Authors: Rachel Aaron
He ended with his hands on the table, eyes locked on Banage. On his side of the room, the Rector Spiritualis sighed.
“I understand what you’re saying, Alber,” he said quietly. “But the Spirit Court is not a political organization. We have worked together with the Council many times to our mutual benefit, but war is different. We serve the spirits, the land itself, and the land does not care who rules it. I cannot ask my Spiritualists to violate their oaths and put their spirits in danger to defend your borders.”
“This isn’t about borders,” Whitefall said, his voice growing heated. “Do you think the Immortal Empress is going to let the Spirit Court continue to operate? You were with Sara and me on the beach at Osera when her wizards dropped their flaming war spirits on our heads. Do you think a woman who uses that kind of force is going to sit back and let you keep running your towers as you see fit?”
Banage lifted his chin. “Perhaps.”
“
Perhaps?
” Whitefall repeated sharply. “That wasn’t how you felt last time.”
“It is because I fought then that I cannot ask my wizards to fight now,” Banage said. “How many times must I say it? Our duty is to our spirits, not your Council. Our oaths are built on a trust deeper than anything your spirit-deaf mind can imagine. I lost two spirits in the war with the Empress. I will not make my Spiritualists go through that pain as well.”
“We all lost friends in the war,” Whitefall said. “I lost an entire legion in one night alone when Den the Traitor turned against us. Every single one of those men had a soul, had a mother, had a family. Are you saying your spirits’ lives were worth more than theirs?”
“Men fight for countries,” Banage said. “They choose to risk death in the name of their cause. But spirits have no countries or causes. This is their world, we are the interlopers. We have no right to drag them from their sleep into our petty conflicts. You are a leader of men, Alber. It is right for you to be concerned with their struggles. But I am a custodian of the Spirit World. If I compromised that position for human interests, I would be unworthy of the name Spiritualist.”
Whitefall heaved an enormous sigh and collapsed back into his chair. “What will it take, Etmon? What can I do to bring you over?”
Banage tilted his head, and his eyes took on a gleam that Tesset
knew well. He’d seen it on every fighter: the look that came just before the finishing blow.
“The Spirit Court exists to ensure the greatest good for all spirits,” Banage said. “I was very young when we first fought the Empress, and I thought, as young people do, that the enemy was evil because she was our enemy. That we were right and she was wrong. But I am no longer young or naive, and I’m no longer sure that I am on the right side.”
“That is very close to treason,” Sara said, but she fell silent when Whitefall put out his hand.
“We are the right side, Banage,” Whitefall said earnestly.
“Are you?” Banage said, his eyes flicking to Sara. “Then why does the Council hide its business with spirits down in its bowels? Why is its head wizard allowed to do as she pleases without Spirit Court oversight?”
Sara shot up from her seat. “I knew it!” she shouted. “I knew this was all just a ploy to—”
“Sara!” Whitefall’s voice echoed through the chamber.
Sara flinched and shut her mouth. Across the room, Banage looked positively triumphant. Whitefall, on the other hand, looked dogged.
“Sara’s achievements support the Council,” the Merchant Prince said, picking his words carefully. “The Relay is what keeps the countries tied together. It’s what makes them
need
us. Therefore, we need her, and she needs the freedom to innovate.”
“Then it’s time to weigh which need is greater,” Banage said, crossing his arms. “Sara’s secrecy or my Court. I know you are a man who plays with words, Alber, so I will say this as plain as possible. If you want our help, you must change your ways. I will lead the Court toward whatever end supports its purpose. Black as you paint the Empress, her crimes against the spirits are as yet only possibilities. Sara’s crimes are far closer to home. You need my Court?
Prove you are worthy of it. Tear down the wall of secrecy Sara has built. Allow my people to inspect the Relay and all other works of Council wizardry, and swear to fix whatever abuses we find. Show the Spirit Court that you deserve our loyalty, and we will follow the Council wherever you need us.”
