Above His Proper Station (28 page)

22

In Which Anrel Proposes a Compromise

The speeches rambled on for almost an hour. The speaker, whose name Anrel still had not learned, spoke in grand generalities of the council's heritage and promise. He was followed by Derhin, whose speech was to all intents and purposes a eulogy for both Amanir and Lord Valin, mentioning Anrel only in passing. Lord Oris then spoke about the beauty and importance of the city of Naith and the province of Aulix, and concluded with the hope that Anrel would be worthy of them, while making it clear that Oris himself doubted that Anrel could achieve such a height.

Then there was a stir as someone made his way toward the platform, and Anrel was startled to see Lord Allutar mounting the steps.

“Master Murau,” Lord Allutar said with a nod.

“My lord,” Anrel acknowledged.

Then Lord Allutar turned to address the delegates.

“Members of the council, I stand before you to congratulate this young man on what he has accomplished today. Through the influence of his foolhardy friends and the clever manipulation of public sentiment, Master Murau has found his way onto the Grand Council, and has thereby earned a pardon for any crimes he might have committed before today. An hour ago he was under sentence of death for sedition, inciting riots, assault upon an officer of the peace, innumerable counts of theft, conspiring with witches, and undoubtedly other offenses of which I am blissfully unaware. To dismiss all that with a few well-chosen words, a friend's assistance, and a round of applause—that's quite remarkable, and I must confess my admiration for his audacity. I must also admit to relief on a purely personal level. As some of you may know, I am affianced to Lady Saria Adirane, daughter of the burgrave of Alzur. What you may not realize is that Master Murau is Lady Saria's cousin. It is indeed a relief to know I will be marrying into the family of a delegate to the Grand Council, rather than rendering myself kin to a traitorous thief and brigand.”

The crowd stirred at that; Anrel's familial connections were obviously news to most of them. Anrel saw that by mentioning this link, Lord Allutar was using his own infamy as the despoiler of the Raish Valley to taint Anrel and undercut Anrel's standing with the Hots and other populist factions. He was also making sure that everyone present knew that Anrel had a base personal motive for accepting appointment to the council.

That was, Anrel thought, probably far more effective than open opposition.

“I have known Master Murau for some time,” Lord Allutar continued, “and I know him to be a man of learning, a man of sense, a man who values his friends above his own political principles. I trust his actions as a member of the Grand Council will continue to be guided by expedience and personal loyalties, rather than any great passion for justice or deep moral convictions.”

A stunned silence had fallen over the crowd; Lord Allutar turned to Anrel and smiled sardonically. “Master Murau, I believe it is now time for you to address your compatriots in this body.”

Anrel stepped forward. “Thank you, Lord Allutar,” he said. He turned to face the crowd, and took a deep breath as he looked at the upturned faces in the great pool, and at the watchers in the gallery above. He thought he spotted Lord Blackfield, but was not entirely sure.

This was different from his speeches in Naith and Beynos. Here he was not addressing a random group of citizens, but the Grand Council. There would be no riot—but his words might have effects much more widespread and lasting.

He had planned out much of what he intended to say, but now, after hearing Lord Allutar's speech, he quickly modified it to suit the situation. “I am afraid I must correct you in one matter,” he began. “Yes, my cousin is your fiancée, to my dismay. Yes, I am glad to be free of the outrageous charges against me—I am always pleased when common sense vanquishes folly. I am also pleased that I am pardoned for those thefts and other offenses I did indeed commit in order to survive as a fugitive, and I hope that now I am able to live openly again I will eventually be able to make recompense for them. You were correct in those particulars, my lord.” He paused, and turned his head to look at Lord Allutar.

The landgrave met his gaze calmly.

