The Emperors Knife - By Mazarkis Williams Page 0,101
Throne, the council table had been set out: a long, gleaming slab cut from the same forest giants that had yielded the doors. Two figures were already seated at the eastern end, both cowled in assassin grey.
Govnan took his seat at the western end. Tuvaini sat at the mage’s right hand. His breath came shallow now; his hands were numb, except for his fingers, which prickled. He hadn’t felt such fear since his childhood, when he first came before Beyon’s father to pledge his service. Funny how so trivial a thing could make him sweat. The stakes had grown. For some reason an image of Lapella swam before his eyes, but he shook her away.
At the far end of the table, Master Herran pulled back his cowl and looked at the high mage. Eyul, on Herran’s right, also uncovered his head. The sun had burned him to a dark oak. He met Tuvaini’s stare, but nothing passed between them.
Why had Eyul not come to him first? Tuvaini’s hand tightened on the scroll beneath his robe.
“We are met.” Govnan parted his hands. “Emperor Beyon, your council is before you.”
Beyon rose from his throne and clasped his hands behind him. Tuvaini watched him: a powerfully built man in the prime of life, with a bearing the Cerani called “the look of eagles.” Every inch the dynamic emperor.
“How stands my empire?”
“It stands strong, Emperor.” Govnan gave the traditional answer. And Cerana did stand strong; Tuvaini knew of no other empire so great, no people on the face of the world more blessed with wealth. But like the emperor, the empire’s outward strength could be deceptive.
“Strong?” Beyon’s gaze swept the council. “The empire is attacked from within. An invisible worm gnaws at our very heart. My own brother has been slain within these self-same walls that protect us all.”
Tuvaini suppressed a smile. All your brothers were slain within these walls, Majesty. Sarmin merely balances an old account.
“My brother is dead,” Beyon strode to the table and circled it as he spoke, “and I will have the author of his murder face justice. I will have justice, and if the lands of Cerana must be sliced open from belly to throat before it is found… then so be it. An evil grows among us, and it must be cut out.”
Beyon stopped at the eastern end of the council table and rested one hand upon the shoulder of the emperor’s Knife. Eyul made no move, but his gaze fell on Govnan with a dark intensity.
Tuvaini wet his lips. His mouth felt dry, and tasted sour.
The words he had to speak built behind his teeth. He felt sick with them. He could swallow them down, hold his peace, and let the moment pass. He could live his life in the quiet luxury of his office, loyal, with honour. He could take his frustrations to Lapella, all that bitterness, and the hollow, aching certainty that there must be more for him—he could take it all to her, and she would bear it all.
“We have an enemy who works against us,” Beyon said, “a secret foe who poisons all our efforts. Someone who seeks to wound us on every level. Govnan and his mages fight a war that ranges from the vaults of the sky to the deepest caverns. Our enemy moves behind the fire and amid cold ocean depths. Master Herran’s assassins chase the foe’s agents in shadow. My own Knife has killed them before the fountain—the place my father named as the palace’s own heart.”
Beyon walked the length of the table to stand by Tuvaini.
“We have endured these attacks too long. It is time we struck back.” A hand upon Tuvaini’s shoulder. It had been an age since last the emperor touched him. “What say you, Lord High Vizier? Where must we strike?”
Tuvaini stood. One did not stand at council, and the guards beside the throne moved hands to swords, but the words he needed to say could not be spoken seated.
“We must strike close to home, my Emperor. Closer than any here would ever have wished.” The time to hold his peace had slipped away. In minutes and moments it had escaped him, beaten away by a pounding heart.
“The worm that has burrowed among us has been discovered.” Tuvaini raised his voice and found its power, and the men along the table watched him, some with surprise, some with concern, none able to look away. “The sickness must be cut out.”