Sara’s face was scarlet with rage as Banage finished, yet she said nothing. Tesset could see why. Whitefall’s hand was at her wrist, his long fingers pressed into the pressure point. The Merchant Prince was calm, his eyes half lidded as they regarded Banage. Tesset leaned back, watching the old man with interest. When Whitefall had nearly lost his temper earlier, Tesset had been worried he’d misjudged the man. Now he saw with satisfaction that the earlier bluster had been a feint, a ruse to draw out Banage’s real objective just as a swordsman feigns injury to trick his enemy into revealing his finishing strike. But now that he knew what Banage really wanted, Whitefall didn’t seem quite sure what to do with it. Tesset watched him carefully, waiting to see how he would counter. However, when the Merchant Prince finally did answer, even Tesset didn’t see the blow coming.
“I’m afraid you leave me no choice,” Whitefall said, drawing a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Give this to him.”
Tesset stepped forward and took the paper. He walked across the chamber to Banage, who accepted the note with a suspicious glare before dropping his eyes to read.
“What is this?” he asked as Tesset returned to his position behind Sara.
“It’s a conscription notice,” Whitefall answered.
“
Conscription?
” Banage roared. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You’ve put me in a bind,” Whitefall said, his voice growing cold and sharp. “I would like nothing more than to throw open the Council and let the Spirit Court scour every inch of it, but I don’t even need to ask to know Sara’s response. You know as well as I do
that her word is final when it comes to Council wizardry, and yet you bring me this impossible request. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted this to fail.”
Banage stiffened. “I want only what I have always wanted,” he said. “Humane treatment for all spirits. If you will not let my Spiritualists inspect the Council’s practices, then I no longer have suspicions. I now
know
that the Council of Thrones is abusing spirits, and you can’t possibly think I would ally my Court with such a shameful organization.”
“Be that as it may,” Whitefall said. “Take a closer look at that paper in your hand. Like it or not, every member of your order is also a citizen of this ‘shameful organization,’ and it is my right, as written under section three of the Council edict, to order citizens of the Council to war for our mutual defense. If you and your wizards do not comply in full, then, by Council law, I have no choice but to declare you traitors.”
Banage’s face grew very pale, and Whitefall leaned forward. “Don’t be a fool, Etmon,” he hissed. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Join me willingly and I will do everything I can to keep your spirits from harm. I swear it.”
Banage looked the Merchant Prince directly in the eye, but he did not speak. Instead, he raised the conscription notice in the air between them and ripped it cleanly in two.
Whitefall watched tight lipped as the torn paper fluttered to the polished floor. “You realize you’ve just committed treason.”
“One cannot commit treason against an authority he is not part of,” Banage answered. “The Spirit Court was doing its duty centuries before you even imagined the Council of Thrones. We do not answer to you.”
Whitefall let out a tight sigh. “As you like,” he said. “Tesset, arrest the traitor.”
Tesset stepped out onto the smooth marble, watching Banage
warily as the attack played out in his head. The tall Rector had reach on him, but the man was not a hand-to-hand fighter. The hardest part would be taking him down before he could call his spirits. Quick jab to the stomach should be enough. Decision made, Tesset dropped and began to run. But fast as he was, Banage was faster. Just before his fist landed, a wall of wind sent Tesset flying.
He turned in the air and landed on the Merchant Prince’s table, catching an ink pot just before it blew into Sara’s face. Across the room, Banage stood in the center of a small tornado, his robes flying like flags.
“Keril,” the Rector said, and the pale blue stone on his index finger flashed like a small sun. The wind intensified, forcing Tesset to a crouch as he shielded Whitefall and Sara.
Tesset squinted against the wind. Banage was moving his other hand now, bringing a green cabochon of glowing jade to his lips.
“Duesset,” he said, his deep voice clear over the roar of the wind.
The entire hearing chamber rang like a bell, and then, with a roar that cracked the windows, an enormous creature exploded through the stone floor. Tesset’s eyes widened. It looked like a warhorse carved from jade, but it was larger than any horse Tesset had ever seen. The creature lowered its head, and its stone mane fell into easy steps for the Rector to climb onto its back.
Banage looked down on Sara, Tesset, and Whitefall from the creature’s back, his face a stone mask.
