Fey'ted Thrones -II
The Hall was louder than he had heard it in recent memory, and for his kind that meant the span of several centuries. The Fey grunted, they wailed; they screamed noises too low and too high for the human ear to catch, but in truth all they were really doing was wasting time.
Nothing could be done.
He had said as much, several times, but as the leader of a Council of equals his voice had only limited strength. The model had worked for eons, but then the Fey had not been tested in as many, so perhaps a flaw in the method was not surprising.
Holding up one thin hand, Mystral Lomir quieted the assembled throng. By law and custom, all Fey gatherings were open for the low to the high and the great to the small, but few cared to attend. It was no surprise that Alhendra’s treachery brought the masses to the Gathering, nor that Pyulon had helped the young human in his attempt to secure power. Several of the Land Fey had been taking on the traits of humans for far too long, something the Council should have had a closer eye on for centuries.
He sighed as he waited for silence. Another scream would just add to the confusion, and though his feathered chest could produce a sound piercing enough to fell the mightiest Hulcon, he would prefer not to use it on his own brethren.
Lomir kept his beak snapped shut, rocking back and forth on both small legs and simply waited them out. As the last quieted he stepped forward again to the podium and raised his voice.
“I am no more a supporter of these actions than any of you,” he cast his gaze across the Hall, along benches over-filled with those of the Land Fey and across past the beating wings of the Sky. To his right, Water Fey bubbled in their viewing pool, and Fire Fey churned behind their protective bubble. All elements were represented; all were displeased but the traditions had been followed. The treaty had been honored.
He said as much, bringing a chorus of jeers from the crowd but he pressed on, determined to drive home the point.
“The human has been named traitor and no friend to the Fey as has his accomplice, Pyulon,” his voice carried authority easily, but without joy to speak the words. There was a rumble from those assembled; an approval.
To his left, a complement of mansals shifted in their seats; they did not like the scrutiny Pyulon’s treachery had cast on their House, but in truth it simply brought out what had been hidden in many Fey - the fear of their union with the Humans.
“But they did not act alone! Dirlat itself, from shore to spike, is bolstered by their supporters,” there was another rumble, subdued and uncertain. All knew that both Fey and Human had joined with Alhendra and his tame mansal, many from great Houses and with lineage reaching back to the Forming. Now, they were here to raise their discontent, to show the Fey could be roused out of its slumber when the time came but they did not realize that their awakening came too late.
“Alhandro erred. The words were provided to him by Pyulon, it is true, but he spoke them as Prince, as an instrument of the accord. They cannot be taken back, their impact cannot be lessened. His error granted Alhendra the right to seize both Silver and Gold as his own and though a traitor, his station prevents action and he has extended his protection to all those under his banner.”
Splash, burn, groan, buffet; the houses railed their displeasure but there was little to be done. Alhendra had manipulated the treaty for his own purposes, but in such a way that left little avenue for the Council to act.
A semblance of calm settled once again and Lomir glanced to the other Mystrals, who nodded. All expect Chubol, of course; the Wryn could be stubborn about the simplest of proposals and was not about to agree with the Council even on a matter of such importance.
He heaved a great sigh and continued; this would not be well received.
“Until further instruction, the Council has decreed that all Fey/Human relations are to be terminated, all contacts severed. With luck, young Alhendra will see the error of his ways – we will use every diplomatic avenue available to use in order to send a message to the supposed King of Gold and Silver, the boy who would seek to stand astride the worlds.”
The hall erupted as he expected and he stepped down, heart heavy. It was quite possible that this would mean the end of the compact, the end of a peace brokered as the race of Men rose and the Fey were driven back, a peace that had held for six hundred years.
Moving quickly ahead of the other members of the Council, Lomir found the Land Fey he sought and pulled the small Reptilor into a darkened corner.
“Slithus,” his voice was urgent, “I have need of your talents once again.” The mottled brown head nodded slowly in response.
“No questions. Same arrangement. I need leverage. I need advantage. I need Alhandro – free him for me and bring him here,” he spoke quickly; the others were coming and he couldn’t be seen with such a Fey in public, but the Reptilor remained motionless, slit eyes still and wide.
“Yes, by Silver! Here!” Slithus was one of the best, but such a thing was unheard of, even for a Prince of the compact. The realm of Fey was well-guarded and with good reason – humans would be too tempted here.
Lomir was taking a risk, he knew, but no other option presented itself. Pyulon had forced his hand; not unexpectedly, just earlier than he was anticipating. Alhandro was old enough that he would understand, old enough that he might be useful.
A brother betrayed could prove a potent ally.
- D
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