He knew he’d overdone it once the morning came. Every part of his body weighed a tonne, and his head panged as if there was an incessant gong ringing in his skull. The glare coming from the window irked his pupils as he rose, and that alone took more out of him than he would’ve liked. But Jafar did not like very many things, especially not in the morning, and least of all the trip to the privy attached to every spiritache.
He staggered over to it, which wasn’t very far, in truth, but when he sat down, he was huffing and puffing as if he’d just been beaten in a bout with his brother when they were children. The seat was cold to his buttocks and solid as a stone face. Away with you, already, but it was never as easy as that.
“Lord Speaker,” called Jonus’ voice from outside Jafar’s chamber. He rang the calling bell politely, and went on: “Lord Speaker, the Minister of Tribute requests your attention at your earliest convenience, if it may please you.”
What does that pompous hog want now? “I am at the privy, Jonus. Tell him whatever it is, it can wait until the meeting.” The palace boy nodded and disappeared behind the curtain. “They grow more impatient by the hour,” Jafar murmured to himself before he returned to straining.
“He says it is an urgent matter, and that it cannot wait,” he said from outside the room.
Just as he thought of how to respond, he groaned, and the excrement began squeezing out of his arsehole.
“Lord Speaker, is everything in order? What shall I say to Dahn Dinari?”
After a last effort and a satisfying plop, Jafar could finally relax on the privy. “I’ll be a minute,” he said after a sigh of relief. “I’m still wearing my nightclothes.”
“Not to worry, Lord Speaker.”
Jafar slipped out of his nightclothes, donned a white tunic with goldthread lining, and slid on a pair of sandals, its straps gold threaded. His beard was an unkempt mess, but he styled it in such a way that it looked presentable. “Jonus,” he said, locking his Ministry bracelet in place. “Let him in.”
Almost instantly, the round figure of Kalus Dinari emerged through the curtain, his red robe rolling over the sides of his overflowing gut. He carried a bundle of scrolls with him, stamped with the signatory of the Dadanian Bank. His skin was dark and coarse, and his blubbery chins expanded and contracted in tandem with his breathing. The Red Toad was a most fitting epithet. “Lord Speaker, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Of course, my dahn. The Ministry must come before my meaningless, mundane necessities.”
“No doubt, no doubt. I must commend you, however. I hear Mohem is proving to be quite the wiz with a sword. Dreoclys Sunsabre reborn, some may say.”
“Yes, yes, some may say. Though let’s hope he does not grow hoofs.” They both chuckled. “Please, my dahn, to what do I owe the pleasure, so soon after sunrise?” Make it quick, fatty.
“Well, you see, Jafar, the issue is that it appears the Dadanian Bank has issued the quarterly term papers, and…they are not favourable.” Kalus stared at Jafar blankly, briefly tapping his fingers on his knuckles, before continuing. “As you may be aware, the Dadanian Bank often overlooks many of our dealings, and, as very generous they are, they may yet forgive part of our loans, but with the war won, and the troops returning home, they will be expecting reimbursement. I assure you; the Treasury does not possess the funds necessary to keep both the realm afloat and satisfy our debt with the Dadanian Bank. The effort in Valroc has proved more costly than our estimations prepared us for, and we’ve not profited nearly as much as we expected. Besides, there is still a great debt owed from the reign of the Dark King…”
“Why didn’t you bring this before the Ministry yesternight? And what does my father’s reign have to do with my brother’s war? He’s been dead for twenty years. The reports don’t mention any debt of the like. It is the early hours of the morning, my dahn. This matter could have been deferred for later.” The Treasurer seemed taken aback by his response. He shot Jafar a look that screamed: “How dare he question the urgency of this very clearly urgent matter that I must barge amidst his time in the privy, freshly awoken?”
“Jafar, with respect, the meeting was adjourned prematurely. I had no opportunity to speak on the matter. Dahn Gor was eager to inform the Ministry of the news from World’s End.” Jafar sensed hesitancy in the minister. His shoulders were pinned back, and his arms were tense as a bowstring. “It is also no secret amongst the noble kins that the Dark King was not as favoured as the books may have others believe. The sands do not forget. I must stress that the realm owes a copious sum to the Dadanian Bank. I cannot fathom a more urgent matter.”
