Chapter 31: Sadarshakar (Esrahaddon Cut Scene #1)

TWO YEARS LATER…IMPERIAL CAPITAL OF PERCEPLIQUIS, FOUNDER’S DAY EVE, SPRING, 2103 IR

“It’s not awful,” Sadarshakar said exploring the apartment. This didn’t take long as the rental consisted of only two small bedrooms and a tiny common space, all of which had the look of a haunted attic.

Refusing to enter, Hanis remained outside the door staring dumbfounded. “Exactly what on Elan are you comparing it to? A pit full of hungry rats? No, that can’t be it. This is indeed a pit, and I am quite confident there are many rats.”

“It’s not that bad.” Sadarshakar moved deeper into the apartment. The lonely window’s shutter was closed granting only slivers of light. What managed to penetrate revealed a wooden floor laden with dust. No carpet, no drapes, no table or chair, but plenty of cobwebs, and he noticed that, even the spiders had moved out.

From the street below he could hear the music of the city: the clatter of metal rimmed wheels on cobblestone, the shouts, the laughter. Some of it came up through the floor from the downstairs neighbors; most of it entered by way of the window, which he suspected might be broken. Entering one of the two little rooms he sat on the bed. A cloud of dust erupted. “Although I don’t think anyone has rented here in a while.”

“There has to be a mistake.” Hanis raised his voice, likely so Sadarshakar could hear him but also possibly out of exasperation. “None of this makes sense. We’re up six flights. This building only has six stories, and we’re more than a mile from Imperial Square.”

“So we’ll take a litter to the palace. It will be fun.”

“That’s not the point. We’re council members. We should have one of those lavish country villas we saw on the way in.”

“Then we would need to travel miles everyday through that awful traffic. And those wagons are not comfortable.” Sadarshakar looked under the bed and noticed rat droppings and the broken remains of a wine bottle discoveries he decided he would keep to himself.

“We ought to have a townhouse, then,” Hanis continued to call out as if Sadarshakar had disappeared within the depths of some treacherous cave. “Six flights! Do they actually expect us to draw water from that pool down in the courtyard and haul buckets up these steps?”

Sadarshakar walked back out where Hanis could see him.

“Oh, thank Ferrol, I thought you might have been taken by the rat king.”

Sadarshakar laughed. At least, his companion was not without wit. Sarcastic and cynical to be sure, but better than straight bitterness. The ability to soften hardship with humor he felt was a sign of intelligence, which gave him hope for the future. While the two had known of each other for centuries, they had never spent time together, and Sadarshakar was still working at getting a feel for Hanis Orphe.

Sadarshakar gingerly opened the fragile shutter illuminating the common room with springtime sun. The light revealed the shabby details of the flat—nicks and scratches on the walls, discolorations on the floor where furniture once sat, but it did feel a bit friendlier. The open shutters also uncovered the view, which turned out to be that of another apartment complex across the narrow street. The buildings were so close some had strung clotheslines between them. Sadarshakar was certain that if the fellow across the way read a letter near the window, he would be able to enjoy it too. The good news was that the window wasn’t broken. There had never been glass panes to start with.

“So there are two beds,” Sadarshakar explained as he returned to his friend. “Mine has a window.” He smiled expecting protest, but Hanis didn’t reply. “The furniture is dated, and the place needs a cleaning, but it should do.”

“You can’t be serious.” Hanis looked sick. In truth, he always appeared a bit pale, all the Orphe’s did. Being unusually thin, and despite having passed his two hundredth birthday, Hanis managed to retain that ethereal beauty associated with childhood. Even his hair was pale. Typical of most Fhrey, they were both blonds, but Hanis’s hair was near silver. Taken as a whole his associate and soon-to-be flat-mate appeared as delicate as a porcelain vase. He also wasn’t used to dirt, or cobwebs, or much in the way of adversity. The Orphe’s were a wealthy insular family well known for their lack of accomplishment but abundance of pride.

“Ask for better if you like,” Sadarshakar said, “but I can make do with this.”

“You’re far too easily placated. I will absolutely demand better. Just because we’re young and new here, they think we’ll suffer without complaint. We weren’t appointed representatives of Merredydd because we are easily cowed. This is where the politics begin, my friend. We are being tested. If we accept this, they know we will accept anything.”

