“Lothian was chosen by Ferrol,” Osla said, as if this self-evident proof made Imaly’s hypothetical inquiry moot.
Imaly watched for, but didn’t see, the same mindless devotion to tradition in the others’ eyes. Having hatched the plan together with Imaly, Volhoric was already converted. So it was Nanagal and Hermon she waited on. Neither spoke, each stabbing back at her with suspicious eyes.
“Ferrol didn’t act alone in picking Lothian,” she continued, “and perhaps we were the ones who failed our lord by not choosing a better challenger than Zephyron. But this isn’t about the past. It’s about the future. So will no one answer my simple, harmless question?” Imaly folded her arms and leaned back against the ornate tile wall.
“You’re speaking of treason,” Osla said.
“No, dear. I’m only asking a question. We are merely having a conversation. No one is suggesting we arm ourselves and storm the palace—that would be treason. I’m only asking for opinions and soliciting the combined wisdom of the Aquila. That’s why it was created, isn’t that so?”
“And yet we are meeting here and not in the Airenthenon, so don’t try to pretend you are just making harmless inquiries,” Osla accused.
Imaly bowed her head, conceding the point. “Be that as it may, I’ve still not received an answer.”
Nanagal stepped forward. “I suppose that would depend on who would replace him.” Unlike Imaly’s casual posture, which was carefully chosen to suggest confidence, his was stiff and straight.
“A valid point, but then let me ask this: What would Lothian need to do in order for you to prefer any Fhrey other than him?”
This prompted a series of smiles and near laughs.
Nanagal shrugged at the absurdity. “I don’t know. I suppose if he went insane and became incapable of reasoned thought.”
“So, you concede that under certain circumstances removal of the fane may be necessary? What if he threatened the very existence of the Fhrey as a people? Would you be willing to take steps to remove him in such a case?”
The smiles faded.
Nanagal looked to Volhoric. “Would insanity constitute a breaking of the covenant with Ferrol? In such a circumstance, wouldn’t our lord demand removal of the fane?”
Volhoric shook his head. “Going strictly by Ferrol’s Law, the fane can do whatever he desires, whether sane or not. Tradition alone—not Ferrol’s edict—demands that he work for the benefit of the Fhrey. I suppose it is possible he could summarily execute every single Fhrey if he chose to do so.” He raised a finger. “Likewise, however, only tradition demands that we obey him. Ferrol’s Law doesn’t explicitly require our obedience.”
Imaly pressed, “Given Lothian’s inability to effectively rule, do we let him continue, or is it our responsibility to see that a just and capable leader is in control? If left unchecked, Lothian could, indeed, exterminate our entire race. Do you think Ferrol wants that to happen? Should we not intervene?”
They looked to one another.
For what? Help? Support? Guidance?
In the past, Imaly had always appreciated how pliable the members of the Aquila were, but at that moment, she wished for a bit more backbone.
“I’m not sure,” Nanagal said. He looked around at the others. “Ferrol’s wishes aren’t explicitly clear, are they?”
“So, you’d ignore such behavior? A mad fane slaughtering all of us?” Imaly asked. “And wouldn’t that be the same as condoning such behavior? But being members of the Aquila, don’t you have a responsibility to the tribes you represent?”
“Well, I don’t—”
Volhoric stepped in, “In such a circumstance, I think it would be our duty to our Lord Ferrol to remove him.”
“Yes.” Nanagal reluctantly nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”
Imaly looked at Hermon.
“I have to agree with Nanagal,” he said.
Imaly thought, Of course you do. You always do.
Osla appeared deep in thought as she stared at her feet, hands clenched before her. “I agree, but . . . I submit that we are only speaking in hypotheticals. Lothian’s threat has not yet risen to the level Imaly has put forth. Incompetent he may be, but that has resulted in a stalemate between ourselves and the Rhune. I see no evidence that we are about to be overwhelmed by them at the present. There is no serious threat to our people as a whole. Besides, I don’t understand. How would we even . . .” She paused. “Is there a provision in the law for the Aquila to remove a fane from the throne?”
“No,” Volhoric said.
“Then how could we—”
“We would have to kill him,” Imaly said without hesitation.
Osla’s face dropped, her jaw dangling. “That would require breaking Ferrol’s Law.”
“Yes, it would,” Imaly agreed. “A small price to pay to save all of Erivan, I submit. We are the leaders of our tribes. We are the ones entrusted with the responsibility of protecting our civilization, and sometimes that burden requires more than just sitting in a lavish building and doing only what is safe.”
The echo of her words lingered for a moment, and then silence filled the tomb as they stared, horrified, at Imaly.
Gylindora had once told her that one of the secrets of crafting baskets was to know how far a reed would bend before it broke. The trick with a particularly stiff one was to soak it overnight, or even longer if necessary. This made it more flexible.
I’ve done enough for now, she thought.
“Well, this has been a good discussion, hasn’t it? And I concur with Osla. Times are not yet so dire, and as I said, all this has only been speculation. Nothing we need to concern ourselves with at the moment. It’s just a thought to ponder for another time that, Ferrol willing, may never come.” Imaly opened the door, letting the light of day in. “I want to thank each of you for coming.”
With a pair of ropes looped beneath the coffin, Vasek’s team lifted the casket and set it to one side of the gaping hole. Volhoric had denied Vasek access to the Estramnadon cemetery, but the forest just outside the city had served him well.
The box Vasek had put the mystic in was an actual coffin, a six-sided crate tapered from shoulders to ankles. While Lothian had ordered Suri to be taken to “The Hole”—a set of small cells under the Lion Corps’ barracks—it was the fane’s command to bury her that had given the Master of Secrets the idea to try something even more drastic. Her reported aversion to small spaces seemed like the best leverage and had the added benefit of avoiding physical damage, which always carried additional risk.
He’d picked a coffin that was a tight fit, leaving her no room to move. Constricting the Rhune in the smallest space possible would yield the greatest results. The sound and smell of dirt dropped on the lid, the loss of light bleeding in through the cracks, and the total silence of a grave was a mixture he felt certain would be perfect to convince her to talk.
Timing was key. Too little and the subject would still resist; too much and the Rhune might no longer possess the ability to communicate. His was a dangerous venture, for both the Rhune and for himself. Should he break or kill the fane’s prize, Vasek suspected Lothian might make him the next occupant of that crate.