“I am well aware of the distaste surrounding my father’s actions but do not forget who placed you upon your Seat, Kalus. Memories of the past may erode just as easily when the stream of the present flows so rapidly.” The plump man had the right of it, but he wasn’t going to permit the soiling of the Zhargari name to go unpunished. He squirmed, struggling to meet Jafar’s eyes, and said nothing. “It is known that the Dark King brought opportunity for many, no less for you and your kin. Your father became the first head banker who fell outside of direct Dadanian descent, if I’m not mistaken, and now that position falls to you. Coincidence never fails to impress.” Kalus gave an awkward smile as if hoping Jafar had finished his beratement. “It is as the saying goes, ‘Dark deeds for some, wealthy winds for others.’”
“And we are ever grateful for that, we truly are. Please, do not doubt our loyalty.” He clicked his fingers as he spoke, and his sucking of gums was not lost on Jafar.
“Kalus, be frank with me,” Jafar began, coldly. “The news you bring before me seems a matter best suited for the tools of the Treasury to deal with. Coincidentally, you are the Minister of Tribute, the head of said institution.” Kalus nodded with immediacy. “It is the Minister of Tribute’s role to oversee, revise and approve all payments, transactions, innings and outgoings that may concern His Valour and the realm. Do I falter in my knowledge?” He shook his head before Jafar had even finished speaking. “Good. So, what exactly is it that you are asking of me? If you are not up to the task, there are a dozen others of your kin that would jump at a vacant Seat in the Ministry. All you have proved is that the realm is in grave arrears with Obria’s and Tagaldir’s wealthiest, most powerful bank due to your absolute incompetency and that you have yet to devise a rescue scheme from possible calamity.” Once again, the Treasurer had nothing to say. “Whatever authorisation that you require from me, consider it granted. You will put this matter to rights, Kalus. At once.”
“Jafar, I have the quarterly papers here, if you wish to see them. Perhaps we could discuss certain cost cuts or rearrangements.” He fumbled with the papers, trying to undo one of the scrolls.
“Save your troubles, Kalus. I’ve heard enough. I do not wish to see the papers. See that you bring a solution before the Ministry if you wish to keep your Seat, and His Valour’s favour, at that.”
“This matter cannot be solved on such short notice. I must needs a fortnight. A week, at the very least.”
“You ‘must needs’?Dahn Kalus Dinari,you must needs carry out your role as the Treasurer of His Valour’s realm, a task that has eluded you for some time, it seems. Believe me when I say, I have given you a vastly more generous time frame than my kind brother would ever fathom. See that it is done by the time the Ministry reconvenes.” The Treasurer bowed, albeit reluctantly, and strutted away into the corridor with haste.
As Kalus left, dread clawed at Jafar. How long would they be bound to his father’s sins? Twenty years on and still the debt loomed over him. For life. Jafar thought back to when he was holding his wife’s hand before the cleric, and the moment he proclaimed them as one flesh: “Jafar and Missetta Jasper.” From that moment on he was a Zhargari by blood only, not by law, but now he was the Lord Speaker, and leading the Ministry of Advice in the Khah’s absence.Not a decision in the realm was made where his input was not held a paramount consideration. Lies we tell ourselves.
“Lord Speaker,” Jonus called again, this time peering his head through the curtain. “Pardon the disruption, but the Khanum requests your presence in the Sand Hall. The daily pleads have been let into the palace.”
“So soon?”
“It appears so. There is greater demand than usual.”
“Very well.” Jafar followed his room boy into the hallway. It was in moments like these that Jafar questioned the appropriateness of the number of cups consumed the night prior. Liquor is the house of many demons, his father used to say, in his days of youth and glory, but when his hairs greyed, so did his morals, and by the time he was bound to his wheeling chair not a night went by where he couldn’t be found deep in his cups. Jafar tried to heed no mind to it, but, indeed, he spoke for the Khah, a Khah whose father had outlawed the very thing. He couldn’t afford to be the target of such ridicule. He licked his lips as he walked in thought.
