A/N: Now we enter the sticky world of politics. A lot of this information was gleaned from Garth Nix's novels, but I had to make up a lot of stuff too – all the more fun for me. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and huge thanks to Vanilla Bean CEO, kirdane, Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod, and Lady of the Outlaws for the wonderful reviews!
Welcome to the Moot
If there was one thing to be said about Corvere, it was that it was dirty. Very dirty. The wide streets were churned with thick mud where horses trotted by, so that people on foot were obliged to walk along the sides of the road. Although better than the quagmire so optimistically called a "road", these footpaths were hazardous enough – it was a very wet autumn. And so it happened that the Crown Princess of the Kingdom was forced to hitch up her skirts and slog through three inches of cold mud, ruining a perfectly good pair of boots in the process.
Of course, the soldiers accompanying her had gallantly offered to lift her over the worst of the muck, but Farelle had declined. She did have a reputation to consider, and the last thing the Ancelstierrans needed to see was the Crown Princess being lifted over a puddle like a little girl.
The good citizens of Corvere were not being subtle about their curiosity. Farelle was now accustomed to the open stares, the whispers, and even the rude pointing. She could see why they attracted so much attention. Most Ancelstierrans seemed to favour drab, practical woollen clothes as they went about their day-to-day business, and the only splashes of colour were among a few people around her own age. Next to them, Farelle and her soldiers in their red and gold stood out like roses among weeds. Add to that a multitude of shiny weapons, and they were the most exciting thing to happen to Corvere.
"We are here, Milady," said the officer, and Farelle abruptly awakened from her daydreams.
"Thank you, Captain," she murmured, looking up at the enormous white building. She felt more nervous than she had anticipated, but managed to hide it. Moot Hall was the grandest building in Corvere, situated in the very centre of the city. It had once been part of the home of Lord Ancel, but much of the palace had been destroyed during the Civil War. The vast rooms that had survived had been converted into the Chambers where the Ancelstierre Moot held their meetings. It was a place of history, and embodied the past enmity between Ancelstierre and the Kingdom.
The Crown Princess left muddy footprints on the white stone steps as she climbed, surrounded by an escort of soldiers. Her father had insisted upon soldiers rather than the Royal Guard, insisting that it was a courtesy towards General Paleon, who was accompanying them. Farelle had not believed him for an instant. She knew that her father did not want her husband Javen nearby. It was ridiculous; they were already married, and still the King was trying to keep them apart. Farelle's mother had the tendency to laugh whenever she voiced her suspicions, but the Queen had always been biased when it came to her husband.
Farelle reached the top step and entered the building through one of the many carved wooden doors. Moot Hall was a completely circular building, with a corridor surrounding the innermost Chamber. Farelle and her soldiers walked the corridor until they found the rest of the Kingdom delegation.
King Dantalion and Master Felio of the Wallmakers were exchanging pleasantries, and the General of the Army was issuing some last-minute instructions to his soldiers. Neryl of the Clayr smiled at Farelle in welcome, and the two women kissed cheeks.
"My dear, how are you?" asked the Voice of the Clayr.
"Tolerable," Farelle answered. She pulled up her skirts and stuck out a mud-caked boot. "I've become acquainted with the city. Take a look at this."
Neryl looked torn between amusement and reproach, but any comment was cut off by the arrival of a small group of Ancelstierrans. The men greeted the King warmly, and although they were too far south of the Wall to reach the Charter, the faint Charter Marks on their foreheads were visible to Farelle. In all probability, they owned estates in the north close to the Wall. The Princess gave the requisite smiles and curtseys, made polite conversation, and even bore the evaluating stares of the lords and their eligible sons. Obviously they were not keeping up with Kingdom news and had not heard of her marriage.
The Crown Princess scrutinized every Ancelstierran Lord and Mage who entered Moot Hall. Some of them were friendly to the Kingdom and came over for a word or two. Others gave them looks of open hostility, obvious supporters of Tralusan who believed the absolute rubbish he was preaching. Still others were neutral; the Kingdom would need to win them over today.
Farelle having an unsuccessful conversation with a half-deaf Lord when Felio touched her arm in warning. She turned, and spotted a large group of men heading towards them purposefully. The Lords muttered apologies and withdrew, and the soldiers regarded the newcomers with suspicion, hefting their spears.
A tall man with broad shoulders stepped forward, and inclined his head with minimal politeness. "King Dantalion," he said in a deep voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person at last. I and the rest of the Moot welcome you."
"Sir Tralusan," said the King, inclining his head in turn.