“Are you going too drop your stuff?”

Hanis looked at him appalled and gripped his bags tighter.

“Whatever.” Sadarshakar stepped out, closed the door, and locked it with the key the proprietor had given them.

“You’re actually locking it? Why? Like anyone would suspect this place holds riches.”

“My stuff is in there.”

“I’m certain the rat king has already given orders that your belongings be added to his horde.”

“I see this is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?”

“No because I’m never coming back to this repugnant pit.”

Sadarshakar wasn’t as confident, and hoped the neighbors weren’t listening.

The two descended the stairwell to the ground floor of the complex, walked under the arched gallery, then cut across the courtyard past the communal fountain and pool where an elderly woman and two children filled a set of ceramic urns.

“That will be you,” Hanis said. “Unless we’re successful.”

“We’re already successful,” Sadarshakar replied, and leapt up on the top of a short decorative wall and trotted down it like a cat. “We are both members of the Imperial Grand Council—on our own, wild and free in the greatest city in the world.”

“The greatest city in the world is Estramnadon.”

“True, but we can’t go there. So this is the greatest city available to us…” they both grinned and together added. “For now.”

Stepping out into the narrow street that divided two apartment complexes, Sadarshakar noticed the overhead clotheslines decorated with drying white linens and realized one of those windows near the top was theirs. The very idea thrilled him. This was his first time in Percepliquis, his first trip outside Merredydd. Everything spoke to him of adventure.

They stayed to the shady side of the road. Spring had arrived and it brought with it a heat that baked the stone streets and filled the air with exotic scents. Sadarshakar would have been happy on either side, but he noticed the locals all stayed to the shade and he wanted to fit in—wanted to adopt the habits of his new home. People were everywhere, pushing carts, carrying baskets, folding clothes, fetching water. Reaching the Grand Marchway, the congestion tripled. The primary avenue was less a road than a broad, fast-flowing river. Chariots, wagons, coaches, and litters moved in and out as fast as traffic allowed, which wasn’t fast at all.

They passed a community of public houses, what back in Merredydd would be called mirthlyns. Some had tables out on the street where men talked over a dizzying variety of imported drinks. Here anything could be had. The streets were packed with grill-rooms, tea shops, meal-rooms, ale houses, fish-houses and so much more. He even spotted a place called the Mighty Quail, which Sadarshakar assumed served meals based on that specific poultry. How many ways can one make quail? He had no idea, but could hardly wait to find out.

Sadarshakar wanted to experience everything. He’d heard rumors of an amazing wine brought back from a far away country only recently discovered; a soup made from sea monsters with eight legs that could become invisible; fried poisonous spiders larger than a person’s hand; tiny pork chops from miniature pigs raised on an island in the Blue Sea; flightless dragon steaks from the remote jungles of Calynia; edible tree branches from the north hinterlands; and a hot liquor few could stomach made by moklins called Gurlin Bog. Everything flowed into the imperial capitol making it the only place one could have dinner from one side of the world, and dessert from the other.

He also wanted to meet the people. Merredydd was nearly all Fhrey, most of whom were like Hanis. They had no use for humans, but Sadarshakar found them interesting. He wanted to find out for himself if they really were all blind, practiced cannibalism, were terrified of washing, slept all day, mated for life, had more than a dozen children in less than a decade, drank each other’s blood at parties, and worshipped a dead god. Sadarshakar was finally at the start of the journey he called His Life. With infinite options, he struggled to know where to begin. This was his big dream—the first step at least, the maiden voyage of an adventurer on his debut enterprise. Initially he would conquer Percepliquis, then travel to the forbidden province of Erivan. He would find, explore, and open the fabled city of Estramnadon to the world. Then the people of Percepliquis would also be able to find delicacies from his ancestral homeland that for too long had been off limits. After that Sadarshakar suspected he might delve into the many mysteries of the dark jungles of the Gur Um or venture out on the sea in search of undiscovered wonders.

This is the start of it all.

“Over there.” Hanis pointed to a canopy on a street corner where three litters teams waited for fares. They both waved. One man saw them, and promptly looked away.