“However,” Anrel proclaimed, “when you speak of my personal loyalties overriding my passion for justice, you malign me. You sorely misjudge me.” He turned back to the crowd in the great round pool. “It is a passion for justice that has always driven me. It was my passion for justice that compelled me to speak out in Aulix Square against your own injustices, Lord Allutar. It was my passion for justice that drove me to speak again in Beynos, and that forced me from my comfortable home in Alzur. It is a passion for justice that has brought me here today. I am here in
pursuit
of justice, my friends and fellow Walasians. I seek justice for my predecessor, Amanir tel-Kabanim, who I believe you, Lord Allutar Hezir, murdered by sorcerous means. I seek justice for Lord Valin li-Tarbek, who I
know
you murdered—who died in my arms with his chest torn open by your magic. I seek justice for a young woman named Reva Lir, who harmed no one, yet who you hanged for witchcraft over the vigorous objections of the people of Beynos, using your sorcery to ensure that she put her own head in the noose—just as did Amanir tel-Kabanim. I
know
you can make an innocent hang himself, my lord—I saw you do it in Beynos. Can I doubt that you did the same here in Lume? We have witnesses who can swear that Amanir went to meet with you the night before his death; was that when you ensorceled him? Was that when you condemned him to die?”

“You have no evidence of any such thing,” Allutar replied, addressing Anrel rather than the crowd. “Amanir tel-Kabanim died by his own hand. I was not even present.”

Anrel stared at him for a second, tempted to argue, but he resisted the temptation. This was not a trial, and he was not a prosecutor. He was making a broader point than merely accusing Lord Allutar of murdering a delegate.

And in fact, the landgrave was right; he had no evidence.

“I seek justice for those three deaths,” he said, “and for a fourth, as well. I seek justice for Urunar Kazien, my lord, who you executed for petty theft because you needed his blood for a certain black sorcery—the spell that so polluted the fields of the Raish Valley that crops grown there are inedible. That young man died for
nothing,
my lord, and his death brought only corruption and hunger.”

For the first time, Allutar looked visibly angry. Anrel did not pause in his speech.

“I seek justice for the people of the Pensioners' Quarter,” he shouted, “who were burned out of their homes, many of them burned to death in the streets, for daring to protest when they were sold your tainted wheat! I seek justice for
all
the ordinary citizens of the Walasian Empire who have been betrayed and abused by their rulers! I am indeed driven by a passion for justice, Lord Allutar. Without justice we are nothing more than beasts. It is in pursuit of justice that I stand here now and ask the Grand Council to do what was once unthinkable, and place real restraints upon the sorcerers who rule the empire, who do not concern themselves with justice, and who place their own interests above the welfare of the empire. I know that nothing Lord Allutar has done is necessarily a crime under the laws of the empire, I know that the deaths he caused were within his rights as landgrave, I know that his ruination of the fields of the Raish Valley was permitted. I
know
all that, fellow delegates, but I say to you all that we must have justice even when the law does not demand it, even when the law
denies
it. I say that the sorcerers must be brought to account for their offenses against our common humanity. Under the laws we have accepted for centuries there is no provision for such an accounting, but we, we who are gathered here today, we are
the Grand Council
. We
are
the empire. We are the font from which the law derives. We can bring the sorcerers who have done so much damage to the empire to justice.”

He looked out over the crowd and saw a sea of rapt faces—once again, his talent for oratory had won out.

“We can, and we
must,
” he said. “I am new to this body, and not yet familiar with its workings, so I do not know precisely what the next step might be, but I call upon you all to
take
that step without further delay! We have the authority to demand an accounting of the wrongs the sorcerers have committed over the years—can we not do so? Can we not look at what has been done, and say, regardless of the law, that this act was wrong, while that one was right? That this one was harmless, while that one was so dangerous that only a fool would attempt it? Can we not point out where our nobles have been so negligent of the public safety that their actions constitute a crime in fact, if not in law? I understand that the council as a whole would be too unwieldy to investigate every detail, but can we not appoint a committee to study what has been done, so that those who thought themselves above the law might nonetheless face
real
justice, the justice they have so long evaded?”

