Chapter 23: The Festival Begins

Emperor Galant heard the merrymaking before he reached the palace walls. The sunlight had not yet faded from the golden spire, so Galant was not yet late for the feast. The afternoon had been exhausting, and Galant looked forward to a roasted bird and a goblet of wine. Court had begun just after sunrise and now it was dusk. He had wanted to take a ride to clear his head, but the streets were already filling with revellers, and by the time he and his riding party had navigated the crowd to the city gates, there was hardly time left to reach a full gallop before he had to turn back. At least the crowds had greeted him with cheers. As lean as the times might be, in Merendir the people were in good spirits.

At court, the mood was entirely different. He enjoyed the company of many of his lords and ladies, but these were not typically the ones who lingered at court. He sat for hours in the slightly dreary audience hall, accepting obsequious words of homage and a multitude of gifts, sorting out ridiculous squabbles, and staring at the details of faded, dusty, tapestries that he had memorized years ago. Maybe other Emperors, or the Vaultkeeper, would see the pile of gifts— old gold and gemstones— and find satisfaction in the growing treasury. Maybe the Mouse would look at a Siltian urn and see newly cobbled streets, maybe the Shepherd would see a a freshly walled keep in the trio of jeweled scabbards, and maybe the Hawk would look eagerly at a platinum ring and imagine a new man in the shadowy corners of some mysterious foreign court, but Galant did not. The Emperor merely tried to sound sincere as he expressed his gratitude again and again for heirlooms that all had remarkably similar stories.

Galant's tedium had been relieved only twice. The first was when Lord and Lady Weylann had appeared to pay their respects with their stunning daughter. Derra had looked directly into his eyes several times, and he had not been shy about looking back. He had been embarrassed briefly when it became clear that he had not listened to a single word that Lord Weylann had spoken, but the lord and lady had seemed pleased by Galant's interest in their daughter. Somebody had sniffed at the back of the room, and there had been scattered laughter, but Derra had not seemed to care. When it came time to bid the Weylanns farewell, Galant had descended from his throne to kiss Derra's hand. He thought he had been very, well, gallant.

The only other redeeming moment in the day had been when Lord Horast Mainer had arrived. Horast was Galant's favorite uncle. He ruled the strategically and economically vital area where the Addenines meet the sea on the Siltian border. He ruled from a fortress that was by all accounts impenetrable, and had the best trained, richest, and most loyal military in the Empire aside from the Emperor himself. He was a war hero, and he still put in good showings in tournaments in spite of his advanced age. As Lord Horast Mainer had aged, he had become so ornery that some questioned whether his mind was still sound.

Galant knew Lord Mainer's mind to be very sound. Horast had come for no reason other than to give Galant a few minutes of amusement, and he provided this by dealing savage insults to the most tiresome lords and ladies in the form of backhanded compliments, or apparently innocent commentary. Galant heard the murmuring in the court after each affront, and eventually he suggested frostily that his uncle choose his words more carefully. His uncle did precisely that, and his witticisms become all the more pointed. When it became too much to bear, and Galant feared that he might break into laughter, alienating some dozen lords and ladies, Galant sent his uncle away and apologized to the assembly.

"Emperor!"

Galant was pulled from his thoughts by a man in the street ahead of them, not far from the palace gates. Stennan, looking more regal than the Emperor in his immaculately polished armor, crested helm, and blue cloak, moved his horse forward to clear the man out of the way. Galant raised his hand. The knight stopped and his mount stepped forward and back impatiently a few times. Therazes, helmetless, with long black tresses spilling over his blue cloak, danced his stallion sideways until his hip nearly touched Galant’s.

The man walked forward a few steps to stand before Galant. He wore a grey cowl, weathered and patched. From above, Galant could not see his face at all, but then the man threw off his hood and looked up at him, his blue eyes wild and captivating. His voice was rich and deep, with an urgent tone and a northern manner of speech.

"Behold! The moon sheds tears of blood. The Lord Wolf howls and calls the Age of Tenfold Sorrows. That Which Is Not grows restless in The Place Between. The Disciples of the Ever Young reveal themselves. Hunger, pestilence, and strife must surely follow. But first, the Emperor must die."