“That’s odd. Com’on,” he told Hanis and led the way over to the canopy.

Arriving, Sadarshakar smiled brightly. “We need a litter—no, two litters to take us to Imperial Square.”

The men turned their backs.

“Did you hear me?”

“You want to get to Imperial Square,” one said. “Just walk up this road.”

“I know that, but I would like to hire you to carry us. That’s what you do, right?”

The men laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

One of them, a fellow with a sweat stained tunic, neglected facial hair, and powerful looking arms and legs stepped directly in front of Sadarshakar so close he could have hugged him. “Look, you little pixie, none of us are gonna carry your elven ass anywhere. Got it?”

“Pixie?”

“We are members of the Imperial Grand Council,” Hanis declared.

“I don’t care if you’re, the Lord God Ferret himself! No law says bearers have to haul garbage. You want that I suggest inquiring at the night-soil administration.”

He laughed, the other joined him.

“Garbage?” Hanis’s eyes widened.

“We have money,” Sadarshakar said.

“Really? Let me see it.”

Sadarshakar took three keng from his purse. The silver shone bright in the sun.

The man took the coins. “Thanks.”

“No change?” Hanis asked. “Three keng is a bit pricey for two litters to the Square, isn’t it?”

“What keng?” the man said, closing his big hand around the coins and making a fist.

“The money I just…” Sadarshakar nodded. “I see.”

“Now get outta here,” the bearer said. “Or I’ll be tempted to take that whole purse of yours as payment for bothering me. Or worse—understand?”

The other men moved up alongside the first. No one was smiling. They all stank of sweat. One held a short stick, another had one of the litter poles.

“I guess we’ll walk.”

“Yes, you will. And be quick about it.”

As Sadarshakar and Hanis moved away, they heard one shout. “Walk all the way back to that piss-hole Erivan where you came from!”

As they made the turn and started up the side of the Grand Mar, Sadarshakar said. “I’m not so certain you’ll be successful at upgrading our accommodations, Hanis. I have a suspicion you were right about the politics starting early, only I don’t think it has anything to do with our age or novice status.”

“What’s a pixie?” Hanis glanced behind them concerned.

“No idea, but I doubt it’s a compliment.”

###

Despite the incident with the litter bearers, Sadarshakar found the trip to the palace wonderful. The pink pedaled trees along the Marchway—or the Grand Mar, as the locals called it and as such so would he—were in peak bloom, and blue and green streamers were being strung between them. The city was preparing for Founder’s Day, the spring celebration that commemorated the establishment of the city. Sadarshakar had heard the holiday was an amazing event, it also preceded the new session of the Grand Council. This year’s assembly would feature two new representatives from the province of Merredydd, a pair with great plans for a brighter future.

They soon arrived in Imperial Square and crossed to the center where the great Ulurium Fountain, with it’s sculpture of four horses bursting through the spray, dominated. The day had grown hot and the two stood on the lee side enjoying the damp mist. Between the Teshlor Guildhall, and the Cenzarium lay the massive palace, which was the width of the square, pure white and capped with a stunning gold dome that in the day’s sun appeared to burn.

“Can you believe we are actually going to be working here?” Sadarshakar said. “It’s so big!”

“I would call it garish. Humans always sacrifice style for size. All of this was stolen from Fhrey architectural design. These people have no creativity. They simply make it bigger and call it better.”

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“There is something to be said for grandeur. It’s quite impressive.”

“Bigger isn’t better.”

“Sounds like a dwarven argument.”

“Ha, ha you’re quite the comic, Sadar,” Hanis said so deadpan he could have been a talking corpse.

“You know, you’re about as fun as my grandmother. Here we are two young, single Fhrey on our own for the first time in the biggest city the world has ever known and all you can see is—”

“What? The army of thugs who robbed you and nearly killed us?”

Sadarshakar frowned. “They didn’t touch us.”

“They took your money—they robbed you in daylight right on the street for all to see. And they got away with it. Doesn’t that upset you that these creatures accosted us with impunity like that?”

“I can’t say I’m happy with it, but they could have taken both our purses, and beaten us bloody.”

“You maybe.” Hanis smirked and produced a small knife with a blade about as long as his index finger.

