Above His Proper Station (27 page)

It seemed very unlikely that any of those doors could still be opened, which suited Anrel well; he could still hear the shouting mob beyond.

The most remarkable feature of that wall and its six doors, though, was that Anrel could sense a very faint tingle of magic there—someone had placed a ward on those doors a long, long time ago, and it still held, to some extent. That was probably why the doors were still there, while the one through which they had entered was utterly gone. It might also explain why these ruins had sometimes been said to be haunted.

Odd, he thought, that some ancient magician had put so powerful a ward on the front doors, but not on the rest of the building.

Then he turned left, at Derhin's urging, and looked at the baths.

There was an open expanse of once-tiled floor stretching forty feet or so between two double rows of columns, leading to a huge domed space—the central bath, where the Grand Council met. The floor of the gigantic circular bath was about five feet below the surrounding floor, with steps leading down into it on every side, but it was utterly dry and deserted now, much of its white tile lining cracked and broken. Men and a few women were standing here and there, talking quietly, but no one had set foot in the sunken area yet. A few individuals were present who wore odd red and white sashes diagonally, over one shoulder and down to the waist; these people all seemed to be hurrying somewhere.

Derhin noticed where Anrel's attention had fallen, and said, “The sashes indicate our staff. We have some forty or so people who run our errands, fetch us food and drink, carry messages, and so forth.”

“I see,” Anrel said. He continued studying the architecture.

To either side of the entry hall, beyond the rows of columns, stairs led up to a gallery that encircled the base of the dome, twenty feet above the main floor, and looked down on that empty pool. That was presumably the gallery from which Lord Blackfield watched the proceedings. A few observers were up there now, looking down.

On either side of the dome, arcades opened into other rooms, and beyond it was a sunny courtyard. A small section of the roof had fallen in above that forty-foot entryway leading to the central bath, letting sun in there as well, but the dome itself appeared to be intact, and there was no rubble to be seen anywhere; presumably it had been cleared away when the building was first put to use by the council.

“That's the atrium, on the far side,” Derhin explained, pointing at the courtyard. “The massage area is on the left, the towel room over there, the changing rooms down that way. The hot baths—well, I think you should stay with me until your appointment is confirmed, but the hot baths are past the main pool on the right, to one side of the atrium.”

“Thank you,” Anrel said again.

He followed Derhin through the entry hall, around the central bath, and out into the atrium, where flagstone paths had sunk so deeply into the turf they were almost lost. About a dozen men and two women stood chatting, and Derhin joined them, introducing Anrel. The names and places of origin were recited so quickly that Anrel did not remember any of them five minutes later.

He was startled that none of them seemed particularly interested in him; indeed, he felt somewhat slighted. Then he realized that Derhin had introduced him by his real name, and while he had said that Anrel had come from Naith, he had not explained who he was or why he was there. He stood and listened as they discussed what to expect from the Hots, from the Cloakroom, from the emperor's representatives, in response to Amanir's death and the accusations the Hots were hurling at Lord Allutar.

“And you, Master Murau,” an older man said, turning to Anrel. “What do you think of all this?”

“I find it very interesting,” Anrel said.

“I suppose you've come to report on your delegate's actions, to assure the people of Naith that they are being well represented?” another man asked.

Anrel cleared his throat and looked at Derhin.

“I'm afraid you have misunderstood,” Derhin said. “Anrel is the new delegate from Naith, replacing poor Amanir.”

A dozen heads suddenly snapped around, and two dozen eyes focused on the stranger.

“Here?” one of them asked. “With us?”

“His final loyalties are not yet determined,” Derhin replied. “He has agreed to speak for the Hots on certain matters in Amanir's stead, but he does not fully accept their positions.”

“But will he … That is …”

“His loyalties are not yet determined,” Derhin repeated. “He is here with us because I am the one presenting him for confirmation. Once confirmed, he will join the Hots until he has given the speech he has promised them. After that, it will be his own choice.”