Farelle stared at the men. So this was Sir Tralusan, the first Chief Minister of Ancelstierre not of the Royal Line. He was a large man, the same height as her father but broader. His black beard was heavy despite how close it was trimmed, and he wore a black and silver tunic in seeming defiance of the Kingdom's red and gold. The medallion of his office glittered on his chest, and a sword was at his side. Farelle's sharp eyes noticed that the sword seemed to have received little use – it was probably more for show than anything else. As he made the necessary polite comments, the Princess noted that his voice was low and rumbling, like thunder. When this man spoke, people would listen. He reminded Farelle of a large bear, but an eerily cultured one – she half-expected him to explode at any moment. They would have to be very careful with him.
The requisite welcome was over soon, and the two groups entered the Inner Chamber through vast double doors, with Tralusan and his entourage leading the way. Farelle checked on the threshold to survey the room. The Inner Chamber was circular, and had rings of benches running around the edges. There were piles of parchment littering various surfaces, and the benches were crammed full of men and women. In a box opposite the double doors sat the Hereditary Arbiter, who presided over the meetings. In the box below him were the scribes, who were busy sharpening quills and unrolling parchment. It was noisy and crowded, and Farelle thought that the palace's Master of the Household Bieryn would've had a fit and started to spontaneously clear up the papers.
Tralusan took a seat in the front row to one side of the Arbiter's box, and Dantalion led his delegation to the other side. As Farelle settled into her seat, she looked around to get her bearings. Most of the members of the Moot seated on their side of the Chamber were sympathetic to the Kingdom. But two benches away sat a couple of large, rather mean-looking lords who glowered at her when they saw her staring. A little ways away from them was an ancient woman accompanied by an enormous brown dog. And just settling into the seat behind her was somebody she had not seen in a long time.
"Aunt Merabel!" she grinned, embracing the woman as best she could over the back of her bench. Merabel was Dantalion's younger sister, and had been sent to Ancelstierre at a young age to be brought up by her uncle, Prince Orrofin. As a Princess of the Kingdom, Merabel had an honorary seat in the Ancelstierre Moot.
"Hello, dear," the woman beamed, adjusting large cut-crystal spectacles on her long nose. "Been a while, hasn't it? I would have visited the Kingdom, but you can't even think of all the frightful trouble one must go through to do so. Even Royal Blood isn't enough these days, can you imagine? And I had all of my bags packed and everything, and then the Moot passes some law or other preventing passage across the Wall without express permission of an Arbiter. An Arbiter! Of course, they're not too fond of me, are they? And would I ever ask one of them for help? I think not!"
Farelle tried not to smile at her aunt's indignation. Merabel had always been a very odd woman, but she was family after all. With her enormous round spectacles, mismatched robes, and greying hair straggling out of an untidy bun, she looked anything but a Royal Princess.
A second grey-haired woman took the seat at Merabel's side, cutting off her furious tirade about the Arbiters. "Move over, cousin. Ah! Good morning, Princess Farelle," she said, putting aside her silver-topped walking stick. "I am glad to see you, although the circumstances today are less than ideal."
Princess Valochril was the only surviving daughter of Prince Orrofin, who had been the Chief Minister of Ancelstierre before Tralusan. Valochril had temporarily filled the position as Chief Minister in the period between her father's death and the recent election. The woman had lost a leg and two children to the plague that had swept through Corvere a couple of years ago.
"Have you met our new Chief Minister?" asked Valochril in a low voice, easing her wooden limb into a more comfortable position.
Farelle glanced across the Chamber to see Tralusan talking quietly to one of the Twelve Ministers as they glanced over at her father. Tralusan noticed her looking at him, and gave an ironic little smile, inclining his head a fraction. Farelle returned the gesture. "Yes," she answered Valochril. "He will be giving us a lot of trouble."
"Trouble!" Merabel snorted, polishing her spectacles furiously with a patchwork sleeve. "He's already given us enough trouble as it is. First he goes about denouncing the Wall as if it wasn't being built for Ancelstierre's own good! And then he goes on to say that the Bloodlines are enslaving the Shining Ones! Would you believe it! I declare that I did not believe a single word until I decided to actually attend the Moot, and then you would not believe how shocked I was when–"
"The Moot will now come to order!" The Hereditary Arbiter's deep voice boomed throughout the room, and everything was silenced, including Merabel's chatter. Even the enormous brown dog was quiet. "The Chief Minister, the Most Honourable Gwilem Tralusan, will open the floor."