All palace passageways eventually lead to the atrium. Five levels of limestone walls and sandstone floors, with doorways aplenty, many of their destinations unknown to Jafar. Its walls were littered with candle holders, but only to be used in the night. The glass dome ceiling showered the atrium in abundant sunlight during the day. The Sand Hall was its own creature, however. The floor was not much of a floor at all. It was really one big sand pit—he’d be swept up and spit into the ocean if the Winds could hear him now—save for the crude sandstone altar which doubled as a dais when the Khah held his court. Jafar hated how the grains of sand chafed his toes every time he approached the dais, but he could not argue against its historic importance. It had stood long before the Alcazar was even a mere sandstone hut; when Hadryad the Liberator had established his bastion in the bay near five centuries ago. It had been the home of the ancient Lords of the Wind who once ruled these very sands, or so it was held in the common lore.
There was a great rowdiness coming from the hall. A mesh of chatters, but hardly any jolly ones. As he descended the stairs, he counted forty-three commoners queuing for an audience with the Khanum, though he could only see those within the Sand Hall. The line faded outside of the door. Ten members of the Blessed Immortal were hard at work fending off those trying to feed in through the gaps. Jafar struggled to remember a time when he’d seen that many people crammed into the throne room, except perhaps the royal wedding, or his father’s funeral. He took off his sandals at the last landing, his feet pressing cold against the stone stairs. Ahmed, the royal announcer, sprung to his feet at the sight of Jafar. He was about to announce his arrival, but Jafar was not one for theatrics. Ahmed was cognizant of such as soon as Jafar signalled with his hand to sit back down. He proceeded to squeeze through the crowd of people. Some were not so eager to let him pass, but his garb was stately enough that they presumed him to be a man of high standing. I am just the Lord Speaker, no need to gawk, please.
Cassadanna sat on the Khanum’s throne beside the Seat of Liberation, Sur Joff and Sur Borras standing proud side by side, with Princess Nasiriya sitting on the armrest as she read a book near as big as herself, her ginger locks curling over her caramel skin.
It was just a chair, the Seat of Liberation. A wooden chair, and not a very ornate one, at that, though with a comfortable cushion, but no more than a craftsman’s work with the Zhargari crest carved on its backrest. Yet, perhaps, there had never been a chair more coveted in all the Four Faces.
A man was standing before the dais, pleading to the Khanum. He wore a beige long shirt, a water skin strung from shoulder to hip, and a worn scarf that at one time might have been orange, but any man of status would’ve said it to be grey.
“…and it is a great tragedy about your daughter, good man,” said the Khanum. Jafar was only just able to overhear the tail end of the Khanum’s response. “I cannot imagine how I would cope if my little dahlia blossom were to be bedridden.” She rubbed the Princess’s head and kissed her on the head as she continued to read. “But the horse shortage is realm-wide, and we cannot provide you any replacements…” The Khanum was caught off-guard the moment their eyes locked. The feeling was mutual; any sight of her always sent a slight jolt through his body, but, no. He was a better man than that. He’d abandoned those muddied waters yesterday, with no mind for return…despite how vaguely he remembered it.
“Your Glamour, if it may please you, I cannot support my family without breeding any more horses. My daughter is very ill, and my wife is due another babe soon. If I cannot breed my horses, I—”
“What seems to be the problem here?” Jafar interjected.
“Lord Speaker,” said the common Gorhadi, giving an almost exaggerated bow. “I was telling Her Glamour of when my horses were taken off for the war. Of course, it was a great honour, but I was promised I’d be rewarded with a better pair in the future. Lord Speaker, I cannot feed my family if I cannot breed any horses.”