“Ah, I see. And what would you have done with your little blade, oh great Instarya warrior that you are?”

“We both hail from the Instarya tribe. Our linage is indisputable. We are the grandsons of heroes.”

“Of course, but we aren’t heroes. Have you ever even held a real sword?”

“I have,” Hanis said proudly, something he did with too much ease.

By Fhrey standards, they were both no more than adolescents, but despite appearing juveniles to human eyes they had already lived longer than any man. This odd fact messed with the minds of both human and Fhrey alike. Appearance so strongly affected opinion that Sadarshakar found himself extending elderly courteous to men ridiculously younger than himself. This attitude was understandably returned, as the apartment’s landlord had treated the two like irresponsible children. And yet, after having met only a few humans, Sadarshakar already realized that in a sense, the two were children. Their worldliness, he was starting to see, was minuscule in comparison. Adulthood wasn’t merely the result of time; maturity came from experience. Where he and Hanis had grown up the pampered scions of the most prominent families in the imperial province of Merredydd, humans were birds shoved out of the nest at a bewildering young age and told to fly or die. Survival was a stern instructor, which demanded attention and provided rapid results. Sadarshakar was certain his understanding of geography, history, art, and music was superior to all but the most talented humans, and yet he had never actually seen any of the places he learned about, never been a part of history, and only copied the paintings of others. His ability with a harp was technically proficient, but never composed a ballad believing he lacked the life-experience to create one. Nearly four hundred years old and Sadarshakar had never been in love, a fight, or experienced the sort of despair derived from the loss of someone close. He’d spent most of his time learning from the mouths of others, and the rest…he wasn’t sure. I played games, went for walks, talked with friends and… And yet so much time felt unaccounted for—not that he couldn’t remember, but that he found it hard to accept that he’d done so little after so long. I lived, he assured himself. Drinking, eating, playing, laughing, swimming, hiking, there’s nothing wrong with a life spent in enjoyment. Still he felt as if he were on a boat in the middle of the ocean trying to find landmarks to reveal his route. Yet looking back all he found was the empty sea.

Humans, he had been taught lived shorter, more passionate lives, and now Sadarshakar saw they did this by weeding out the long stretches of dull reflection, condensing thousands of years into less than a hundred. Men were the fruit flies of the sentient races, but it was folly to assume this rendered them trivial. Hanis was pitting his arrogance against human confidence—supposition verses experience. Sadarshakar did not share Hanis’s optimistic evaluation of his inherited martial skill. “The ancient Instarya warriors started training in combat at the age of five or something like that, and practiced everyday. Is that what you did?”

“I’d have slit that brute’s throat. How hard could it be?”

“Oh, not hard at all for you, I’m certain.”

“You don’t believe me,” he sounded irritated more than offended.

“We’re councilors, Hanis, not members of the Order of the Fauyld. We’re here to help inform the emperor on matters concerning Merredydd so he can better administer his empire, not to battle lazy, small-minded litter bearers.”

“They’re all that way.”

“Then we will avoid bearers.”

“I mean humans.”

“Oh, no they’re not.”

“No? What’s going on over there, then?” Hanis pointed down at a gathering across the street from the Cenzarium.

Sadarshakar spotted a crowd around a man standing on a box giving a speech. He was no great orator, his voice lacking any richness or power, but he was loud.

“The elves have infested our imperial bureaucracy!” the speaker declared. “They have taken systematic control of our collective memory and are rewriting history. Look at the statues! They have been replaced with images that make Novron appear elvish. They even call him Nyphron trying to make us believe he was an elf. Can you believe that? We fought a war, a huge war and lost millions of lives combating the tyranny of the elven scourge, and here they are trying to make us believe our first emperor was an elf? How stupid do they think we are? These pixies are sinister, they like to work from the inside, and they want to destroy everything good and decent because they hate us. They hate that we won the war and they’re going to try and change that. And they will if we don’t stop them.”

“Now we know what pixies are,” Sadarshakar said. “It appears they didn’t feel elf was insulting enough.”

Hanis shhh-ed him with the sound and a wave of his hand.

“They have the emperor imprisoned in the palace!” someone from the crowd shouted.