“I do not yet understand the various beliefs well enough to have joined any specific faction,” Anrel said. “I intend to listen with interest to today's deliberations.”

“Of course! Good sense, young fellow,” the older man said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Anrel might have said more, but he was interrupted by a voice calling from somewhere behind him.

“Hear me, delegates of the empire's people!” the speaker cried. Anrel turned.

“Hear me!” the voice continued. “The Grand Council of the Walasians is hereby called to order! Let every person delegated to speak for their community gather!”

“That means us,” the older man said, clapping Anrel on the shoulder. “Come on.”

Anrel joined the men and women of the Atrium as they marched into the great domed chamber and descended the steps into the ruined pool. Derhin led him across the broken tiles to a position almost directly below a raised platform at one side, a platform that Anrel had not noticed before.

A man in a green and gold robe stood on the platform. When the delegates had all climbed down into the empty bath, while observers were still jockeying for position on the surrounding floor or in the gallery above, the robed man lifted a carved white rod and proclaimed, “I was chosen as today's first speaker, and as such I hereby declare the Grand Council of the Walasians convened for this fourth day of summer in the five hundred and eighty-ninth year of the Walasian Empire, which is the twenty-fourth year of the reign of His Imperial Majesty Lurias Imbredar, twelfth of that name. Is there any objection?”

No one spoke out, though a few voices murmured quietly.

After a brief pause, the speaker continued, “I remind the Grand Council that we are charged by our people with determining the course of their governance, and that we are not bound by past law or custom, but empowered to create what law pleases us. Through us the Walasian people speak their will, and assert their authority throughout the empire. A great responsibility has been placed upon us. If there are any here who feel themselves unfit to accept this responsibility, let them speak now, that we may release them from their obligations.”

He paused again, and again, no one spoke.

“This is the one hundred and eighty-fifth day since the gathering of this Grand Council, and the one hundred and sixty-third session of deliberation. As today's first speaker I hereby propose that we provisionally accept all actions and decisions of the prior one hundred and sixty-two sessions that have not previously been rescinded. All in favor?”

Hundreds of voices said, “Aye!” in approximate unison, startling Anrel.

“Opposed?”

Perhaps two or three voices said, “Nay!”

“The proposal has been accepted. Business will continue from previous sessions, rather than starting anew. Let it be so recorded.” He waved the white rod.

“That much is all recited every day,” Derhin whispered in Anrel's ear.

“I now ask the delegates whether every province of the empire is duly represented, in accordance with the summons that created this Grand Council. Is the full delegation of the province of Demerren in attendance?”

“It is,” someone answered from the floor.

“Is the full delegation of the province of Hallin in attendance?”

“It is.”

The speaker ran through the list of provinces, one by one, until at last he said, “Is the full delegation of the province of Aulix in attendance?”

“It is not, sir!” Derhin responded instantly.

“Identify yourself, sir!”

“I am Derhin li-Parsil, delegate from Naith in Aulix. My compatriot from Naith, Amanir tel-Kabanim is not present, nor will he be.” Derhin's voice shook as he spoke these last few words—trembling with grief or rage, Anrel supposed.

“The council recognizes the delegate from Naith, and asks that he explain his compatriot's absence.”

Derhin immediately marched up the steps, circled around the platform, and strode up to stand beside the speaker, who bowed and retreated, leaving Derhin alone on the platform.