“That seems reasonable. A horse breeder cannot breed without his horses,” Jafar replied as he climbed the dais, and sat his bottom on the Seat of Liberation. Everything seemed so insignificant from the height of the throne. The atrium seemed no larger than a bird’s cage, and all the layfolk appeared no more than kernels ripe for pecking. Ah, but I do not have my brother’s beak.Such luxuries had not been afforded to him in this lifetime. “Her Glamour speaks the truth, good man. Gorhad has been experiencing a shortage of horses since before the reign of the Dark King. Withal, it is perhaps this very reason that we require more labourers of your trade. At which rate can you breed your horses?”
“That would depend on the breed of the horse, Lord Speaker. The mean time for foaling can range from eleven to twelve months.”
“Well then, to expedite the process you would just need a greater number of horses, am I correct in my understanding?”
“Yes, Lord Speaker. Truer words were never spoken.”
“You are just in luck, then, good man. Once the troops return, we’ll need even more horses, given the likely equine casualties from the war. We may provide eight horses for your business, four mares, two Obrian-bred destriers and another two stallions of any breed of your choosing. And, in exchange, you will give your services only to the Khah and his armies for the coming lustrum at a discounted price.”
“My winds—Thank you, Lord Speaker.” The man fell to his knees, cupping his hands together, shaking uncontrollably. “You have saved my daughter, my family! I am forever in your debt.”
“Lord Speaker, we do not have the funds,” whispered Cassadana, forcing the words through her teeth.
“Sur Joff, take this man to the palace stables and see that he walks away with at least four horses today. He may return another day for the rest of his stock,” he said, paying no attention to the Khanum’s words.
“Lord Speaker, the Khah’s armies will have the best horses in all the Four Faces. I assure you!” Tears welled up in the common man’s eyes, his whole body shaking as he tried to stand.
“You entered this room a man in distress, and you walk out a hero to your family and the realm. Please, do take your leave so we may aid others bearing similar plights as yourself.” The common man nodded in the absence of words and exited the Sand Hall with a smile from lobe to lobe.
“Bring forth the next plea, Sur Borras—”
“Wait!” called Cassadana. “Jafar, where is your judgement? What you have just done is utterly unprecedented.”
Is this where you draw the line on precedence, Cas? A thousand flashes of their flesh intertwining flooded his conscience—of her caring words.
“How long before he goes spreading the word that the Lord Speaker is gratuitously handing out horses to all layfolk with a tale of woe?” she continued. “We will feel the repercussions soon enough, Jafar, and I’m not so certain the Khah would approve of this decision.”
There are a great many things the Khah would not approve of. “That is true, Your Glamour, we cannot know for certain if His Valour would be of the same mind, but until such a time as when my brother sits his throne again, my word is as good as his.”
“But Jafar, do you not understand that—”
“—I have just granted a common man the rights to eight horses from the Khah’s stables? Yes, Your Glamour, I am well aware. This is an exception. The realm is in need of horses, particularly the Crown, and he happened to be in need of coin to save his family, in addition to being wronged by the royal army in their departure for Valroc. Need I remind you of Gorhadi law and the layfolk’s right to restitution of deprived property? With respect, Your Glamour, an opportunity to benefit the Khah, and the realm, arose, in addition to righting a wrong, and I took it.”
The Khanum scoffed. “If that is how you see it, Jafar, then I cannot question your reasoning any further.”
“You may now bring forth the next plea, Sur Borras,” said Jafar, wishing to hear no more of her bickering. As he sat in the chair, he heard noises coming from the upper level. Someone was calling his name, or at least that is what it sounded like.
“Jafar.” The voice was quiet, and it barely pierced through the ruckus festering outside the gates. Jafar glanced upward and instantly saw a helmet with two little wings peering over the railing of the first floor. It was Sur Waltur Karabas, Master of Letters. He beckoned the Lord Speaker to come up to him with unsteady immediacy, a trait Jafar seldom saw in men of Waltur’s station. He praised him for it.
“Ca…hnum…Your Glamour, please see to the rest of the pleas. Sur Waltur has requested my…I am needed elsewhere.” Collect yourself, Jafar! Not in front of the layfolk. Their tongues are looser than the women in Magdala’s Ramp.