The man leapt at Galant. There was a flash of steel and billowing blue cloth, and the man crumpled to the ground without so much as a cry. A dagger skidded across the cobblestones. Therazes reached over from his horse, grabbed Galant's reins, and lashed both horses forward hard, yelling to close the gates. In an instant, they were inside the palace and the gates were grinding closed. Stennan had vaulted from his horse and stood facing the city just beyond the gate, his sword ready and his helmet burning in the last of the sunlight. Galant’s view narrowed to a gleam of copper and a stripe of brilliant blue, and then the palace was sealed from the outside world. Low in the sky above the palace walls, the full moon loomed pale and indistinct, streaked with red in a way that Galant had never seen.

Everything had happened too fast for Galant to be shaken. Now, looking up at the moon, Galant felt uneasy. He sat in the saddle looking at the sky for just a moment until Arman, the most senior of his knights, was there and Therazes was recounting the incident.

"The man was from Rhouden, I'd say, dressed like a beggar.” Therazes reported. Galant loved to hear him talk, with his slight, lilting, southeastern accent. “Mad or drunk or both. Spoke heresy and prophesied a dark age— then said ‘first the Emperor must die,’ and attacked with a knife. Stennan got him before he’d taken a step. Probably an isolated event, but we should send for Mardis Dantley."

Arman nodded, running a hand over the grey stubble that covered his head, and said, "Let's not make too much of this until we hear more from Mardis. If the man acted alone, then we have nothing to fear. If there is a conspiracy, we need not let rumor-mongers aid our enemies."

Galant heard the gates open slightly and close and then Stennan was at his side again.

"I believe he was alone," the young knight said, addressing Arman. The Emperor might as well not have been there, for all the attention his knights paid him, and that was comforting.

Stennan was the newest, and the most talented, of Galant's knights. Five years ago, at the age of twenty, he had been the youngest ever to have full knighthood conferred on him by the Church of Quelestel. The following year he had been raised to the Imperial Guard, making him ineligible for tournaments, which was a great relief to anybody aspiring to win the joust, duel, foot race, or wrestling competition. Like most knights, Stennan spurned archery, otherwise he might have swept every tournament for five years. Great lords fought to have their sons squire for Stennan.

Stennan dropped to one knee. At first, Galant thought it was a gesture of respect, but then the knight swayed and looked as if he might fall over. Arman knelt beside Stennan, raising the man's visor and loosening his chin strap. Stennan's face was pale and moist.

"Are you hurt?" Galant asked, climbing from his horse to kneel beside the knight as well. He began to unbuckle Stennan's gauntlets as Arman took the helmet from his head.

"No, My Lord." Stennan answered slowly. "I took no injury. I have been suffering from... a fever."

Stennan struggled to his feet and replaced his helmet

"It is nothing, my lord." The glimpse of Stennan's face before he pulled his visor closed made Galant think otherwise.

"Rest, good Knight. Arman will send for Gresser and he will relieve you. Have you seen a healer?"

"The Church..." Stennan stopped, and Therazes reached out to steady him.

By now, a small group of palace guards stood at attention around the Emperor and his knights, waiting to see if they could be of service. Arman called three of them over. He directed one to wake Gresser and relay orders to report to the feast as quickly as possible. He directed two more to escort Stennan to his chambers.

Galant went directly to the feast and felt no fear for his safety, with Arman walking beside him, even if Arman wore only a tunic and carried only a long knife. Galant was even more exhausted than before, and would have skipped the feast if it had been possible to do so gracefully. Some hundred of his lords and ladies were in attendance, seated at long tables that ran down the length of the feasting hall. Galant sat at an elevated table at the front of the hall, with his back to the hearth. His sister sat at his left hand, his uncle Horast at his right. His mother only appeared at social gatherings where she could be seen from a great distance and could not speak to anybody, so she was served her dinner in her chambers. Lord Corvyne and Lord Dilluther sat at the ends of the table. Galant fantasized for a while about finding Derra Weylann and inviting her to join them at the head table, but he did not see her in the crowd.

