Sinner by Sara Douglass. Book One of The Wayfarer Redemption

Zared turned his head away slightly, his mouth twisting.

“Yllgaine?” Caelum turned to the last of the Five.

Yllgaine sighed. “Like Sa’Domai I can see both sides of the issue. I have myself heard murmurings among the peoples of the West, but I can also,” he looked at FreeFall, “understand the fears generated by the past. If a marriage bed is too dangerous an item with which to unite the West and North, then how much more dangerous a throne? I say no.”

Caelum nodded. Only Sa’Domai had come out in favour, if it could be called that, of Zared’s request. Caelum knew he had to refuse – Stars damn it! He had no choice! What was Zared thinking of? But what would happen when he did refuse? Was Zared likely to mount a rebellion? Was it inevitable war if he granted the request, or inevitable war if he refused?

No, Zared could never hope to mount a rebellion. He had the resources of the North, true, but that did not stretch to such massive manpower that it could defeat a combined army from the rest of Tencendor, or the Lake Guard and Strike Force combined, if it came to that.

No, Zared would sulk, but he would not fight the issue.

But, by the Stars! Caelum decided, he had to do something about Zared. How many people in the West and North did see him as a possible heir to the dismantled throne? If Zared wived, and then bred, then how long might that line continue to haunt Tencendor?

Caelum, as his father had so many times before him, silently cursed Rivkah for producing an heir to the line when by rights she should have been too old to breed.

“Your request was foolish in the extreme, Zared,” Caelum said. “Gods, man! Why resurrect the hatreds of the past?”

“I was not trying to resurrect the -”

“Your request is refused, Zared. You will never mention it again. Isfrael was right. The peoples of the West and North have their respective Princes as their source of pride.”

He stood up. “So I have said and so it shall be done,” he stated formally, nodding at the notaries and secretaries. “This Council of the Five is formally disbanded.”

A Moot Point Herme, Theod and Jannymire Goldman awaited Zared in his chambers. It was risky, perhaps, but they’d felt it better to wait there than lurk about corridors.

The three men were silent, apprehensive. None of them could sit: Theod leaned against the mantelpiece of the fireplace, playing with a candlestick; Herme stared out a window, his hands clasped behind his back; Goldman stood behind a great wing-backed chair to one side of the chamber, his hand resting on its high back, his fingers drumming restlessly.

No word had come from the Great Hall, although one of Goldman’s new-found friends among Sigholt’s servants relayed that the Princess Leagh had been hastened from the hall, her face stricken, and had not emerged from her chamber the entire afternoon.

Now it was approaching dusk.

What was happening? What had been decided?

The door flung open, and all three men jumped.

Zared strode in, stared at them, then slammed the door behind him.

“Nay, nay and nay!” he snarled, and poured himself a drink from a wine decanter on a sideboard. His hands shook so badly, fat red rivulets of the wine ran down his fingers and pooled on the sideboard, but no-one noticed.

Herme glanced at Theod, then both nobles looked at Goldman.

“The taxes?” Goldman asked softly.

“Oh, you will do well, good Goldman,” Zared said, his tone harsh, and he gulped down half his wine. “For those residing in the West the tax has been reduced to one-tenth.”

Goldman visibly relaxed, as did Herme and Theod.

“But…” Herme said, noting well the anger radiating out of Zared’s eyes.

“But for everyone else the tax has been raised to a half. One-half!”

None of the others missed the new tax’s significance.

“Caelum must think you are made of diamonds,” Goldman said carefully.

“Caelum,” and the way Zared said it, the word became a curse, “believes that Askam has become indebted only because of his service to the Throne of the Stars. Thus it is only fair that someone else help shoulder the burden of that debt. Me, no less! I ask you, gentlemen, would I have received more sympathy if I had lost all my wealth in flooded gloam mines as well? No – don’t answer that!”

He refilled his glass and swallowed some more wine. “The border tax has gone. At least Caelum managed to right that wrong.”

“Nevertheless,” Herme said evenly. “It seems that only the Acharites must bear the burden of the tax, and of the debt Askam accrued in Caelum’s name. I assume the Icarü and the Avar, even the Ravensbund, will contribute nothing to its repayment?”

Zared shook his head. “The Acharites only.” He paused. “My friends… I tried to argue against this, but… but, gods, I cannot believe this!… Caelum spoke such words into our minds that I am still reeling. He said this was only right as the Acharites had spent a thousand years persecuting everyone else, desecrating this land. We are repaying the debts of our forefathers, my friends, not Askam’s debts.”

Silence, then…

“May his liver burn with the heat of sunfire,” Theod muttered savagely, “and his testicles feel the nibble of-”

“Silence!” Zared cried. “Speak not against Caelum in this enchanted Keep!”

Theod took a deep breath and half-turned away, but if he held his tongue, then his fury was shared by all in the chamber.

“And Leagh?” Goldman eventually asked.

“Nay,” Zared said. “She and I must bed elsewhere, it seems.”

Again the three men exchanged looks.

“And our pride?” Herme said very, very quietly. “What judgment did Caelum make on the throne?”

Zared raised his head and looked at him. “Nay, my friend. What else?”

Then, in a movement so sudden and vicious it shocked everyone else in the room, he turned on one heel and threw his glass into the fireplace.

It shattered into a thousand pieces, glittering like raindrops across the cold, grey stone.

“In Caelum’s eyes, inevitably a king of Achar would lead the Acharites east with axes,” Zared said, his voice rising until he was almost shouting. “Slashing and burning and murdering until again we drive the magical races from this land! There lies his reasoning! Curse his reasoning, I say! Does he think I would bring Artor the Plough God back from his ethereal grave as well?

“Herme, Theod,” Zared swung about and faced them.

“And you, Goldman. I need to know how you stand. I need to know where your loyalties lie. With Caelum? With Askam? Or…”

Herme picked something up from a low table and walked over to Zared, holding the object out in his hands.

It was Zared’s sword.

“Our loyalties lie with the Acharites, Zared, and with the man legitimately born to lead them. Take the sword, take us, and take hold of your destiny.”

Zared stared at Herme, then his eyes slowly dropped to the sword.

“Whatever words Caelum mouths,” Goldman said very quietly, “whatever he argues, Achar and Leagh are still within your grasp. Once they are yours, you can right the wrongs done to our people.”

Zared reached out and grasped the sword, but he did not lift it from Herme’s hands. He looked about the room. “I pledged Axis my loyalty when I came into my inheritance, and then the same to Caelum when he assumed the Throne of the Stars. Must I now turn my back on my pledges and become another Borneheld to tear Tencendor apart?”

“Axis turned his back on the Acharites by destroying their monarchy and their pride,” Herme said. “Caelum has done the same by insisting that only Acharites pay taxes to save Askam from beggarhood.”

“Caelum’s disregard for the needs, wishes and pride of the Acharites is insulting, my Prince,” Goldman added. “When a town is on fire, do the citizens petition the mayor for permission to put the flames out? No! They see the fire and they rush to remedy it. My Lord Zared, the Acharite people are on fire and you have the ability and the means to douse their agony. Do it!”

“You will not tear Tencendor apart,” Theod said, with more wisdom than his years suggested, “but simply rebuild its integrity. Only with Acharite pride restored can all races share equally, and bear the burdens equally.”

Zared stared long moments at his sword, then sighed, and picked it up, buckling it to his weapons belt with swift economical movements. “You three have encouraged me, now you must advise me. Our troops are stationed -surely you do not counsel war against the StarSon?”

“Nay,” Herme said, his voice now brisk. “Caelum has erred in not realising the severity of the situation, and the depth of Acharite feeling.”

“And so…”