“I will hear their pleas, Lord Speaker, and perhaps try to keep the Crown’s pockets in good health, too.” She sneered at him bitterly. Winds, she is a witch, through and through. He fought off the urge not to fire a riposte. He ground his teeth instead and turned away to climb the stairs.
“What is it, Waltur? The Khah’s court is in session.”
“Good morrow to you as well, Jafar.” His old friend paused. “I see you’ve been enjoying the stuff I had smuggled inside. The Lord Speaker is only irritable the morning after a long night.”
“Waltur, as much as I’d like to converse, I must sit and listen to the pleas of the people.”
“Yes, yes. You talk with the Khah’s tongue but may choke on your own…or something of the sort. In any case, the shipment arrived from the Tagaldiri just before sunrise. Exactly as requested, perhaps even a touch shinier than expected.”
“So soon?” Such a prompt delivery seemed suspicious, especially given that King Yussuf had no doubt rubbed his hands all over it in the process, most definitely after using the privy.
“It came stashed away in a purple ship under sacks of silk. Minister Askul oversaw the acceptance and wrote the delivery report. He was there before I arrived. I was punctual, yet all was dealt with before I even showed my face. Thankfully, it makes no mention of the chest, so it is unlikely that anyone discovered the spirit of the delivery. I hope that to be the case, for both our sakes.” Waltur finished with a slight chuckle, but Jafar barely paid his sarcasm any attention. His mind steered him in the direction of the sneaky insect.
The Prying Mantis, once again, poking his claws in places where they are not welcome… “Regardless, this is excellent news, Waltur.”
“Do you wish to inspect it?”
“I would, but I must needs see to the layfolk and their pleas.”
“It won’t take long, Jafar. My office is but a few paces away.” His presence was required in the Sand Hall, there was no escaping that. Yet, curiosity got the better of him.
“A peek. No more.” A pleased grin broke from Waltur’s lips.
His office was as he remembered it, a mesh of papers and scrolls with no discernible method of organisation. The chest was the size of a medium-sized platter and rested on the giant walnut table at the back of the room. Waltur flicked the latch open and lifted the top off to reveal its contents. The rock was black as jet, with a jagged, sharpened tip and riddled with faint flickers of purple light swirling along its numerous edges. “How can a mere stone be so pleasing to the eye? It’s almost a shame it’s going to that man-giant they’re calling a dahn.” Waltur flicked the chest shut with a thud and a sigh.
“See that transit is arranged immediately. Ensure the person assigned is aware of the risks. The road ahead is long and troubling.”
“Ah, yes. Usually, given the size and value of the item, I would have arranged an armed escort, but that would raise too much alarm, especially in the smalltowns of any large city or fortress. I thought it best to send it via Winghorse. I have the perfect candidate. He is more capable than many, has delivered over a hundred messages in his two years of service, and is perhaps the fastest rider to have ever served the Winghorses. Mandar Phonin would make a cavalryman of him, no doubt.”
“Waltur, you are one of the few people I trust in this rotten palace. I hope you do not misplace my confidence in choosing against an escort. Tell me, who is this prodigy of yours?”
“Samin Chapar. A young lad from the smalltowns of Jaidon. He does not come from noble kin nor even lesser kin, but I assure you, he is the most dutiful worker I have under my purview.”
“I would like to meet this…Samin Chapar. Have him come by the assembly room after nightfall. The Ministry should have adjourned by then. Now, if you will excuse me, Waltur, I must see to my duties. The Khah’s word is silent in my absence. Winds know the Khanum’s dealings with the pleas. Goodwind, Waltur.”
Waltur nodded in response and put out his hand for a parting handshake, but Jafar pulled him in for a firm embrace. The two war buddies held each other for a moment, just as they had after the Breaking of the Harssad all those years ago.
He made his way back down the atrium and to the throne room. His spiritache had mostly passed, now, but a little tinge still lingered in the back of his head.