“Free the emperor!” another yelled. “Free the emperor!”

More joined in. The growing chorus was loud enough to feel threatening.

One man spotted them watching and patted the arm of the guy next to him. They both looked over. Neither smiled. A few more took notice. Eyes narrowed. A hand pointed.

“Let’s go,” Sadarshakar said. “Lest, before we even report for our first day’s orientation, you are forced to slaughter hundreds with your little knife.”

The two abandoned the fountain, walked the remainder of the plaza and entered the Memorial Garden—a place set aside for the meditative remembrance of the first emperor, but which—according to the city guidebook that Sadarshakar had read in its entirety before leaving Merredydd—had been co-opted to include all the previous emperors. The garden was not large. Mostly the area comprised a paved walkway bordered by short hedges, bright flowers and small trees. At the center was a decorative circular mosaic with the phrase RULER OF THE WORLD. According to the guidebook the circle marked the spot where Nyphron died more than a thousand years before.

No one followed the pair.

“Such a friendly city,” Hanis rolled his eyes. “Such lovely people.”

Sadarshakar didn’t respond as the two left the Garden and climbed the steps to the palace. Contrary to the guidebook, the palace did have a wall demarking its grounds, but being only two feet high it was clearly not intended as fortification but decoration. The planter urns were taller. The ornamental wall declared the start of the Imperial Courtyard filled with benches and flowers, which was bordered by the Public Gallery—a column-lined arcade. These two areas comprised the palace foyer or lobby where hundreds of people circulated, clustered, mingled, meandered, pushed, shouted, waved, and argued. Most of them were dressed in fine robes or military uniforms and formed small clusters around which those with a more direct purpose struggled to pass.

The two newest council members stood in the center of the courtyard watching the throng bewildered. “Which way?” Sadarshakar asked Hanis.

“I don’t even know where we are going.”

“We’re supposed to report to the Office of Imperial Management, and let them know we’re here.”

“Then what?”

Sadarshakar shrugged. “I suppose someone will show us around?”

“Councilors Sikara and Orphe?”

They turned to see a big man with a bushy beard approach. He was dressed in the white and purple robes of a councilor.

“I am Sadarshakar Sikara,” he lay a hand on his breast, then gestured to Hanis. “And this is my fellow delegate from Merredydd, Hanis Orphe. And you are?”

“Councilman Lucian Hargrave of Warica. Pleased too meet you.” He extended a hand.

Sadarshakar was quick to shake, but Hanis refrained.

“Councilor Orphe is the wise sort, I presume,” Hargrave said. He had a deep warm voice, the sort Sadarshakar felt would be captivating when raised. “Cautious and careful, no doubt.”

“Everything has a cost,” Hanis replied as if he had first hand knowledge. “I prefer to see the prices before I buy.”

“As I said, cautious.”

“I’m afraid we are at a loss,” Sadarshakar admitted. “We are new appointees to the council and we’ve only just arrived. Where are we expected to go?”

“Might as well follow me, I’m on my way to chambers. They can get you settled in.” Councilor Hargrave set off into the crowd, took a step then halted and turned back to them. “Stay close, the surf is rough today, and if you get lost you just might drown.” He raised his eyebrows comically while smiling.

Sadarshakar exchanged a confused look with Hanis before shuffling forward to keep up with their guide who deftly weaved between the islands of people, avoiding eye contact.

A few noticed their passing. “Councilman Hargrave!” Several rushed him. He raised a warning hand which appeared to magically kept them at a distance, but did nothing to silence their questions.

“What has been decided concerning the tax of imported lumber from Rhulynia? Has the emperor decided?”

“Can you confirm the emperor will be relaxing tariffs on Warica iron and copper? Have you made arguments? Have you spoken to the emperor?”

“Is it true the council is advocating the institution of debt-slavery?”

“There are stories about a sickness spread by goblins coming in on ships from Calynia, will the docks be closed?”

Hargrave kept his head down and marched forward undaunted. He plowed a path and the new councilors stuck close behind. More people took notice of their passage and swarmed.

“Who are you?” one asked Sadarshakar as he dodged past.

“Don’t answer,” Hargrave directed. “Don’t feed them, it only encourages the fiends. Best to set a precedence right from the start. Give them nothing and they will grow bored.”

