Arc 6: Chapter 14: Audience
The lindwurm killed more than two hundred people that day. More than fifty knights died on the island, though I suspected more than a few of those would have survived were it not for Fen Harus’s wicked song. Most were bystanders, those lesser nobles, dignitaries, and their retinues who’d been caught on the stands when burning ichor rained over them.
It took less than ten minutes.
There were also reports from the city as well. Many of the sick and old had died in their beds, some even dropping from stopped hearts where they stood. Those numbers were still being counted in the hours after the event, and I suspected would continue to be tallied in the days to come. Whether the oradyn or the wyrm was responsible, none could say.
After the court gathered back in the Fulgurkeep, Fen Harus refused to speak much. He only told the gathered nobles and tourney knights who demanded answers that Ser Jocelyn was his people’s ward, and he must consult with his lady before offering any further council. Otherwise he remained still and silent, serene as a willow tree in winter.
We all knew what that must mean. Maerlys Tuvonsdotter wanted the Ironleaf alive, and her servant wasn’t permitted to say why. The wise hesitated to risk the displeasure of the mad princess of elvendom.
But not all were wise, and even some who might have been otherwise let their rage and grief speak for them. Many of the gathered nobles demanded Jocelyn be slain, his body dismembered and the pieces weighed down with iron and sunk to the bottom of the Riven. They demanded the Coloss be quarantined and sanctified by the clergy lest the blight spread. The Lady of House Ark was foremost among these voices, at least before her injuries left her unable to speak and the clericons took her.
She had many supporters, and the oradyn’s insistence that Jocelyn could not spread the Dragon’s Plague met many deaf ears. But the Emperor did not permit an execution, and the prisoner remained in a deep slumber within the bowels of the palace island, awaiting judgement. I’d been left injured and weakened, down two allies with Jocelyn in a dungeon and Karog badly wounded. The whole city was in uproar, with fear and confusion rampant.
And Yith’s deadline drew closer with every breath. The sun dipped low behind the anger of a building sea storm, turning the horizon black. When it rose again, Catrin would die.
What I’d set in motion couldn’t be stopped, but its chances of success became far slimmer.
The palace throne room had been set up for a feast. Long tables were set with dishware and sculpture between high columns hung with banners showing the sigils of every attendant House. Just like at Faisa Dance’s gala, Wil-O’ Wisps flitted about to provide their own strange music and ambient light. Living ivy with blooms shining with odlight spiraled each pillar, making the dour hall seem like some overgrown structure in the deep wilderness. Not a single alchemical light or mundane torch was in use. It had been decided that the tourney feast would celebrate the traditional aesthetics of Urn.
But no one sat at the tables, or enjoyed the fine wines and honeyed meads imported from every corner of the eastern world. More than a hundred lords and ladies, some clericons, and other high ranking officials of the Ardent Round stood and waited for their emperor’s lead.