“As you all know, Amanir tel-Kabanim will never again address this gathering. He hanged himself yesterday morning.” He paused after those words, his hands clutched into fists, then swallowed hard before continuing, “As his fellow delegate from Naith it falls to me to name a provisional replacement, and I have made my choice.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “I could talk at length about the horror of poor Amanir's death, about the suspicious circumstances surrounding it, about the need to find a suitable heir swiftly, about the delicacy required in selecting that heir so that I might properly balance the demands of Amanir's townspeople back in Naith, the demands of his friends in this council, and a dozen other factors. I will not. Our empire is in a state of crisis, and we have no time to waste on such matters. You all know most of what I might tell you, and no worthwhile purpose would be served by such a recitation. Instead I will say that fate—or perhaps the Mother and Father of us all—delivered to me the ideal individual to take up Amanir's place in this honorable gathering. He is a man most of you, perhaps all of you, know by reputation, though that reputation now owes as much to myth as to fact. His given name is Anrel Murau; no true name is recorded in the Great List, for although he attempted the sorcery trials, he did not succeed in them. You all know him, however, by another name, a name he gave himself when he addressed the crowds in Aulix Square in our home city of Naith, and that he used again in Beynos. It is a name claimed by others on occasion, but this man, Anrel Murau, is the originator and the original. Members of the Grand Council, I hereby name as heir to Amanir tel-Kabanim the man known to you all as Alvos, the orator of Naith.”

Anrel had already started toward the steps, but he stumbled and almost fell, startled by the roar that Derhin's final words provoked. Hundreds of voices were shouting, bellowing, questioning. Then he got his feet back under him and trotted quickly up and around and onto the platform, where he stood silently beside Derhin.

“Members of the Grand Council,” Derhin shouted, trying to be heard over the chaos, “I present Anrel Murau, known as Alvos!”

“How do we know it's really him?” someone called out.

“I give you my word as a delegate and a Walasian that this is the man who spoke in Aulix Square and asked the people of Naith to elect Amanir and myself to this council!” Derhin called back.

“Alvos! Alvos! Alvos!” someone began to chant; Anrel thought he recognized the speaker as one of the Hots who had come to Lord Blackfield's rooms the previous night.

Derhin turned to Anrel. “Anrel Murau,” he said, “do you accept this appointment to serve as a delegate to the Grand Council, to represent the people of Naith, and to do your best to guide the future of the empire?”

“I do accept this charge,” Anrel replied, speaking loudly and clearly. “If the council allows, I will serve to the best of my ability.”

The assembled delegates applauded—or at any rate, most of them did; Anrel heard a few objections and catcalls amid the cheers. That was hardly surprising. The noise continued for several seconds while the speaker remounted the podium; Derhin and Anrel stepped back to make way for him. He raised his hands for silence, and gradually the crowd quieted.

“I call upon the delegates to vote upon Delegate li-Parsil's nomination of a successor for the late Amanir tel-Kabanim!” he shouted. “In the interests of celerity, I ask for approval by acclamation. Those in favor, say aye!”

Hundreds of voices shouted in reply.

“Those opposed, say nay!”

Dozens of voices—perhaps hundreds, Anrel could not be certain—responded. The volume was unquestionably less than had been the roar of approval. A new round of applause broke out.

Bellowing to be heard, the speaker proclaimed, “Since provisional acceptance requires approval from only one-fourth of this body, I hereby declare Anrel Murau to be the new delegate from Naith.”

The applause—and an admixture of jeers and protests—continued for a moment, and as it gradually faded one voice began to stand out.

“Master Speaker! Master Speaker!” someone was calling.

“I recognize the noble delegate from Naith.”

Anrel followed the speaker's pointing finger and saw a well-dressed man of middle years, tall and slim.

“Lord Oris,” Derhim murmured in Anrel's ear.

“I must insist upon a proper election!” Lord Oris shouted.

“That is your privilege,” the speaker replied. “As a friend of the burgrave of Naith, I trust you can arrange the matter, Lord Oris?”

Lord Oris seemed discomfited by this immediate acquiescence. “I … yes,” he said.

“Then Anrel Murau will serve until such time as the results of the election are known to us. Delegate Murau, do you wish your name to be entered in this election Lord Oris proposes?”

“I do,” Anrel replied.

“Then let it be done.” The speaker took a deep breath, and said, “Let me say a few words now to congratulate the newest member of the Grand Council, and instruct him in a few of the expectations he must now face.”

Anrel raised his chin and tried to look interested as the speeches began.