Gonji: The Soul Within the Steel. T. C. Rypel
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something, and Flavio waved his hand at his side. He forced out a casual chuckle, and Milorad joined in.
“Hardly, milord king.”
“Good. Now let us tell you what you’ve come to hear and clear the air between us.”
And with that Klann launched into his story with a directness and sincerity Flavio had to admire. He ate as he spoke, pausing now and again to lave his hands with the budget and ewer held for his private use by two servants. He tossed scraps to the turnspit dogs that roamed the hall. Flavio listened to him carefully, and it seemed that every so often the conquering king would drift off, become detached, as if searching for words etched in the hall’s opposite wall or straining to hear a distant voice. He was addicted to the use of the royal “we,” almost to the point of distraction.
“Signore Flavio, we Akryllonian nationals are the remnant of a once proud island people, a people gifted in art and artifice and, I think, attuned to powers your mainland folk would find unfathomable. My esteemed parents were rulers of Akryllon. My father was a just and compassionate monarch, but in the end, despite his fairness, he found that the stewards of those powers—a league of wizards and mages—had turned upon him. They wrested the throne and scepter of Akryllon and put our parents to flight. They died in exile, bitter and despondent, and on our heads and the heads of our loyal followers they placed the charge that we should devote ourselves to regaining what is rightfully ours. So our first requisite of you is that you extend us your understanding that we do what we must, and not always as we would have it. But we are driven by an inviolable command to fulfill a destiny and restore a kingdom. For we are the royal bloodline of Akryllon. And we are Klann. I...am Klann...and we are five....”
Klann’s voice had dwindled to a grating whisper, and his eyes had glazed over with these last words. He seemed to be fighting for control. Flavio felt a wave of disquietude course through him as he listened. Was Klann mad, or—?
“But forgive us,” Klann went on, smiling affably, once again rational. “These are things which are no concern of yours. What we would like you to do is look about you—not at the soldiers but at the women and children...at the very few aged folk of Akryllon. Can you see in their faces and fragile bodies how they’ve suffered these many years of nomadic wanderings? If I were to tell you how those years are numbered, I daresay you should call me a lunatic. But we wish you to understand, so we’ll say nothing of it. What we will say is that the nations of the world have met us with ill, for the most part. Like wolves pursuing the scent of death, they’ve hounded us. Met us in our time of need with sword and bow and cannon shot....
“And so we’ve fought back in order to survive. What we’ve been denied in the name of mercy, we’ve taken by warfare and sorcery. We came to your Baron Rorka seeking sanctuary, shelter from the coming winter so that we might grow in strength and numbers and, come the spring, once again launch an assault on the usurpers of our father’s throne. But the baron denied us what we required. Our situation was desperate, and what happened...happened. We were forced to take what we needed for our survival.
“But now we are here, and things are as they are. Nothing need concern the citizens of Vedun but the continuance of the reciprocal relationship that existed between the city and the baron. Rest assured that your interests will be well protected and that it is of utmost importance to us that our relationship be peaceable. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?”
Flavio collected his scattered thoughts, cleared his throat, and wiped his bearded chin with a linen cloth. A servant boy rushed up with a leather budget of water, but the Elder waved him off.
“Sire...,” he began slowly, “we appreciate your frankness and candor, and now I hope you’ll forgive my impertinence if I, too, speak frankly.” He spoke gently, knowing the fragile ground on which he trod. “Was this violent coup truly necessary? So much bloodshed on both sides. We have much room in Vedun, and our grain bins are full to over—”
“Yes, there has been much bloodshed,” came the booming voice of Mord, “and it continues. Soldiers on patrol are slaughtered cold-bloodedly. King Klann’s own field commander has been beaten to death in the streets. And insurrectionists have even dared to attack my wyvern, as if their puny shafts could bring down such a thing of power—all by rebel action! Who sanctions these actions, Elder?”
Mord was on his feet, shouting. The closest tables had fallen silent now, watching between sips and bites.
Milorad spoke up before Flavio. “With all due respect, the honored counselor ignores certain facts: First, let it be made clear here that Vedun’s council sanctions no rebellious activity, certainly not murder. We are a Christian community, and murder is stringently proscribed by the tenets of our faith. Commander Ben-Draba was killed by a stranger. No one in the city ever saw him before—”
“Lies,” Mord said flatly.
“And may I add,” Flavio piped in, “that the boxing contests at the square were held at the insistence of the commander himself. The people were threatened for failure to participate.”
“And the council had no part in the attack on the wyvern—” Milorad continued, as Mord interposed:
“Lies—all lies!”
“—why, the very sight of the flying monster is enough to send gentlefolk—”
“You lie!” Mord fumed. “It is your intention to resist the king’s will and to provoke combat that will see an end to his ordained purpose.”
“Enough!”
Klann had been listening impatiently, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Now he raised a huge red hand, and an uneasy quiet gripped the hall.
“Suffice it to say that enough violence has been done on both sides and that we’ll have an end of it, here and now. I have lost a great field commander, true, and he will be missed. But it was not altogether unexpected. Ben-Draba’s impetuous nature and bull-headedness were bound to bring him to such an end sooner or later. And as for the wyvern—” Klann chortled. “—I must confess that I, too, might have shot at such a thing flying over my home for the first time!”
A spate of laughter ran through the audience, and Mord’s eyes flared hotly. Flavio sensed a certain tension between the king and his court sorcerer, recalling that Baron Rorka had mentioned something of this.
“But let that be the end of it,” Klann said as the laughter abated. “I trust that the bold adventurers involved witnessed the wyvern’s rather ghastly offensive—and I mean no pun there!—its monstrous offensive capabilities. We’ll have no more rebellious incidents.”
“I’m quite sure you’re right, sire,” Flavio agreed. “But now I’ve been charged by the city to pursue certain grievances. I beg your indulgence. First, there is the matter of the threats against our worship of the Lord God. Specifically, the cross at the city square has been struck down—”
“I gave no such order. I care nothing for your mode of worship, but it gives me no offense. Sianno—what of this accusation?”
The captain lifted his palms in a gesture of confusion and eyed the other officers at the table.
Then Mord spoke. “Milord, you signed the order. It was merely a routine threat against resistance, part of the standard security procedure in occupied territory.”
Klann nodded curtly. “Yes-yes, so I did. Well, their Christian worship offers us no threat—unless it extends to raising another papist army such as the one which gave us such trouble in Austria! You may continue your worship unimpeded.”
Flavio and Milorad exchanged a look of relief and triumph. Mord glowered down at them silently.
Then, emboldened by this early victory, the Council Elder tactfully pursued other subjects of concern to the citizens of Vedun: recompense for the families of soldiers and citizens slain by Klann’s forces; aggression by the mercenaries; freedom for servants held at the castle against their will....
* * * *
Klann feigned