council.”
“Is there any way to overturn this?” asked Kyra.
“A vote this close can be brought up before the Council for reconsideration. But it can only be done once, and we cannot count on any of the other members changing their vote.”