“Then who was in there with him?”
“Meryl made it very clear he was alone, and how it was my fault he was now a pariah.”
“I saw someone upstairs.”
Malcolm looked at him skeptically. “Really? Why would Meryl lie about something like that?”
Raithe shrugged. “Take it up with him the next time we never come down here again, okay? Nyphron just gifted us this pretty place; might not be a good idea to get exiled before we’ve tasted the veal.”
This made Malcolm smile. “They do have wonderful veal.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Council of the Keenig
Persephone was my hero. I am proud to say she was also my friend—nearly a second mother. She was also the keenig. But that was just a word, just a title that did not mean anything until she stood beneath that dome and we heard the thunder of her voice.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
Nyphron called the meeting.
Persephone had told him they needed to sit down and talk with representatives of Alon Rhist, as well as discuss future plans with the other chieftains. They had only ruled the Fhrey fortress for four days, and already there was talk of the coalition breaking up. Many saw the surrender of Alon Rhist as a job well done and a problem solved. She, Nyphron, and the chieftains rode a wave of goodwill, but the men were tired of standing around and wanted to get back to their farms, livestock, wives, and children. What they didn’t realize, what she needed to explain, was what Nyphron had explained to her: This wasn’t the end. It wasn’t even the beginning. All they had done was shift position to higher ground. The first battle was still coming.
Persephone had imagined the meeting would be similar to those she held at the lodge in Dahl Rhen, where a dozen men would gather around a fire and roast a lamb. She would sit in her chair and shout over the noise of belches and the bellows for more drink. If left to her, Persephone would have ordered a fire and a spit built, and a barrel of beer rolled out in the middle of the lower courtyard, an open space between the front gate and the general barracks. But she hadn’t called the meeting, Nyphron had.
The lord of the Rhist, dressed in an uncharacteristically elegant long-shirt, blue cape, and sporting gold arm- and wristbands, escorted Persephone into the Verenthenon. Tiers of seats climbed the walls like the sides of a giant bowl, granting everyone a clear view over the heads of those in front. Waiting for her were hundreds of men and Fhrey. Nyphron led her down a central aisle that descended with wide steps to the bottom. Streaming shafts of sunlight entered through strategically placed skylights, illuminating a raised dais.
That’s why he was so adamant about the time of the meeting. She had wanted it at night, but he insisted on just after midday.
Realizing that Nyphron was leading her to that platform, she began to panic. This wasn’t something she was used to. Persephone had experience speaking with a handful of familiar men, but this was another matter altogether. What’s more—there was no chair. She’d always had a place to sit. The Chair had been the greatest symbol of her position, more important than the torc. She felt diminished without it, smaller, as she was forced to stand before all those seated at a higher elevation. She didn’t feel in command, but rather like an accused criminal brought forth for questioning.
In the front rows sat all the chieftains, including the Gula, alongside several dignified-looking Fhrey she’d never seen before. Moya was there, too, bow in hand, standing just off to the side and out of the light. As the Shield to the Keenig, only she bore a weapon. Moya didn’t say a word as Persephone passed, but she expressed a wide-eyed exclamation that Persephone knew would have been a slew of profanity if the two had been alone.
Nyphron walked with her as she climbed the remaining series of platforms, but then he stopped. He, too, remained in the shadows, urging her to step forward to the white-hot column of light that entered at an angle and lit the stage.
Pressing quivering hands against her sides, she took those five remaining steps. The moment she entered the light, the dome erupted in applause. The sound scared her nearly to death. She almost backed off but forced herself to take deep breaths and straighten up. This is no time to be seen as a troll. She waited for the turmoil to calm, then opened her mouth. “I am Persephone, the Keenig of the Ten Clans.” She stopped, stunned. The sound of her voice boomed with godly volume and silenced any remaining applause. She hadn’t even spoken that loudly. She looked around bewildered.
“The dome,” said someone in the second row. It was Malcolm, who pointed up.
Stupidly, she looked above her, then smiled and nodded, and this time she mouthed the words, thank you. Hardly a sound was made as the audience awaited her next syllable. A few people coughed, but the sound was muted, as if they were in another room.
She swallowed and began again. “I am Persephone, the Keenig of the Ten Clans, and I’ve called this meeting to explain a few things and to hear any problems or concerns you might have.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she took another breath. “The Instarya of Alon Rhist have graciously agreed to act as our hosts in our efforts to stand against the aggression of the fane. Fhrey law, bestowed by their god Ferrol, prohibits them from taking another Fhrey’s life. As a result, they will not join our cause as active warriors, but they will also not seek to jeopardize or undermine it.” She stared at the seven Fhrey in the front row, all of whom nodded.
She smiled and nodded back. Step one complete.
“Now, a number of men have spoken to me about going home. They have fields that need attention, animals that need tending, and trust me, we need you to do those things. An army is only as good as its supply of food.” Nyphron had given her that line during their two-day preparation. Seeing the very serious nods of approval from both the Fhrey as well as the Gula, she understood why. Credibility. She was still earning it.
“We need you to keep farming. As much as I would like this victory to be the end of our troubles, it isn’t. The first battle of this war has yet to be fought. Now that we’ve moved into his command fortress, the fane must act. He will send a force to dislodge us. And make no mistake, that force will be powerful and determined. It will take every last man, every sword, every ounce of will we have to weather it. But…” She paused, letting the thunder of her booming voice fade. “We don’t know when that day will come. It could be next week, or next year, and we can’t afford to let fields lie fallow. So, here is my plan. I am told that Alon Rhist already has a system of signal fires built between here and Ervanon, their outpost in the far north. I am ordering that we extend this system, building additional woodpiles in the High Spear Valley in the east and south to Tirre. In this way, many of you will be able to return home, but if scouts learn of an impending attack, I will order the signals to be lit, and this will be the sign for all able-bodied warriors to return.”