“I am the voice of the Spirit Court,” he announced, his words booming through the room. “I speak for us all, and I say this: The Spirit Court exists for the spirits. Just as we will never allow them to be coerced, so shall we never allow ourselves to be ordered to war by an outside authority. Fight the Empress with your own blood, Alber, for you shall have none of ours.”
With that, the wind gave one final howl, shattering the large glass windows that looked out over the city. As the glass fell, the
stone horse leaped, carrying Banage through the broken window. It landed with a crash in the courtyard below, but when Tesset ran forward, all he saw was a crater in the paving stones and the flick of the jade horse’s tail as it charged the citadel gate. The iron bars crumpled like paper as the creature galloped through them, its stone feet striking the cobbles like smithy hammers on new iron as it vanished down the street and into the city below.
“Well,” Whitefall said, pulling himself up. “That could have gone better.”
“Could it?” Sara said, reaching out her hands for Tesset to help her up. “How many times have I told you? You can’t speak sense to Banage. The nerve of that man, forcing his morals on the whole world. Spiritualists poking their noses into my workshop, can you imagine?” She shook her head. “You were right to turn him down, Alber. If they discovered the truth of the Relay, we’d have a full-out rebellion on our hands.”
“I’m not sure we won’t as it is,” Whitefall said, his voice tired. “But I had hoped to avoid breaking the Court.”
“It was already broken,” Sara said with a sniff. “Banage is a fanatic. There’s no place for him in an order as old and vested in its power as the Spirit Court. Forcing him to reject conscription was the best thing you could have done. Some of the old guard will stick to Banage’s banner of high morality, but the majority of Spiritualists won’t risk treason just to keep their hands clean, especially not when they can say they were only fighting for their country.”
Tesset had to agree. In one move, Whitefall had taken Banage’s ultimatum and turned it around, forcing the Rector Spiritualis into the weakest position possible. If the Merchant Prince had simply let him leave the first time he refused, or worse, threatened him with force, Banage could have stood on his principles, turning himself and his supporters into moralistic objectors. But with the conscription notice, Whitefall had backed Banage up against his own
ultimatum. He could no longer stay aloof. It was give in and go with the Council as a conscript or be declared a traitor. Of course, Banage had still refused, but in refusing he’d doomed his own chances at keeping the lion’s share of the Court. After all, while there were plenty of Spiritualists who would have jumped at the chance to avoid the war by siding with their Rector, only the true fanatics would be willing to be branded traitor for him. Tesset grinned. He loved a good turn-about.
“Get the message out to your contacts among the Tower Keepers, Sara,” Whitefall said. “The Council will welcome any Spiritualists who wish to fight for their homes. Those who join Banage will be declared traitors, and their property and lands will be seized.”
“Consider it done,” Sara said. “But what are you going to do about Etmon? He’ll only muck things up if you leave him to run loose.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Tesset said, glancing out the crashed window. “Look.”
Across the city, the Spirit Court’s tower was moving. The white stone walls, clearly visible even at this distance, rippled like water. Windows vanished beneath a wave of stone, and the great red doors of the Tower fell like trees as they watched, crashing to the ground as the entrances they guarded vanished beneath a wall of stone. One by one, every escape to the outside world vanished beneath the rippling white stone until the Tower was completely sealed, an impenetrable, unblemished spire of pure white.
“Well,” Sara said softly. “I suppose that takes care of that.”
“What was that?” Whitefall said.
Sara held out her hand and Tesset handed her her pipe. “Banage’s sealed the Tower,” she said, tapping a measure of fresh tobacco into the bowl. “Took his toys and went home. Typical.” She made a scornful face as she lit her pipe and took a long draw. “If you’re done with me, Alber, I’m going to get those messages out
before Banage can convince the Spiritualists they’re being persecuted. The last thing we need is a bunch of self-righteous wizards fighting us instead of the Empress.”
Whitefall nodded, still staring. Sara turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Tesset fell into step behind her, still smiling. Whitefall watched the sealed Tower a moment longer, and then, shaking his head, he walked to the door and called the servants in to start cleaning up the mess Banage had made of his hearing chamber.