There was a great deal of whispering and shuffling of paper among the Chief Minister's entourage, before Tralusan got up to speak. "To begin with," he rumbled, voice effortlessly filling the room, "I would like to welcome King Dantalion and the rest of his delegation to the Moot. It is truly an honour of have them here today." There were some appreciative murmurs, and Farelle forced a gracious smile. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw that the two burly Lords looked angrier than before. "The first subject I would like to address concerns his majesty as well as the Moot." Tralusan snapped his blunt fingers, and an aide rapidly placed a sheet of parchment in his hand. "Our records show that we are paying a monthly sum to the Crown in excess of the requisite taxes agreed upon during the armistice after the Civil War. I cordially ask the King to explain this phenomenon."
"Of course," snorted Felio softly. "He would begin with the money, wouldn't he?"
Dantalion arose from his seat, and that simple action quieted the angry mutterings of the Ancelstierre Moot. Farelle noticed the Twelve Ministers giving him dirty looks, and decided that she did not like them at all. "I will certainly provide an explanation," the King said pleasantly. "The extra sum has been paid before you by Princess Valochril, and before her by Prince Orrofin, and before him by Prince Jorranen. It is your half of the expense for building the Wall."
This pronouncement resulted in immediate uproar. Members of the Moot leapt to their feet shouting and shaking their fists, incensed that they were funding the Wall, of all things. It was absolute chaos. The big brown dog let out several booming barks, adding to the confusion. Papers were flying everywhere, and Farelle nearly blushed at some of the coarser insults that reached her ears. The soldiers drew around the delegation in a protective circle, and the Hereditary Arbiter achieved peace only after many minutes of banging an onyx paperweight on his desk.
Farelle exchanged a wry smile with Neryl as everybody sat down again. The Moot had only been in existence for a couple of generations, and was clearly in need of better organization. Bribery and intimidation were not unheard of within the Chamber. Neryl sighed. "And these were the people running Ancelstierre?"
Tralusan stood up to speak with the Arbiter's permission. He looked furious, but majestically so. "I absolutely refuse to pay for the construction of the Wall!" he declared, earning roars of approval from the Moot.
When quiet reigned once more, Dantalion stood to make his reply. "You have no choice."
"The Moot will not be threatened!" bellowed one of the Ministers, looking nearly insane with his beet-red face and glaring eyes.
"Silence!" shouted the Arbiter, hypocritically pounding the desk with his paperweight. "Silence, the whole pack of you! The King must be allowed sufficient time for a proper response."
Dantalion inclined his head, and continued to speak at a more normal volume. "The Wall was originally petitioned by the Ancelstierran Moot itself to the King, in the fourth year of my father's reign. You will undoubtedly find it in your records." His eyes lingered on the jumbled stacks of paper littering the room. "The petition was approved, and contains the Royal Seal. I am sure you are aware that only the monarch of the Kingdom has the power to overrule such a document." There were some angry murmurs, but nothing to be worried about. Farelle watched in satisfaction as Tralusan had a hurried discussion with his advisors. Take that!
The Hereditary Arbiter nodded his grey head. "I will allow it. Unless concrete proof that no such agreement took place comes to light, the Moot will continue to finance the building of the Wall. The matter is closed." He rolled up the sleeves of his saffron robes, as if preparing for battle. "King Dantalion may introduce the next issue."
Farelle's father exchanged a few words with General Paleon, before speaking. "Honourable members of the Moot, recently the Chief Minister has been making public statements against the Kingdom's Bloodlines, statements which are unfounded."
Uproar broke out again, and Farelle wondered how the Moot ever got anything done. She did not envy the Hereditary Arbiter his job; he made even being a Crown Princess look easy. Farelle contented herself with watching her father grow progressively more and more irate as the people continued to argue. Any time now…
"QUIET!"
Silence abruptly fell, as if a muffling blanket had been thrown over every sound. Farelle knew that Dyrim's powers flowed in her father's veins, as they did in hers – powers to still tongues that moved too freely, among other things. This was not the same as using Charter Magic; it was something deeper, something innate. She was sure her father had not actually meant to exercise his power over these people, but with the powers of a Bright Shiner concentrated in your blood, things like this tended to happen.
The first person to gain the power of speech was, regrettably, the nutty red-faced Minister. "What is this devilry!" he spluttered. "You dare use magic over us?"
"Of course not," Felio scoffed. "We are too far south to access the Charter." But hardly anyone heard him over the clamour as panicked members of the Moot started to regain their voices, and express their hysteria.
This time when the Arbiter called for order it was in vain. Tralusan's supporters swarmed over to their side of the Chamber while those loyal to the Kingdom stood to meet them. As fighting broke out, the soldiers pushed Farelle practically on top of Neryl and banded together to form a tight ring around the Kingdom delegation. As they could not use Charter magic, the soldiers warded away threatening individuals with the blunt ends of their spears. Farelle's hand spontaneously gripped the long dagger she wore at her side, although she knew that drawing steel within the Inner Chamber would be taken as an open declaration of war. She watched Princess Valochril whack a member of the Moot about the shins with her walking-stick when he jostled her. There was a yell of pain as the large brown dog bit someone. It was absolute mayhem.