Sadarshakar wondered if Hargrave spoke from experience and if this pandemonium was the result of “feeding them” or an example of the “fiends” being bored.

“Are these new councilors then?” one of those chasing their little parade asked. “What are your names?”

Sadarshakar wanted to look around, to take in all he could of his first day, and it felt impolite not to respond to direct questions, but he listened to the advice and imitated Hargrave staying focused and silent. The man before him was a councilor, and once more Sadarshakar wanted to fit in to his new world. He kept his head down driving forward trying his best to keep up in the wake of the big man. The situation was both frightening, and exhilarating. Never before had he waded through an information feeding frenzy.

“Are you two from Merredydd? You must be.”

“Did you just arrive?”

“What are your plans?”

“Will you be meeting with the emperor today?”

“Councilman Hargrave, have you been appointed their orientation officer?”

“How old are you?”

“Are the two of you worried about filling the seats of councilors who were so recently murdered?”

This last question caused Sadarshakar to look. The inquiry came from a spindly man in a cheap robe with a stylized dragon symbol embroidered on the breast.

“Quickly now,” Hargrave told them as he held a door open, on either side of which were armed palace guards. “They can’t follow in here.”

Once through the doors, they were in the cool quiet of a marble lined corridor.

“We call that The Gauntlet,” Hargrave explained, taking a moment to smooth out his beard and run fingers though his hair.

“The glove?” Sadarshakar asked baffled.

Hargrave chuckled. “It also means a challenge, or to taunt.”

“Oh,” Sadarshakar felt foolish. “Still some gaps in my linguistic education, I suppose.”

“Who are those people?” Hanis asked.

“Ambassadors, clerks, military officers, bureaucrats, but the ones who were chasing us were petitioners and patronal servants, what some of us have come to call patronizing serpents. Chambers are this way.” He started off again still walking swiftly, and together their heels on marble sounded like a stampede of horses. “They represent powerful families and businesses who, in return for their patronage and gifts, expect you to argue before the emperor on their behalf.”

“That doesn’t seem ethical,” Sadarshakar said.

Hargrave smiled at him. “You look young, but I’m guessing you’re older than I am, which leads me to believe there are more than gaps in just your linguistic education. You two have quite the learning curve ahead of you.”

“What did that man mean about our predecessors having been murdered?” Hanis asked. “I thought Myr Ronelle and Myr Pryne died in a coach accident.”

They entered a lovely hexagonal space with a glass ceiling that permitted sunlight to dapple an indoor garden. The sound of trickling water drew Sadarshakar’s attention to tiny waterfalls between leafy plants with purple flowers. Four separate corridors exited the space and here Hargrave took a left.

How are we—he’s going so fast—I’m never going to remember how to get anywhere.

Life in Merredydd had been casual, relaxed. Schedules were loosely kept. Meetings occurred when people came together—if not today then tomorrow, next week, or next year. Good weather put everything on hold as all took advantage of nature’s gift. They had only just arrived in Percepliquis and already Sadarshakar felt exhausted. Is everyday going to be like this?

“You’ll discover that Percepliquis is a fertile garden that grows an abundance of rumors and gossip,” Hargrave went on. “An accident with a coach resulting in the deaths of two council members—both Fhrey—is bound to give rise to a profusion of conspiracies.”

“But it’s not true?” Hanis asked.

“All I can tell you is that I wasn’t there. Anything else would be hearsay.” They passed a series of hallways, niches, and closed doors. Hargrave gestured at one of them and without pausing said, “That’s the Office of Imperial Management where Calliope will set you up with a full orientation, but she’s not here at the moment.”

On they rushed. Hargrave moved at such a pace his robes blew out behind him. They made an abrupt turn into a very narrow aisle that caused Hanis to skid across the polished floor. “This path will seem complicated, but you don’t need to remember it. This is simply a shortcut I prefer.”

They reached a staircase and went down a flight. Sadarshakar heard metal ringing, and raised voices. This was followed by the smell of something savory—a meat dish of some kind. They passed through a second open area where a man sat on a stone bench with a scroll. He looked up, smiled, and waved. Hargrave waved back. Then they hit another staircase, and went back up.

