“Peace,” Caelum said, laying a hand on Askam’s arm. “Let us hear what Zared has to say.” His eyes were very watchful.
“That day on the shores of Grail Lake,” Zared continued, “Axis proclaimed Tencendor and created the Five Families representing .the Icarü, Ravensbund and Acharite races.”
“Human races,” Yllgaine murmured. Zared ignored the interruption.
“He created the House of the Stars as supreme over all others, and created the Throne of the Stars, the throne that you now sit, Caelum. Supreme over Tencendor, below only the Star Gods themselves.
“But,” Zared’s tone became harsher, and he leaned forward slightly, “Axis left the Icarü with their Talon,” he nodded at FreeFall, “he left the Ravensbund with their Chieftain,” he indicated Sa’Domai, “and he eventually gave the Avar their own Mage-King, Isfrael.
“What this means,” Zared’s tone now hardened, “is that all races in Tencendor, all cultural groups, if you prefer that phrase, have a ‘king’, save the Acharites – and, yes! I insist on using that term! Both their throne and their identity was destroyed. Damn it, you have even banned the word ‘Acharite’! Caelum, whether you want to hear it or not, that has created dissent and distrust among the Acharites.”
“Nonsense!” Askam looked angrily at Zared. “I am Prince of the West, and you Prince of the North, Zared. Between us we provide the Acharites – the peoples of the West and North, dammit! – all the royalty they need. This talk of the throne of Achar is -”
“Necessary!” Zared said.
Askam slammed his fist on the table, but before he could speak Caelum shouted, “Enough!
“Enough,” he repeated in a more reasonable tone. He waited until Askam and Zared had calmed themselves. “Zared, what exactly are you saying?”
“I am saying that the Acharites have paid enough,” he said. “They do not have to keep on paying. They look about and they see that all other racial groups have their kings and leaders, but the Acharites have been denied that right. They look about and they see that they are the only ones to carry any heavy burden of taxes. Caelum, they are feeling persecuted. That is dangerous. Very dangerous.”
“So what are you saying that you want?” Caelum said very quietly, his gaze riveted on Zared’s face.
“I, as so many of the Acharites, want the throne of Achar restored.”
Utter silence greeted his words.
Finally FreeFall dropped his head into his hand, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then looked up. “Axis should have foreseen this,” he said quietly.
“Listen,” Zared said, “I want only for the Acharites what every other race in Tencendor has got – its own leadership, its own pride. As with every other race and seat of power, the throne of Achar would be subject to the Throne of the Stars. To you, Caelum. I am in no way disputing your claim to overlordship.”
“And I suppose you want all the land west of the Nordra back to go with your throne, Zared! And Carlon! And the palace in Carlon!” Askam yelled.
No-one missed Askam’s inflection of the “your”.
“No, I do not, Askam,” Zared said hurriedly. “There is no need to give up any land or any of your power. A ceremonial throne, nothing more. But something to give the Acharites their pride back.”
“And when they have their pride, will they again take up their axes and come after the Avar and the Icarü?” Isfrael asked.
“There was no need for that remark!” Zared retorted. “The Wars of the Axe are long gone, Isfrael. The Seneschal is dead. I talk only of resurrecting a people’s self-worth, not of ancient hatreds. Do not confuse my request with the mistakes of the past.”
“And I say there was every need for that remark!” Isfrael’s lips curled, as if he were about to snarl. “The ‘Acharites’ have been feeling persecuted for how long? Forty years, if that? Why don’t you ask FreeFall, Zared, or any one of my people, what it was like to be repressed for a thousand years! What it was like to have to haunt the shadows and the ice caves to escape the murderous axes of your… of the Acharites! And why not let Sa’Domai speak of the generations his people were reviled as carrion-eating barbarians? I feel no pity for your cause.”
His last words came out almost as a growl, and everyone at the table stared at him, mesmerised by his wild anger.
Caelum finally dropped his eyes to the table where he traced a forefinger through imaginary dust on its gleaming surface. “Are you saying you want to be King of Achar, Zared?”