Farelle's gaze alighted on a young woman pushing her way towards them through the skirmishing crowd. The Princess recognized her as one of the Arbiter's scribes. "Message!" she was crying. "Message from the Arbiter!"
"Let her through!" Farelle ordered, and the guards obediently divided. A short clerk managed to slip past them, and the Crown Princess stomped on his foot, getting mud all over his expensive doeskin boots. The Captain hauled him away as he shrieked with outrage, and the line of soldiers closed behind the scribe like a scarlet and gold sea.
The scribe was panting, cheeks rosy from exertion, hair tousled from having fought through a crowd of bickering politicians. "What is your name?" asked Farelle, aware that niceties must be observed even in the midst of an all-out brawl.
"Amaya, milady," the young woman panted. "Scribe to the Hereditary Arbiter. I have a message for you."
Farelle nodded in what she hoped was an imperial fashion. "Father!" she called over her shoulder. "You should listen to this." The scribe cringed under the combined gazes of King Dantalion, Crown Princess Farelle, the Voice of the Clayr, a Master Wallmaker, and the General of the Army. Farelle realized that such a situation must be thoroughly intimidating, and gave an encouraging smile. "Go on, Amaya."
"Th- the Arbiter w- w- wishes the delegation to w- withdraw into one of the Lower Chambers," stammered Amaya, knees knocking. "You will have a p- private conference with the Hereditary Arbiter, the Chief Minister, and the Twelve Ministers."
Farelle, her father, Neryl, Felio, and General Paleon exchanged glances. Behind them, the soldiers' Captain shoved away one of the large mean-looking Lords, and was promptly head-butted by the other. Things were starting to get ugly. It was time to leave. "Which way?" demanded the King.
The Crown Princess hesitated, glancing at Valochril and Merabel, who were valiantly holding their own in the scuffle. Princess Merabel, who had the little clerk in a headlock, caught her eye. "Go on, dearie," she carolled. "We'll take care of these ragamuffins!"
Amidst the pandemonium and under the young scribe's direction, the delegation managed to make its way off the benches, and through one of the doors at the base of the room. The soldiers slammed them shut, and Farelle heaved a deep sigh of relief at having escaped. Amaya led them down a corridor and showed them into another room.
They walked through the door, and Farelle was aware that they looked as though they had just emerged from a small war. Her father managed to maintain a kingly expression, but had not noticed that his crown was hanging off one ear.
The Hereditary Arbiter was waiting for them, exceedingly dishevelled from the brawl in the Inner Chamber. The Ministers and their aides were also trickling in, some sporting ripped clothing and bloody noses. The last one to enter was Tralusan, surrounded by his staff. His black and silver tunic was in need of mending – Farelle hoped it would be expensive.
"All here?" asked the Arbiter unnecessarily, holding a small cloth to his bleeding lip. "Let's get started, then." Amaya settled unobtrusively into a corner, taking a crumpled sheet of parchment and a bent quill from her pockets. "The Moot has now officially reconvened," said the Arbiter, fussily straightening his saffron robes to regain some decorum. "King Dantalion will finish his opening remarks."
"I will make it simple," said Farelle's father, who was in no mood for chit-chat. He turned to look directly at Tralusan. "I want you to stop telling people that the Bloodlines have enslaved the Bright Shiners for their own means. It is simply not true."
"Really?' remarked Tralusan. He snapped his fingers, and a subservient assistant placed a paper in his hand. He hardly glanced at it, before saying, "My sources tell me that Lord Abhorsen himself – a man of doubtful character whom you hold in high esteem – has a Bright Shiner in his service, without pay. I do not know about the Kingdom, but in Ancelstierre that is called slavery."
Farelle had only a moment to wonder how Tralusan got his information, before reflecting that the Chief Minister had his own contacts within the Kingdom, just as they had their own in Ancelstierre.
"That is different," said Dantalion, clearly frustrated. "The Bright Shiner in question was first defeated by the Seven, and what they do among their own is not for anyone to decide. The only way to keep him bound, as they so wished, was to constrain him in service to someone. Lord Abhorsen's father was kind enough to assume the responsibility." A few of the Ministers shook their heads with indulging little smiles, and Farelle could almost swear that General Paleon had to physically hold her father back from attacking them. His grip on her father's arm was remarkably firm, in any case.