“What is this about the emperor being held prisoner?” Hanis asked when they were back in a wide corridor.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s a bunch of rubbish the new church has been spewing for about three years now. You must have seen it on your way in. An ugly thing across from the Cenzarium with a dragon symbol. They’re holding another rally, or service I guess they like to call it. For centuries the Church of Nyphron was this nice, quiet, respectful organization dedicated to honoring the memory of the first emperor, but at some point they turned Nyphron into an actual a god. They developed some queer ideas like a distrust of literature, magic, education, and a general hatred of…well, you and your kin. They never were much of a problem until about three years ago when that new church was established on Imperial Square. Now they seem bent on stirring up trouble. The worst part is the stunning number of people listening. It’s depressing, really. I could expect this in the outer provinces, but I always thought the average citizen of Percepliquis was smarter. My fellow man never fails to let me down, and I never fail to be genuinely shocked and disappointed when they do.”

The trio arrived at a large set of double doors, one of which was open. Inside was a well appointed amphitheater with what looked to be fifty seats, with another fifty on a higher tier behind a short dividing wall creating a long box.

“Welcome to the Imperial Grand Council chambers,” Hargrave said. “This is where the action happens.”

Sadarshakar saw no action. Only about eight men in matching robes stood about or sat chatting, while a trio of workmen spackeled a crack in the plaster above the doorframe.

“We’re between sessions, obviously, but—“ he gestured at the men in robes speaking softly amongst themselves “—fates are decided in this room at times like these.”

“Why so many seats? There’s only twenty members, correct? Twelve provinces, two delegates per province, Ryin Contita, and Erivan unrepresented, equals twenty, yes?”

“You’re arithmetic is perfect. The other seats are for guest and visitors. During some debates, this chamber is packed with people standing shoulder to shoulder. Those are usually the times when the emperor attends. People don’t see him or the imperial family often, so at such times this place becomes a theater.”

“Will we meet him?” Hanis asked. “I was hoping to inquire about better accommodations.”

“You’re going to ask the emperor for a better room?” Hargrave laughed.

“Wondering when you were going to get here!” one of the men in councilor robes waved to Hargrave. “Who are these fellows?”

“New reps from Merredydd,” Hargrave explained. “Sikara and Orphe. Just got in. They looked lost so I played docent.”

“My condolences to you both for having to suffer Lucian’s ignorance and bad jokes,” the man offered with a smile. He was older, balding with but a wreath of white hair, but equipped with bright active eyes. “I am Mort Killian of right here in Rhenydd.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell any jokes,” Hargrave said.

“Ah, well then, you two lucked out. Lucian is infamous for his poor puns and sad quips.”

“You are descended then of Amicus Killian?” Hanis asked stiffly.

“Indeed, all the way back to Gavin and his sons who fought in the first day’s Battle of Grandford. Gavin and most of his boys died, but his son Brigham went on to greater glory fighting in most all of the battles of the Great War.”

“Amicus Killian was a cheat who humiliated my father Abryll Orphe in the arena.”

Silence hit the chamber so that the only sound came from the workmen scraping plaster.

Mort replied with a smile. “This chamber is all about differences of opinions. I believe Lucian is a terrible comedian. He accuses me of being stodgy. And now you and I have a wonderful disagreement to nurture. In this place, disputes lend themselves to debate, debates to arguments that at times can become heated, but in the end—if we are both wise—each will come away enlightened for our efforts. It is unlikely we will agree, but hopefully we can better understand the dispute, and perhaps learn something about ourselves.”

“Pretty words, to condone a crime,” Hanis replied.

“And here I labeled him the caution one,” Hargrave said. “Listen, if you’re interested in improving your personal accommodations, you ought to consider a patron. Best of course, to find one who aligns with your personal goals. They can make life in the city considerably more comfortably. And while one patron will often have several clients, a client will only have one patron, so chose carefully.”

“Thank you,” Sadarshakar told him with enough emphasis to hopefully convey he was speaking about more than the advice. “Now, I think it is time to check-in at the Office of Imperial Management. We can wait for Calliope if necessary.”

Everyone in the room returned to their business, and Sadarshakar and Hanis returned to theirs.