The throne room was empty, safe for the Khanum, Princess Nasiriya was still enveloped in her book, and Prince Maxirus sat on her lap, his stringy orange hair curling like sparks around his tan face. Cassadana spoke in hush tones to him, but her words seemed hoarse and abrupt, her finger firmly pointing at the little prince. A mother lecturing her son. The instant she caught wind of Jafar’s presence, she straightened her posture and prodded Maxi to leave her lap. “Where are all the subjects?” he said, withstanding the urge to mention her reaction.
“I sent them away. I’d had enough for the day,” Cassadana said, flattening the creases the prince had left on her dress. “Each new plea asked for more than the last. They spoke of a great horse-breeder whose trade had been saved, and how the Crown was willing to save them all from their hungry bellies and empty pockets!” A disturbing grin spread over her lips, her face dominated by an expression of hysterics. “Are you content with what you’ve accomplished? Is this the most beneficial result for the Khah and his estate? I pray, tell me, Lord Speaker, would my husband have spoken those same words as you?” Jafar could not bear looking at her for a moment longer. He shifted his gaze to the prince, who also stared at him with scrutinous eyes. Already such a scornful gaze, and a creature of six years, at that! Truly his father’s son.
“In truth, probably not.” There wasn’t a single combination of words that could anger the Khanum further than the one he chose, Jafar knew. “But they were the ones uttered, Your Glamour, and I cannot change the past. Besides, words are null without the deeds that accompany them, and the Crown may yet change its mind” Jafar set his eyes once again on Cassadana, their gazes interlocked in sparking friction. “Now that all the pleas have been answered to, with Your Glamour’s leave, of course, I must attend the assembly in the Ministry, lest the ministers drive the realm further into ruin.”
“Do as you please, Lord Speaker,” she replied, looking away. “I will not stand in the way of your duties, but do not forget it is the head that steers the body.” It was then when the little prince gave a scoff worthy of a Seat in the Ministry. Jafar looked at Cassadana in bewilderment, but she did not return the gaze. Astonished, Jafar withdrew from the throne room.
That amalgam of a runt, what does he know? Then it came to him. The shuffling outside Cassadana’s chambers in the early hours. No. It must have been a rat, or a cat, surely not the prince. He must’ve coughed or withheld a sneeze, that’s all. A boy of his age does not know how to scoff. Even if he did, there would be nothing to scoff at. For all he knew, his mother was a loyal wife, and his uncle a dutiful deputy.
“My lord.” Jafar jumped.
“Minister, please! You cannot sneak up on people in such a manner. Daggers draw easier than quills.”
“Sorry,” said the minister. “Did you think on the barge, my lord?”
Right, the barge. “Yes, Askul I’ve given it much thought, but I still cannot see its importance.”
“That is a shame, my lord.” Askul gave Jafar a brief look and scuttled ahead to the assembly room.
Something is not right with that man, Jafar thought. Every interaction they shared further entrenched that feeling in him.
The assembly room was well-lit during the day. The great windowpanes allowed abundant light to feed through into the room. It glistened on the dark table like sugar drizzled over a cocoa pastry. Dahn Gor of Manasya, the Dahn of the Lutes, and Hon. Karabas were already sitting around the table when Jafar entered, and Askul was making his way over to his seat. Eager tigers. The ministers were usually punctual, but never earlier than him. “Good morrow, gentlemen. I see that we are keen to proceed with today’s conference.”
Coincidently, the Lord Justice stomped into the assembly room. “Yes, indeed, very keen,” he said, finding his seat, “seeing as last night’s assembly was truncated right at a critical moment.”
“Very well,” replied Jafar, biting his lip in vexation. “We await only the Crown’s treasurer, then.” Moments of silence passed. Jafar commanded the cupbearer to pour an herbal drink to each of the ministers. Only Hon. Karabas and Jafar indulged, however. “Say, does anybody know if Kalus will be joining us?” Nobody responded. “Dahn Gor?”
“…He rides for Dadan, Lord Speaker. Family matters, he said, when I briefly spoke to him at the gates.”
Only speaks when spoken to. Halfwit islander. “Ah, yes. Family takes primacy over the realm’s fate. It is known.” All the ministers’ breathing amplified in the silence that followed.
