The Astrologies

Chapter 9: The Council

The Seer Corvyne was interrupted when the door to the council chamber crashed open and the Elder General Dilluther stalked wordlessly into the room.

"...the accommodations for the visiting nobles," Corvyne continued, watching as Dilluther took his seat beside Blackwell. Dilluther leaned forward and stared straight ahead with his jaw clenched. Blackwell slumped back in his chair so he could watch his old friend without being watched, and chewed his lip.

"Arman," Corvyne addressed the attending knight, "please show in the Castellan."

The knight Arman was nearly of age with many of the council members, but he was fit and lithe and fierce with a blade in the training yard. He too had served in Roudhen, and upon returning to Merendir, he had been raised to the Emperor's private guard, which he now commanded.
Arman bowed and pushed his way through the wide doors to the hall. The Castellan Lanick came in to stand before the council, with heavy eyelids and unkempt hair. His embroidered tunic was wrinkled.

"My Lords," the Castellan addressed them, fighting a yawn, "We have erected six new houses so that every lord of a fief will have a place near the pleasure gardens. We are waiting on another wagon of geese, but we have been plucking with fervor, to be sure that the Imperial guests have luxurious mattresses and pillows.

"The lawns, hedges, rock gardens, topiaries, and arbors are all manicured. We are skimming and dredging the lake, so that it will be clear of unsightly foam and scum, and the rainbow fish have been introduced. The boats are being repaired and repainted.

"We have commandeered the best inns on this hill for the favored guests of our lords. We are working night and day to put up new barracks in the third ring for the men-at-arms, but we will have to take volunteers— which should not be lacking— to stay in commandeered inns on the Street of Fools."

"Thank you, Castellan," the Emperor Galant said, staring at the tapestry that covered half the wall of the conference room. The tapestry was from the wild northern country of Roudhen. It had been a gift from their king, after the knights had spared his life and allowed him to continue his rule in the service of the Emperor. It was fine work by any standards. It depicted a hunter— a fierce, bearded, nobleman in dark leather with gold arm bands— on a rearing stallion, thrusting a spear through the heart of a boar. Galant had only been hunting on a few occassions, but he hoped to go again soon. He had never brought down a boar, but he had shot a stag on his last outing, and he had brought down nearly a dozen pheasants over the years.

There had been a common girl on the last hunt who had tended to the horses when the hunters stopped for refreshment. She had had lovely skin and golden hair. When he brought down the stag, he had smiled at her. When she looked back at him and the sun caught her blue eyes, he thought his heart might stop. His cousin Jackal— actually, his name was Wester— had teased him, of course. She was a servant, and Galant was the Emperor. If Galant wanted her, he should have taken her. Jackal was right that Galant needed to be more assertive, but Galant did not want to upset anybody. Sometimes, he was mildly surprised when he realized that he was the Emperor.

It was customary for the various lords— his lords, that is— to go hunting the day after races and tournaments. Maybe she would be back, and he could ask her— tell her, that is— that he meant for her to... what? And what if she said no? Could she do that? He was the Emperor. Galant thought that he would impress her with his bravery and prowess and then she would not want to deny him. Maybe they would find a boar. Then Galant would call her over and hand her his bow and quiver. He would take up a spear and charge the beast, slaying it like the warrior in the tapestry. Maybe he would take a wound— nothing severe, but something that looked bad— and make light of it, insisting that they finish the hunt.

The conversation around him had stopped. Galant looked around quickly, and was relieved to see that all eyes were on the Vaultkeeper, who was consulting a ledger and chewing his lip. Galant had not noticed the Cellarmaster enter, but the dashing dark-haired fellow stood before them now in a luxurious wine-colored robe, with lips to match. He wore a broad smile, but his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. It was no secret that the Cellarmaster entertained his close friends, and frequent lovers, lavishly from the Emperor's casks. It was a traditional benefit of that office, and though the current Cellarmaster benefited a bit more enthusiastically than his predecessors, he also performed his duties well.

"My good man," the Cellarmaster entreated the Vaultkeeper, loudly, "will we quibble over a pittance, when there is so much good will to be won?"

Galant saw the Vaultkeeper's eyes narrow and his lip chewing increase in intensity, and he suddenly understood that the Vaultkeeper— proper, pious, and lonely— did not like the flamboyant Cellarmaster, and wanted very badly to refuse him. If Galant had only been paying attention when the matter had been introduced, he might have come up with a compromise. As it was, he could only watch for a few more uncomfortable moments, until the Vaultkeeper smiled wanly and nodded his assent.

"Emperor," the Vaultkeeper addressed Galant, "is this acceptable to you?"

Galant had no idea what topic was on the table, but it seemed to be monetary in nature, and if the Vaultkeeper found it acceptable, Galant had no doubt that he would find it acceptable, too. He pretended to ponder the issue a moment, trying to think of a way to flatter the Vaultkeeper and ease the man's distress.

"My good Vaultkeeper," Galant said, wincing when he realized he had unconciously echoed the Cellarmaster's words, "when it comes to the incomes and expenses of the realm, my trust in you is absolute."

And when it came to sampling the vintages of hundreds of vineyards, from the south coast to the mountains, and choosing the best for the Emperor's cellars, Galant's faith in the Cellarmaster was absolute.

The Vaultkeeper seemed somewhat appeased by the Emperor's words, and he gave the 

Cellarmaster a haughty look as he announced, "Thirty weights of gold will be added to the Cellarmaster's account, for the purpose of purchasing a cask of new wine for every guest house."
The Cellarmaster bowed deeply, with a flourish that threw him off balance and nearly sent him to the floor. He rose, beaming, and addressed the room with an expansive gesture.

"My Lords, Your Excellence, Master Vaultkeeper, Sir, I assure you... your names are legends."
With that, the Cellarmaster swept out, at least as far as the great oaken double door, which he had trouble opening. The knight Arman opened the door from the outside, and came into the room as the billowing burgundy robes of the Cellarmaster disappeared.

Arman stood at attention in the doorway. His burnished plate armor and immaculate blue cloak stood out in contrast to the dusty windows, the faded tapestries, and the scarred wooden table.

The Seer Corvyne addressed the council, and then the knight.

"Let us turn now to matters of security for our visiting nobles. Arman, please show in Althurre Barwell."

Lord Dilluther stood quickly, bashing his legs against the table and nearly upsetting his chair. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Althurre Barwell will not be joining us today," Dilluther said, glowering in turn at the Emperor, the Seer, and Blackwell. "There was... an accident at the forge. The Captain of the Guard is dead."

There was no uproar at Dilluther's announcement, just a long silence. He sat, and refused to meet anybody's eyes. Galant's skin was cold, and his stomach was twisting. He knew Dilluther. They all knew Dilluther. He was lying, and poorly. Still, the silence went on.

"Well!" Blackwell finally exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and smiling as if somebody had just told a joke. The expression only emphasized the wrinkles and pockmarks in his once-handsome face. "I believe we still have the matter of shipping tariffs on the Badwater to discuss."