Zared just stared at him.
Caelum raised his eyes, very calm now. “The line is dead, Zared. It died with Borneheld on the floor of the Chamber of the Moons.”
“No,” Zared said quietly. “The line lives. There is a legitimate heir. I am the only son of the Princess Royal’s only legitimate marriage! Borneheld was illegitimate, Axis is illegitimate, and I -”
“You can’t prove Rivkah’s marriage to Magariz,” Askam said. “There are no records.”
“Does anyone at this table call Rivkah a liar?” Zared asked, his eyebrows raised.
Silence again, and eyes dropped to the table. Both Rivkah and Magariz had been honourable people. No-one doubted their claim to their teenage marriage.
“So,” Caelum said very slowly, back to his irritating play with his forefinger. “Zared wants the circlet and ring of office back.”
Zared gave a bark of harsh laughter. “I have the circlet and the ring, Caelum! Did you forget that Axis gave both to Rivkah? What I am asking is that you give the throne back to the Acharites.”
“It’s too dangerous, Zared. You must realise that.”
“Dangerous to whom., Caelum? Can you not see that it is dangerous if you do not give it back?”
“No wonder you want my sister,” Askam said. “She would almost guarantee you the entire territories of Achar.”
“Not if you weren’t so lax about getting yourself an heir, Askam.”
Askam leapt to his feet, as did Caelum, who had to physically restrain the Prince. “Askam, sit down! I command it!”
Askam sank resentfully back in his chair. “And as ever again,” he muttered, “the devious brother from Ichtar shall seize the throne of Achar.”
“That is enough!” Caelum shouted, then turned back to Zared. “Have you no idea what dissent you have created with your request, Zared? Have you no idea of the fears you have resurrected?”
He threw a hand about him. “Stars damn you! Look at what has happened about this table, then multiply that one hundred thousand times!”
“I know only of the dissent and anger that will be roused if you refuse, Caelum.” Zared paused. “I can see that I have created uncertainty and discomfort among my fellows – for that I express my regrets. But I do not regret having mooted the possibility of a restored King of Achar. It should have been discussed years ago.”
“Zared, if you will remain silent a few minutes,” Caelum said, then he took a deep breath and looked about the table. “Talk to me.”
Sa’Domai raised his eyebrows, and Caelum nodded at him.
“Zared has a point,” the Ravensbund chief said. At Askam’s irritated gesture, Sa’Domai hurried on. “Certainly regarding the human population feeling victimised, and probably about the need for a throne as well. What he says makes sense, and yet I understand the concerns that go with the idea of a restored Acharite King.”
Askam scowled at him, wondering if Zared had paid the Ravensbund Chief for those words.
“FreeFall?” Caelum asked. “What do you say?”
The Talon of the Icarü hesitated. He had never foreseen the possible resurrection of Achar, and the thought filled him with foreboding. Yet he liked and respected Zared. Trusted him. But what if, several generations into the future, another Borneheld was born? Or if the Acharites, having got their throne back, started to hunger once again for the Seneschal? Could he accede to a request which might eventually result in yet another devastating civil war? Another forest burning? Another exile for the Icarü?
“I say the restored throne is too dangerous,” he said. “It is too soon. The scars of the past could too easily reopen. Achar is best left a memory.”
Askam nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Isfrael?” Caelum asked. “Your people bear as many scars as FreeFall’s, and must have the same fears.”
The Mage-King had quietened since his previous outburst. He sat in silence a moment, his eyes introspective. “I must protect my people,” he finally said, “as also the infinitely precious souls who roam the magical Minstrelsea. I must think of the forests, and of the pain and blood that my mother, Faraday Tree Friend, expended in planting those forests. She was once Queen of Achar, but she abandoned her place for the trees. I say,” and now his eyes sharpened and he looked about the table, “that the peoples of the West and the North have their respective heads in the two Princes of those regions. I say they should look for their pride to both Zared and Askam. I say the throne of Achar is too dangerous. Let it stay buried.”