“As the first order, I would like to put to rights the news from Ferte, if it may please the Lord Speaker,” said Lord Justice Denninger.
“They were murdered; there’s no reason to dwell on it any longer. The real mystery is who would want them dead? The Calderas have rarely meddled in Obrian politics, always keeping to themselves. Their only true enemy is the Amaruq tribe in Tunaq, but that conflict has long been dormant,” added Dahn Gor of Manasya.
“The boy, certainly. Seventh in the line of succession, what better way to hurry along the inheritance,” spoke Dahn Karrabas, chuckling to himself.
“Those are serious allegations, Borras. I’m eager to hear your grounds.” A booming smile emerged from the chins of the Lord Justice. He seemed a plump baby, anxiously awaiting the teat.
“It was in poor taste, I admit, but I speak my mind, nothing more.” Dahn Karrabas looked away and took a sip from his cup.
“Dantel possesses a disturbing mind and even grosser motives. Believe me, I found myself on the receiving end of many of his ploys during our exile,” said Jafar, picturing the boy’s evil deeds from their time in Tagaldir. “That boy you accuse, Hon. Karrabas, would gut his kittens and craft jewellery with their nails and bones. Only the now-Chancellor, Hugo Teriano, would applaud his morbid artistic skill.” He was flustered at the mere thought.
“Jafar, please, as unsettling as that may be, he is a man grown now. What he did as a child is of no concern to us. Now that you mention it, though, the Chancellor, his message was rather detached—”
“Ministers, this matter does not require our attention. We are tasked with ensuring the realm is kept in order, not to investigate the innards of another man’s castle. I suggest we reply with our condolences and put the late Signor’s passing behind us,” said Bashir, the Minister of Safeguard.
“Do you not realise that as the only other monarch in the continent, whoever seats the Wrathrone should be monitored closely?” replied Dahn Gor of Manasya.
“The barge.” The room fell silent to the words from the Tagaldiri.
“Yes, Askul, we know the barge sank, but boats rarely sink without an explanation,” said Jafar, cutting the soundless tension in the room.
“The keel. Someone should check the keel. It is a possible accident. No further investigation would be required.”
“I’m sure they will have checked the keel, my dahn, especially considering if it is a flaw in the design,” said Jafar.
“We should send a diplomatic representative, Lord Speaker, the Calderas have remained in the shadows for too long.” Jafar had never seen Gor be so determined in his speech before. “They must bend the knee, as well. Once the Khah returns from the northlands of the Roc, he will set his sights on World’s End.”
“Proactiveness such as that should be rewarded, my dahn, and who better suited to reach an accord than our very Minister of Treaties? I’m sure his expertise will serve the realm quite well.” Gor was not pleased with Jafar’s suggestion, but he would learn to live with it.
“Surely, you say this in jest, Lord Speaker. The realm needs the Minister of Treaties within close proximity of the capital, to ensure that foreign relations are well communicated to the Ministry and the Crown.”
Oh, yes, there’s the vexed look I was searching for. “You speak true, my dahn, but remember that treaties require attention on both sides of the agreement. I predict that the Khah would be ever grateful if an accord was agreed to with the new Signor of the Lakes without a single drop of blood being spilt.” Gor searched the table for views of support, but all he found were glances of concern and dissociation.
“If there are any qualms or queries, voice them now. I open this suggestion to the table.” As expected, the room remained deathly quiet. “It is decided then, Dahn Gor of Manasya will embark on a diplomatic expedition to World’s End and come to an agreement with this Chancellor…and the new Signor of the Lakes.”
As the ministers stared at each other in silence, Jonus appeared at the doorway. “Lord Speaker, forgive my intrusion. There is a Winghorse here to see you. Mr Samin Chapar.”
“Perfect, Jonus, tell him I’ll only be a moment. It seems this meeting has come to its natural end.”
The Ministry adjourned in that instant, and each member disappeared quicker than the last, leaving Jafar alone in the assembly room. “Please, enter, Samin. I’ve heard extraordinary things about your work.”
The Prelude
End
© Jaime Abad 2025