candidates.
“This is a test of your magical skills. As you have all guessed, each of these baskets contains zappers. A hundred in each, which I can assure you was no easy task to arrange. You will enter the cage and the net will be secured. The zappers will be released. You must protect yourself and kill the entire swarm as quickly as possible with magic.” She smiled. “If any of you doubt your ability to complete this task please step aside now. We have a Dreamweaver here, but I’m sure he’d prefer not to spend the afternoon removing zapper larvae from your bodies.”
None of the candidates moved, though the muscular young man shuddered.
“Good. Who would like to go first?”
The candidates exchanged glances, then the sharp-eyed man stepped forward. There was a cheer from the crowd. Genza told him to pick up a basket and carry it inside. He set it in a corner, then backed to the far side of the cage. The netting was carefully fixed back into place.
Genza waited until all was silent, then she made the smallest gesture with one hand. The lid of the basket flew off and a black cloud rushed out.
The sharp-eyed man attacked with magic immediately, turning the zappers’ attention to himself. It was hard to see the insects, they were moving so fast. Mirar caught glimpses of segmented tails and antennae. The buzz of their wings was deafening, but the stunning flashes of their magic were silent.
Mirar had heard of these jungle insects. The magical stun of one insect was painful although not fatal, but when struck by many stings at once an animal could be paralyzed. Most of the time the insects stunned only to protect their nests. But at certain times, triggered by the full moon, the insects stunned in order to lay eggs in living flesh. A lamp hung over a basket of zappers triggered the same instinct.
Which was hardly needed for this Trial. The zappers would attack savagely enough without being induced to lay eggs, and the candidates were not being tested for their ability to fight them, but how long it took to kill them all.
The buzz had diminished now. As the sharp-faced man killed the last of the insects Genza glanced at the water timer.
“Five and a half measures. Well done.”
Mirar found himself caught up in the tension despite himself as the other contestants each had their turn in the cage. The sharp-faced man proved to be the fastest, though the older man was nearly as quick. The serious young man picked the zappers off slowly, which told Mirar that he probably wasn’t Gifted enough to draw magic for multiple strikes.
The floor of the cage rattled with dead zappers as it was wheeled away. Now the candidates were given stools to sit on and some water and fruit to eat. Genza invited a patriarch in the pavilion to ask questions of them. The man described complicated trading scenarios that involved mathematics and an understanding of trading terms, and it soon became clear that the older man struggled with both.
As Genza chose another in the pavilion to ask a question, then another, Mirar began to wonder if all in the shelter would be required to quiz the candidates. The war chiefs and the Dedicated Servants seized the opportunity with enthusiasm, asking strategy and religion-related questions. The other patriarchs and matriarchs tested the candidates on law and moral dilemmas.
When all had had their turn Genza turned to him.
“I have not asked you to prepare a question, Dreamweaver Mirar, but you may ask one if you wish.”
He nodded. “Thank you. I would be honored.” He turned to face the candidates. “This is a question for all of you. It does not involve calculations or recitation of laws. I am merely interested to know: what will you do for the people below during your rule?”
The woman smiled, the older man flushed red with pleasure and straightened with pride, but the three other candidates frowned. For the thin, serious young man it was a frown of thoughtfulness, however. The other two were scowling.
“Ask them what they need and want, and provide what can be affor—” the woman began.
“Build platforms,” the older man said. “The city can afford it. Once we’re off the ground we’ll have the same chances as everyone else, and the city will be healthier all in all.”
Mirar turned to the sharp-eyed man. The man looked at Genza, then shrugged.
“Nothing. There will always be people below. There’s nothing we can do to help them if they won’t help themselves.”
The older man turned to glare at him. His mouth opened, but as Genza cleared her throat he stilled and hunched sullenly on his stool.
Mirar looked at the two young men. The muscular one shrugged. “Offer help only to those who’ll work for it.”
“Yes,” the serious one said. “Though we can’t expect the truly feeble or the very young to work. Some help can be freely given, some should encourage improvement. We must accept that there will always be outcasts and those who cannot help themselves, but for the sake of the city and decency we should look for ways to improve their surroundings.”
“An interesting question to end with,” Genza said. She stood up and her voice echoed through the city. “Now begins the Trial of Reputation.”
The candidates rose and moved to one side. Servants removed the stools. Mirar realized that the rain had stopped and the weak sunlight had brightened a little.
Genza rose. “The Reputation of each candidate is now on trial,” she called out. “Anyone may speak for or against them. We will listen and consider your words.”
For the next few hours people filed through the pavilion, stopping to tell of their encounters with one or more of the candidates. Some were there just to get a look at Genza or speak of minor wrongs like being short- changed.
Mirar began to see that the older man was a popular leader among the people below, while the woman was well-loved by those above. Few had anything ill to say of either of them.
The younger men proved to have fewer supporters and more detractors. The muscular, young man was inclined to foolish, drunken behavior. The sharp-eyed man’s most damning critic was a limping, battered merchant who claimed an assassin had been sent to kill him so he wouldn’t reveal the illegal trading the man was involved in.
A bell rang out, marking the end of the Trial. Some of those who had not spoken yet were angered by this, but all were sent away. Once more Genza addressed the crowd.
“Now the Trial of Popularity begins. Leave your ribbons in the baskets provided. Tonight the baskets will be weighed, the points of each candidate tallied, and the new High Chieftain announced.”
Mirar watched as the citizens of Kave began to file across the bridge. They selected lengths of ribbon from a huge basket then placed them into one of five smaller baskets bedecked with the colors of the candidates. A Servant stood by each basket, watching closely.
Genza returned to her seat, then grimaced apologetically at Mirar. “I’m afraid this is the least interesting part of the rites, but at least we have each other for company.”
“It has been more entertaining than I expected,” he told her. “I am grateful for the invitation.”
She laughed quietly. “That is good. So. One of those five will be High Chieftain of Dekkar at the end of the day,” she said. “Who do you think will win?”
“The one you and the people of Dekkar find most suitable,” he replied.
“How diplomatic. Do you care to guess which that will be?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know enough about them.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You truly haven’t taken any interest in them, have you?”
“No.”
“I would have thought you’d be at least a little concerned about who the next High Chieftain is. He or she will be the one you will have to deal with.”
“I doubt I’ll have any reason to. I prefer not to involve myself in politics.”
She smiled. “But what if politics decides to involve itself in you?”
“I will endeavor to discourage it.”
“And me? Will you try to discourage me?”
