Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Mawyndul? heard a humph. Vidar was scowling at him and took that moment to fold his arms in a severe manner.

Mawyndul? looked back toward the center of the room, to the chair, which was now empty. Imaly was walking in slow thoughtful steps before the spectators.

“…no, I’m afraid not,” she said as if answering someone’s question, and she may have been. Mawyndul?, who’d entered the Airenthenon with noble intentions of listening closely to the concerns of the day, found himself lost in deafening thoughts about the girl in the third tier. At least he was until he heard Imaly say, “…former First Minister Gryndal.”

His head snapped around, and he fixed his attention on the Curator.

“By all accounts the assault was less than successful. Seers report that neither Arion nor Nyphron was so much as scratched. As for the God Killer, they saw a Rhune with a copper sword on his back and a Fhrey sword in his belt, so I’m guessing he wasn’t harmed, either. Mawyndul?, does that description fit with your recollection of the Rhune known as Raithe?” she asked him directly. “The one who killed Gryndal?”

“Yes,” he replied, not certain if he was expected to stand before speaking.

Imaly hesitated a moment, as if anticipating he’d say more. Then she went on, still walking with her hands clasped behind her. “The Grenmorians were slaughtered, and only a few escaped. Despite the surprise of the attack and the disarray caused by the storm, the Galantians weren’t shaken. I had predicted as much when I voted against the action.”

“What is being done now?” Volhoric asked. Mawyndul? knew him from many holiday celebrations. Being the leader of the Umalyn tribe, he was the Conservator of the Horn, and he officiated at all religious events. Although not a Miralyith, the priest was completely bald. Mawyndul? decided he didn’t hate him. Volhoric had a quirky sense of humor that Mawyndul? appreciated, and the priest could usually be counted on to smile at most things. At that moment, however, he wasn’t smiling. No one was. “Is that why the fane is still at Avempartha? Will there be another attempt?”

“I don’t know,” Imaly said in her brash voice. “His Greatness has not included me in his thoughts on this matter. Perhaps his son can tell us more?”

Again, Mawyndul? felt many sets of eyes, and his cheeks burned.

Vidar shot to his feet. “His son is here to observe…for the present. But I’m sure that the fane will not rest until these rebels are brought to Ferrol’s justice.”

“Such good news.” Imaly smiled gently at Mawyndul?, then turned to the senior councilor. “Vidar, as senior representative of your tribe, could you enlighten this esteemed body on how a primitive village and a handful of Instarya managed to defeat the might of the Miralyith?”

“I can’t say I care for your tone or insinuation,” Vidar shot back.

Imaly lifted her eyebrows in surprise. The response was just a tad overdone to be sincere.

“Might I ask what tone you would like me to use? One of greater disappointment and surprise, perhaps? Oh, wait. No, that doesn’t work, does it? I distinctly recall being the one to say the attack was a bad idea. So surprise wouldn’t be appropriate, would it? How about dismay? How about despair at how easily those who defy this assembly’s advice stand here and pretend to be insulted when an explanation is requested?”

“The fane isn’t accountable to this assembly,” Vidar shouted with indignation.

Imaly stretched her thin smile. “And you are not the fane.” She turned to face the rest of the members, throwing out an arm in a sweeping gesture. “Or are you claiming the title in his absence, and Lothian is simply tardy in sending us the good news?”

This brought a muffled bit of laughter, most of it coming from the third tier.

Despite her ugliness and her large brutish body with its ungraceful movements, Mawyndul? enjoyed seeing Imaly belittle Vidar. He also hoped the girl in the third tier was one of those who laughed.

Vidar said nothing. He stood rigid, making fists with his bony hands.

“I hope the fane isn’t intending to repeat such a performance,” Imaly went on in his silence. “One humiliation should be more than enough for anyone to learn from. Don’t you think, Vidar?”

—

The rest of the meeting was too boring for Mawyndul? to process. He heard what was said, even understood some of it, but instantly forgot it all once the doors to the Airenthenon finally opened. When the light of the day spilled into the stone cave, Mawyndul? felt he could breathe again. His excitement at being a member of the grand council had been replaced with the dread that he’d have to do this again in less than a week. The idea depressed him.

He had imagined the Aquila as an exciting place of grand debates on the nature of the world. He saw himself arguing eloquently about how the Miralyith should be recognized as a distinct and superior race, separate from the general Fhrey population, much as Gryndal had believed. He would, by virtue of his logic and poetry, convince everyone of this sensible course. Instead, the grand total of his first day’s impressive elocution was a single word, yes.

He lingered near the door as the attendees, including Vidar, streamed out and down the steps. His Aquila tutor was no longer in the mood for lessons, and Mawyndul? caught just a flash of the senior councilor’s robes as out the door he went.

Mawyndul? looked up toward the third tier, already emptied. She wasn’t there.

He sighed and plodded toward the exit, nearly walking into Imaly. She was even bigger face-to-face, a good two inches taller than he was.

Was Gylindora Fane that tall? No wonder she took charge of the seven tribes. No, six tribes—he mentally corrected himself. The Miralyith hadn’t existed back then. They came later.

“I hope you enjoyed your first day with us,” Imaly said in a pleasant, friendly voice—so different from the booming one she’d used when addressing the assembly. “It’s not always as boring as this. Sometimes it’s fun. Extremely fun.” She spoke the last word as if referring to something in particular, and that it wasn’t actually fun but something more sinister. She didn’t bother to explain, but proceeded as if he already knew. He didn’t, but Mawyndul? appreciated that Imaly wasn’t talking down to him the way Vidar did, as if he was an idiot or a burden. She spoke as if they shared secrets, even if he had no idea what those might be.

“Don’t let Vidar ruin you,” she said. “Stand up for yourself. You might be young, but you’re still Lothian’s son, and quite possibly the next fane. Remember that and the fact that Vidar will never forget it, either.” She grinned at him.