Wine and food were distributed liberally, but Galant ate and drank little. Celani picked at her food and drank no wine, and Corvyne seemed lost in thought. Their uncle Horast Mainer tried several times to talk to Galant and Celani, and his stories were entertaining, but he got little response and eventually turned to Dilluther and spent the rest of the evening in conversation with him. Singers came and went, and the Emperor's mood did not seem to diminish the enjoyment of his subjects. Lord Brinehall was notably absent, and Lord Frenlekker was notably present, deep in drink and offending the singers by adding his own massive voice to theirs whenever he thought he knew a line or two of the song. Ordinarily, Galant would have enjoyed this. He liked Lord Frenlekker, whose obnoxious behavior frequently offended the stuffier lords and ladies and mortified Lady Frenlekker. Galant would usually try to subtly encourage Frenlekker to misbehave, but not tonight.

Eventually, the feast began to wind down and the guests headed to their chambers to rest before the celebration began in earnest the next day. Galant returned gratefully with Celani and his guards to the inner ring of the palace, nodding to the city guard who opened and closed the gates to let them through. Galant did not want to be alone yet. Arman and Therazes, both now in their full armor, took their places on either side of the door to the imperial chambers.

Galant's mother stood just inside the door, looking around her and wringing her hands. She directed her unfocused stare toward her children and worked her mouth silently for a moment before she spoke.

"Is tonight the night?" She clutched her threadbare robe around her and began to shuffle away down the hall, her ragged slippers scuffing against the stones. "Is tonight the night?" She repeated, to nobody, and then she turned a corner and was gone.

Galant turned to his sister, who stared after their mother, face blank.

"Will you join me for a glass of sherry before bed?"

Celani nodded silently, and clutched her shawl around her, unconsciously mimicking her mother in a way that Galant found unnerving. She followed him to his chambers, where the knights Gresser and Ersaphis took up their positions on either side of his door.

Galant threw another log on the fire. The evening was not cold, but he felt chilled and it seemed that his sister did as well. The moonlight that spilled across the floor was pink. Galant drew his curtain quickly, without looking at the strange moon, and went to his dresser, where a fine crystal decanter held the last of his favorite vintage of Rhoudenian sherry, aged for thirty years in oak barrels in the depths of a cave in the Addenines, then hauled laboriously over the mountains for the pleasure of the Emperors of Merendir.

"You are upset." Celani said. She perched on the edge of his bed, back straight and hands folded. Galant poured two glasses of deep golden sherry. He handed one to Celani and she sipped it. He warmed his in his hand and walked over to stare into the fire.

"Somebody tried to kill me today. Don't tell anybody," Galant doubted his sister even had anybody to tell, "until Mardis Dantley can investigate. It's nothing important, just a madman, but it got to me. He ranted for a while— strange things— about the moon shedding tears of blood, about an age of terrible hardship… wolves, disciples, ‘that which is not.’ Then he said that I must die, and he tried to stab me." He turned to his sister and smiled thinly. "I guess I won't make much of a warrior if I can't handle people trying to stab me." Celani did not smile back, but stared into her glass. Galant went on. "It all happened so fast, it was over before I had time to react. Stennan killed the man before I even saw the knife."

"You are lucky to have warriors such as Stennan. No harm will come to you among your guards. They are the best in all the world." Celani sipped her sherry with unconsciously precise manners, born from years of desperately trying not to offend anybody. Sometimes Galant teased Celani about Stennan. He noticed how her eyes followed the young knight and how quick she was to praise his skill. Now he did not feel like joking.

There was a knock at his door— a rare occurrence ever, but especially at this hour. Galant opened the door to find Lord Dilluther and Mardis Dantley. Dilluther was one of maybe two dozen living men and women who had seen the inner chambers of the imperial palace. So far as Galant knew, Mardis Dantley had never been to the inner chambers. He averted his eyes uncomfortably, and Galant wondered if they too had encountered his mother in the corridor. Dilluther cleared his throat.

"Please excuse us, my lord. I'm afraid we must trouble you for a moment of your time."

"Yes, of course." Galant stepped aside and the men entered the room. Dilluther looked over to his niece.

"I'm sorry, dear, but we must speak to your brother alone," he said to her, with a strained smile.

Celani nodded, set down her glass, and left silently. Galant faced the men. Dilluther spoke first.

