Jerking wide the brazen doors, the brothers stalked into the Council Chamber, the rest of their party hard on their heels.
The T-shaped Council Table filled the center of the chamber. The places of the Second and Third Thirds were ranged on either side of the shaft, while those of the First Third were along the crossbar. No one, of course, occupied the chairs of the First, but all five of the Third were filled and four of the second had occupants. A bench against the side wall held a flashy fop, a black-bearded man in the robes of a subpriest, and a beefy, balding lout in a stained butcher’s apron. At each of the chamber’s four corners stood a Spearlevyman with grounded pike, all obviously of near-pure Ehleen blood.
Speaking no word, glancing neither to right nor left, Bili strode to the central chair of the First Third. Before he seated himself, however, he drew his heavy broadsword and laid it near to hand, pointing it down the length of the T’s shaft. He imperiously waved his brother to the chair at his right, while Komees Djeen moved to his accustomed place, along with Spiros and Hail. Klairuhnz leaned a hip against the end of the table, near Ahndee’s empty seat. Master Ahlee had carefully closed the doors and now loitered close to them.
Bili let his gaze travel down the two rows of faces. Nearest him on either side of the board sat Komees Hari and Feelos Pooleeos, the merchant, and the faces of both men looked deeply troubled. Beyond Hari lounged Vahrohnos Myros, a mocking smile on his fleshy lips, but pure, distilled hatred beaming from the glittering black eyes which briefly locked with Bill’s. Beyond him sat Drehkos, who gave Bili a nervous, uncertain smile; and Vahrohneeskos Stehfahnos, slender but supple looking, who stared back levelly and coolly, from eyes as blue as Bill’s, despite the Ehleen’s black hair.
Across from Ahndee’s empty place sat Kooreeos Skiros, apparently oblivious to the highly charged atmosphere. He was talking softly with the wizened, beaknosed little man on his right, Nathos Evrehos, the goldsmith-moneylender. Lastly, Bili gave a hard stare to Paulos, Guildmaster of the duchy’s blacksmiths, and bastard half brother of the dying Thoheeks. The insolent, hateful glare that he got in return set the blood to pounding in his temples. Some of his anger must have been visible, for Komees Djeen hastily laid a hand on Bill’s armguard, then hastened to speak before Bili might.
“Why,” he demanded in clipped tones, “have our well-paid Freefighters been replaced with piketoting amateurs, Myros? I’m certain sure it’s your idea. Sun and Wind, man, you come up with more harebrained schemes than a full troop of village idiots could concoct! Since we’re paying good gold to professional swords, why deprive the fields and streets of ploughboys and dungscoopers?”
Myros grinned. “There are less than twoscore mercenaries left, and they remain only because some fool hired them to a contract of twenty-six, rather than twenty-four moons. As fast as the barbarians’ contracts expired, I have let them go. Almost all the city guards are now men who bear their arms for their homes and their lands.” The Vahrohnos’s grin had metamorphosed into a twisted grimace. His features were empurpling with his passion and his eyes gleamed the feral fire of fanaticism. “Not for mere gold do these men bear arms, but for their Faith and their long lost heritage!”
To Bili, it seemed obvious that his mothers had erred in their judgment of Myros’s case, for the rebellious dog appeared to believe every word churned out by his sewer-mouth.
Count Djeen crashed his gauntleted fist against the tabletop, grating, “That cuts it, you boyloving dungwallower! Such abuse of your authority cannot be tolerated! You are hereby relieved as governor of this city. Depart this chamber and await Council’s censure.”
Myros’s laugh was cold and sharp as midwinter icicles.
Lounging back in his chair, he exchanged a knowing glance with Kooreeos Skiros, whose teeth flashed through his thick black beard. Then the Vahrohnos stared insolently into the Komees’s one blue eye, drawling, “I think not, you old fool, I think not.”
The elderly nobleman snapped to the nearest pikeman, “Guard, escort the Vahrohnos Myros from this chamber!”