"What about the Wall?" asked Tralusan, changing tack. "Upon completion, the lives of two Bright Shiners will be lost, correct?"
This time it was Felio who answered. "Yes," he said, "but those lives are volunteered."
The Chief Minister frowned. "Who are you? What authority do you have to speak?"
"He is Master Felio, personal assistant to the Wallmaker," said Dantalion angrily.
"The Wallmaker thought it beneath her to come herself?" croaked an aged Minister with long white hair.
The King gave the old man a look that clearly indicated what he thought of that Minister's brain power. "The Wallmaker is eighty-five years old," he said, very slowly and clearly. "And the trip to Corvere is long."
"Master Felio is accepted here as the Wallmaker's representative," said the Arbiter, making a note on the parchment in front of him. "Carry on."
"You know my views on the Wall," said Tralusan, crossing his arms over his barrel-like chest. "You cannot change my mind. I was elected because of my beliefs, which are the beliefs of the Ancelstierrans." Farelle resisted the temptation to point out that the "Ancelstierrans" he spoke of were the male nobility of the country, who were the only ones who could vote – and who knew how many of those votes had been bought, coerced, and threatened for?
"Perhaps we do not have to decide this just yet," said Felio. "The Wallmakers are casting preliminary spells on the stones as they build the Wall, but only when the last stone has been laid can the Bright Shiners put their powers into it. A few more years are needed until then, during which time the Wall can continue to be built without violating your beliefs, Chief Minister. Why not wait until then before voicing your decision on whether or not they are enslaved?"
All eyes turned to Tralusan, who was stroking his short black beard. His dark eyes glinted unpleasantly, and Farelle felt a nervous knot forming in her stomach. "In cases like these between Ancelstierran lords," the Chief Minister said, "they each choose a swordsman to fight for their cause. If Ancelstierre's champion wins, I will continue to denounce your actions. If your champion wins, I will keep quiet on the matter, reserving judgment until the day the Wall is completed, when I shall see the Bright Shiners for myself."
Farelle was shocked and angry. How could something so important be decided by single combat between two people? "Please give us a moment to discuss your proposition," said her father, hiding his own surprise rather well. The five members of the delegation gathered together at their end of the table.
"I do not like it," Felio said immediately. "He is using the law against us. We pulled up past documentation to thwart his attempts to stop payments for the Wall. Now he is bringing up an Ancelstierran custom to get his own way. He wouldn't do it if he wasn't sure that he would win."
Farelle's father turned to General Paleon, who said, "It is not too unreasonable, my King. We have many fine fighters. And it is a simpler solution than years of negotiation."
"I agree with the General," said Neryl decisively. "It does not truly matter whether we decide to argue or fight. In the first case, we will ask our greatest minds to come to the Moot and lay out the best arguments. In the latter, we will summon our greatest warriors to represent us. It is the same thing."
The King looked at Farelle, and she nodded slightly. He turned back to the Ministers. "I accept the challenge," he replied, "but we must be granted sufficient time to prepare."
Tralusan smiled, a sight that the Crown Princess did not enjoy in the least. "Three years from this day, I will contact you," he rumbled, and if he wasn't a complete Ancelstierran, Farelle would have said that there was prophecy in his voice. "Until then, I will not take immediate action. I wish to concentrate on my projects concerning science and technology first, and set up academies in the larger towns. I will be busy, and you can count upon my silence."
It took only moments for Amaya the scribe to pen a document. Tralusan and Dantalion signed their names to it, adding their seals, and it was witnessed by the Hereditary Arbiter. "The rest of the Moot must be notified of the decision," he announced, looking with some trepidation back in the direction of the Inner Chamber, which they had left in uproar. "You are all hereby dismissed from the Moot. Er – you might like to leave through one of Moot Hall's side doors."
For her part, Princess Farelle sat motionless in her chair, reflecting on the turn of events. Tralusan would finally stop his verbal attacks on the Bloodlines. But in exchange, his future conduct and thus the actions of all people Anti-Wall would be decided in three years' time, with single combat between two people not at all associated with the original argument. She sighed, and started to get to her feet, before stopping dead: Her husband Javen was one of the best swordsmen in the Kingdom.
A/N: Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod, I hope you enjoyed your little honourable mention. I did not bother doing an anagram, because your pen name is simply too long, and "Amaya" was a good name already. May you pen many important documents!
If I'm frustrating you guys with my erratic posting schedule, then you can look on my profile page under my "Favourites" for a few good Garth Nix fics. A new-ish one that looks quite interesting is Abhorsen's Duty by Dante Inferno. It deserves more reviews, so go check it out!