"What we have come to tell you is not easy..."

Galant set down his glass.

"We thought you should be aware..." Dilluther began again, picking up Celani's glass and swirling the sherry around inside.

Mardis spoke quickly, precisely. "As you are probably aware, there are various underground groups in Merendir that dabble in dark rituals— heretical, to be sure, but fairly harmless, or so we thought.”

Dilluther mumbled something uncomfortably into his great, black, mustache.

"Pardon me?" Mardis asked, but Dilluther shook his head. Mardis continued.

“We are beginning to understand their structure, and the extent of their influence, and it is… troubling.”

Dilluther scowled and started, “The man who tried to kill you…” before stopping and looking back to Mardis Dantley.

"We have been collaborating with the Candle in our investigation. He has found very troubling historical accounts of the grey priests, followers of a dead rebel, Stelmarren…”

“…Also known as ‘The Ever Young,’” Dilluther interjected.

“…A name cited by the man who tried to kill you today,” Mardis pointed out, unnecessarily, then added, “who was, incidentally, dressed as one might expect a grey priest to dress.”

The two men waited for Galant’s response, but he had none. He was tired, and wanted them to get to point. When it became clear that Galant had nothing to say, Mardis Dantley continued.

“These groups of heretics, to which the grey priests belong, are bound together into a larger society known as The Order of Learned Children of Old Blood. It is loosely organized, but its influence is far greater than we expected.”

“They used the Hidden Guard to arrest and execute a man, without Mardis knowing. It made no sense until…” Dilluther trailed off and stared at the floor.

“The Order has a ruling council of sorts— the ‘Dark Council’…” Now Mardis trailed off. Whatever the two men were getting at, neither one of them wanted to be the one to tell him.

“Mardis’ men saw a meeting last night…”

“A ritual…”

“Galant,” Dilluther finally blurted out, “we believe that Lord Corvyne is a member of this Dark Council."

"We've come to request permission to arrest him."

Galant was stunned. He stared first at Mardis Dantley and then at Dilluther.

"Impossible," the Emperor snapped.

"We believe it to be true," Dantley said.

"I will not let you arrest Lord Corvyne," Galant said angrily. "I suggest you both leave now and I will try to forget that you ever came." He glared at Dilluther, who turned red. "Why could this not wait until the morning?"

Dilluther spoke coldly. He was not accustomed to being lectured by Galant.

"The attempt on your life was made today by a man who very likely belongs to a very dangerous organization. We have been investigating this organization, and we have good evidence that the Seer is a member of its ruling council."

Mardis added, "I assure you that we will treat Lord Corvyne with utmost respect. I'm certain that Lord Corvyne, if he's innocent of these intrigues, will understand that we acted as we had to in order to protect you."

Galant cut Mardis off.

"I will hear no more of this. Tell my guards to let no one into the inner chambers tonight. I will rest and, out of respect for your stations, I will reconsider this matter in the morning. For now, Lord Corvyne will not be disturbed, nor shall the accusations be repeated outside of this room. That is all, leave now.”

Galant opened the door, and his uncle and Mardis Dantley walked out. His uncle appeared chagrined, but Dantley was angry. Galant sat on his bed and massaged his temple. Ashir Corvyne and his father, the elder Lord Corvyne, had been indispensable members of the Imperial court under five emperors. Galant's father had given him his first sword, but Ashir Corvyne had showed him how to handle it. Galant's father had financed lavish parties when Galant and Celani had come of age, but Corvyne had tried to make sure that they enjoyed them. When Galant’s father, the Emperor, had flown into rages and beaten Galant, nearly killing him on at least one occasion, it had been Corvyne that had calmed the Emperor, treated Galant's wounds, and explained to Galant that his father no longer understood what he was doing, that his mind was gone and that his body would soon follow.

Lord Dilluther did not have friends to speak of, aside from Lord Blackwell, but Ashir Corvyne must have been as near a friend to him as anybody. The two had served together as soldiers and then as advisors for nearly three decades. Dilluther was not prone to rash decisions. Galant wondered for the first time if there might be something to what the man said, but he banished the thought. He was well guarded. He could not be safer than he was in his chambers. The matter would wait until the morning.