“Sit, oh queen, and I will tell you,” he said.
“Do not dawdle, old friend. Thanos, my mate, frets if I am gone too long, and my son still sucks at my breast.”
Lothair quickly sketched out the situation for Ilona, finishing with his request for aid.
“How can I help?”
“You must set the tiniest of your faeries on the shoulders of the people so that when they are told the lies that Gaius Prospero would have them believe, they will not believe. We must keep him from gaining too much power.”
“I will honor your request, Lothair. How fares my daughter?” Ilona asked.
“Well, I am told. She is wife to Vartan of the Fiacre. She has become a great warrior, and is respected by his people,” Lothair said.
“Has she given him a child?” Ilona asked.
“Not yet, to my knowledge,” the prince answered.
“Then she does not love him,” the queen of the Forest Faeries said sadly.
“Or she does not believe the time is right for a child,” Lothair replied.
“Perhaps,” Ilona considered thoughtfully. “She is human as well as faerie. The times are unstable, and Lara has always had excellent instincts. I will go now, Lothair. My faeries will aid you.” Then Ilona was gone in another puff of purple smoke.
An amazing creature, the prince thought. And while she had never known her mother until recently, Lara was very much like her. He called his manservant, and gave orders that Wilmot and his mother be fed a good supper. “Tender our regrets, and tell Wilmot I will come for him when it is time.”
“Yes, my lord prince,” the servant responded.
“And bring me something to eat, and some wine. It will be a long night.”
Just before the time came for the meeting of the High Council, Eskil returned.
“Gaius Prospero does not know Wilmot is gone from his cart. He thinks the mercenary a stupid man who will blindly obey. He has spent the last hour arguing with his wife, who does not trust Jonah-knowledge we might use to our advantage,” Eskil said with a wicked smile. “The lady Vilia is a power to be reckoned with, I think.”
“I think her love for her husband could be her downfall,” Lothair noted. “One must be totally ruthless when dealing with a man like Jonah. Ah, Wilmot,” he said to the mercenary who had entered the room. “You are well fed, I hope, and your mother settled for the night?”
“Yes, my lord, thank you. I did not tell her that the council meeting was tonight, for she would fret,” Wilmot said.
“You must make a choice, and make it now,” Lothair said. “After the meeting of the High Council I will transport you both from the City. Your mother’s presence in the home of Sir John Swiftsword could endanger him and his family. I will send you to either Vartan’s hall in the Outlands, or to my palace in the Desert. You will both be completely safe in either place.”
“We will go to your palace, my lord prince. The warm dry air will be good for my mother’s old bones, and winter is setting into the Outlands now,” Wilmot responded.
Lothair nodded. “Your mother will awaken there, then, and you will go to sleep there this very night,” he promised. “It is little enough I can do to repay you for your bravery tonight. Gaius Prospero will, once he is over his shock, attack you, and the story you tell, but we will defend you, Wilmot. He is not head of the High Council right now, only the representative from the Midlands. It is our good fortune that one of the Coastal Kings now sits at the council’s head, and two of his brothers are on the council. With luck we may be able to put an end to Gaius Prospero’s ambitions, at least for the interim. Come now, we must go. Stand between my brother and me, and we will be transported.”
Wilmot put himself between Lothair and Eskil. He wasn’t as frightened now as he had been earlier. These were good men, though they might have great magic. But he closed his eyes.
“We are here,” Lothair said softly.
Wilmot opened his eyes and gazed with amazement about the council chamber. Never had he thought to see it. The room was round. There were eight carved wooden chairs with high backs set upon a marble dais encircling the room. They were arranged in twos. In the center of the chamber was a round piece of marble upon which a ninth chair had been placed. It swiveled about so that its occupant could face whoever was speaking.
“Feel free to look about you,” Lothair murmured. “You are not yet visible to the members of the council, nor will you be until it is time for you to speak. The fellow next to Gaius Prospero is Squire Dareh, the lord of the Midlands. Next to them are the two Forest Lords now serving in the council. They are Lord Albern and Lord Everard. On the other side of the Foresters are the Coastal Kings, Delphinus and Pelias. The council head is Archeron. Ah, he is here. We will begin.”
Wilmot looked down at his hands. He could see them. He pinched his arm, and jumped with the sensation. Unable to help himself, he looked directly at Gaius Prospero and made a face, but while the Master of the Merchants appeared to be looking directly at him, he gave no indication that he had seen Wilmot. He was indeed invisible!
At once Gaius Prospero was on his feet. “I beg to be recognized,” he said.
“Sit down, Gaius Prospero,” King Archeron said rising. “I have something to say before you begin what will undoubtedly be a lengthy diatribe filled with impassioned rhetoric that in the end will amount to nothing. But as your fellow council members we will be obliged to listen to you. First, however, I will speak in my capacity as current head of this council.” He stood waiting as the Master of the Merchants took his seat again. Then he began. “Almost a year ago to this very day, my lords, my fellow kings and the Shadow Princes advised you against a most dangerous course of action. At the urging of the Midlands and the Forest provinces, you chose to break the ancient treaty between Hetar and the Outlands. And you, Gaius Prospero, as then head of this high council, tipped the balance. So Hetar invaded a portion of the Outlands, murdered, raped and enslaved the people you found there. Then you stole from their mines, transporting much wealth back here to the City.
“Today we see the results of our foolishness. Seven carts containing the bodies of every mercenary we sent into the Outlands have been returned to the City. Over five hundred men whose women and children will now be driven from their homes, for the Guild of Mercenaries cares only for the families of those who give it service. What is to happen to these women and children? They must be housed and fed. It is only right as their men gave their lives for Hetar. Did you, Gaius Prospero, consider this when you sent those men into danger for the sake of profit? And where is that profit? It has not filled the public coffers, to my knowledge, or am I mistaken? We will need funds to care for the dispossessed, Gaius Prospero.”
The Master of the Merchants jumped to his feet. He was surprisingly agile for a man of his girth and years. “You cannot blame me for this tragedy, King Archeron,” he declared. “Put the blame where it belongs. With the barbarians of the Outlands! If they had not begun raiding into Hetar it would not have been necessary to annex some of their territory. Are you suggesting that we should have stood idly by while this happened?”
“The Outlanders never raided into Hetar. You fabricated that tale as an excuse to steal their riches,” King Archeron said.
“Do you call me liar then?” Gaius Prospero blustered.
“Yes.” The word hung heavy within the council chamber. “Unlike you, Gaius Prospero, who bleat and blow about a people you know not, the Coastal Kings do know the Outlanders. Our land borders that of the Felan clan. They are shepherds, Gaius Prospero, not raiders. They gladly share their beaches and water supply with us, and they trade with us. The other clans raise horses, cattle, grain, vegetables, fruit and flowers. One of the clans is made up of poets and bards. The territories you attempted to annex not so much for Hetar, but for yourself, were that of the mining clans. They took from the earth only what they needed, and they always restored the land in which they worked. You came in and scarred their land while you stole its riches. It will take the mountain clans years to repair the damage you have done.”
He turned now to address the rest of the council. “Do you know what was done to the clan families in the Purple Mountains? Their elderly were all slain because it was decided they were not useful, and could not be fed. The men and boys were all put to work in the mines, and those who could not or would not work were slain as well. The women and girls were used and abused by the invaders. This kind of behavior is not our way, my lords. Hetar has always been proud of its civility. Now history will remember this time as a time of dishonor, and all because of one man’s greed!”