That drew shouts of protest from several directions—from sorcerers, Anrel did not doubt.

“I do
not
call for the overthrow of our system of government,” Anrel continued. “I know that there are those among you who want such a revolution, and that some of them are among those who most wanted to see me here, in poor Amanir's place, but I do not want the council to take any action so extreme. To do so would be the equivalent of burning down a house to rid it of fleas. No, our sorcerers and their magic are vital to the empire, and these sorcerers have experience in governance that the rest of us do not. I ask only that we no longer place them beyond the reach of justice. Heretofore, commoners have had no real recourse when wronged by their superiors, for it was those very superiors who held the power we call, all too inaccurately, high and low justice. Our magistrates, for the most part, serve at the pleasure of our landgraves and burgraves and margraves, and naturally take the side of those sorcerers in every dispute, fairly or not. Can we not create a body that will restrain those few sorcerers who abuse the trust and the power we have given them?” He waved toward the closed doors. “You have all heard the crowds out there calling out for justice—can we not at least
try
to give them what they demand?”

At that, Lord Allutar spoke up. “You would give me to the mob? You would allow that rabble to dictate to us?” His voice shook with rage.

“
No,
my lord, I would not!” Anrel replied, turning to face the landgrave. “Rather, I would insist that a calm and rational study of the situation be made, and appropriate actions be taken, so that the mob out there does not take justice into its own hands. If
we
do not act,
they will
, sooner or later. We must present them with a satisfactory resolution before their patience is exhausted, or we will
all
suffer for it!”

“So you would make the nobility of the empire answer to some
committee
?” Anrel had rarely heard anyone put so much hatred and disdain into a single word.

“Yes, my lord, I would,” he replied calmly.

“And what of those who are responsible for the present disorder who are
not
sorcerers? Will you investigate them as well, and bring them to face what you call justice?”

Anrel spread his hands. “Why not? Justice must be evenhanded, or it is not justice.”

That was clearly not the answer Lord Allutar had expected.

“You would have no objection to bringing to order those who have incited riots in, say, Naith and Beynos?”

A sudden silence fell as the entire Grand Council watched Lord Allutar and Anrel Murau glare at each other.

Anrel, like everyone else, knew exactly what Lord Allutar was saying. He knew that he was being presented with a choice—to back down, and let both Lord Allutar and himself escape, or to stand firm and be pulled down with his foe.

He had never really thought of himself as suicidal, but to stand on principle now could be nothing else.

He had promised himself that he would stop taking action without considering the consequences, that he would think about what it would mean to do what he thought should be,
must
be done. And so he thought, as he had promised he would. He imagined his life cut short at the end of a hempen rope, as Reva's had been. He imagined dying ignominiously—but knowing that Allutar would die, as well.

That was not so very terrible that he could not face it. He already faced a future in which he would never see Tazia again, and if he backed down he knew that the entire empire faced a future of chaos and disorder, a future in which the sorcerers would do all they could to cling to power, regardless of how much damage it did to their homeland. If he pressed his case the empire might yet be saved, the nobility purged, the mob satisfied, and order restored. If it cost his life, then the price was high, but could be borne.

And in the end, none of that mattered. He had been caught up in his own words. He knew that at another time he might think very differently, but here and now, at this moment, the passion for justice he had roused in his own breast took precedence over everything else. If justice demanded his death, then he must die—better to die than to forsake justice.

“I have faith in the good sense of my fellow councillors,” Anrel replied at last. “Yes, I would accept a committee to investigate commoners, if that is what we must have to establish a committee for the regulation of sorcery.”

“But of course, members of this council would be exempt?”

There was the offer again, another chance to save himself, but only by saving Lord Allutar—and in the process, ruining the whole thing. Many of the worst criminals in all the empire's nobility were here, in this great chamber, and they could not be allowed to go free and use their absent brethren as scapegoats.