Chapter Seven

From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.

Yara

She relished striding the halls of the palace. The people she passed were at her disposal, quite literally, when she deemed it necessary. And while telling a lowly servant what to do had lost its excitement over the years, enforcing her will on an aristocrat was still nothing less than euphoric. The only hesitation she had was a nagging doubt that the thrill would diminish if she partook of it too often. Therefore, she did it just frequently enough to maintain the intoxication.

The workers and various palace attendants had learned their lesson. The entire path she tread from her office to the council room was startingly devoid of life, a testament to her reputation. The circumstances gave her an opportunity to view the multitude of tapestries covering the gray stone walls. The fabric needed to weave a single tapestry required much more coin than most citizens of the nation could accumulate in a year. And Vinredor was the richest nation in the world, its population thriving. The royal family had commissioned the tapestries for hundreds of years, and the current divine king, Oslian had not only continued the tradition, but indeed increased the rate of production. Each work of art depicted the heroics of the Vinredorian royal family, resplendent with the royal shades of violet and crimson. The largest, most brightly colored, newest works hung in the highest traffic areas. They also were the ones that featured Oslian himself.

As she turned the last corner, the arched doorway to the council chamber entered her field of vision, forty steps down the hallway. She believed she could perceive a slight adjustment in the stance of the guards, their posture straightening. She strode past them without acknowledging their presence.

Yara took her seat to the left of the still unoccupied throne. The chair on the throne’s right was for the royal herbalist, Esther, also yet to arrive. Across from Yara were three other advisors. Iligor was an elderly man who had been on the council longer than Yara, but had fallen out of favor with Oslian over the past decade. The other two were relative newcomers. Rovellia, a plain woman with few ideas who Yara believed to be half her age, and Martin, a dour-looking middle-aged man who Yara would admit made clever suggestions periodically.

Yara loathed them, one and all. They in turn, feared her, she believed. A reasonable response by her estimation.

None of her rivals had locked eyes with her yet. Another action that spoke volumes to Yara. Fine that they do not. Hiding from me tells me much, and none of it favorable for those three. Oslian could do better. He keeps them for political reasons. I do hope they realize that is why they are allowed to sit here.

“Rise for His Excellency,” a royal life defender announced. Even Yara quickly stood. Through the doorway, Oslian Vinredor, Divine King of the nation of Vinredor. His immaculately crafted tunic of dark purple with crimson lining hung loose on his shoulders. The elderly man had recently passed into his ninth decade of life, but still the pommel of his iron sword, Demonsbane, protruded from his sword belt. He held his head high as he walked to his throne, looked over his advisors, and sat.

“Esther will not be joining us,” he said. “She has an assignment which requires her full attention. I trust her absence will be covered sufficiently by those present. On to the matters of the day.”

“Your Excellency,” Iligor began, “As you instructed, I have investigated a variety of avenues for new revenue. It is my belief that an increase in the tariffs on goods originating from the southern islands will provide much of what is required for your project. There is a precedent for-”

Oslian slammed his fist on one golden arm of the throne. “There will be no new taxation.” He coughed, opened his mouth to speak, and coughed a second time. “Did I not make that abundantly clear in our last session?”

Yara smiled inwardly. She could sense Iligor’s unease, the hesitation as his desire to contradict Oslian warred against his better judgement. He chose the path she had hoped he would forsake. “Yes, Your Excellency. Uh… other options have been brought to my attention as well, though I fear they are inadequate to the task.”

“We appreciate your honesty, Iligor,” Oslian said behind heavily lidded eyes. “Where would this council be without your honesty? Now, who here has managed to complete the task they were assigned?”

Yara was curious as to what the other councilmembers may have unearthed. Rovellia shifted uneasily in her seat, eyes firmly planted on the tabletop. Martin appeared unperturbed, and finally locked eyes with Yara. Feeling challenged, she decided to speak.

“My inquires into the wastefulness of the university have proven fruitful,” she began. “Your Excellency, as you know, the university relies completely on your treasury for funding. My investigation was launched to ascertain to what extent is that investment being returned to us. The answer is, I am afraid, that the return is essentially nonexistent.”

Oslian broke into a fit of coughing, the effort of which left evidence of tears in his eyes. “Explain, Yara,” he said after regaining his composure.

“I met directly with the deans of each major department at the university, as well as the university chancellor. The funding received by the university has been increased nearly each year. But what it is being spent on? An herbalism department whose advancements are nothing in comparison to Esther’s work. A history department whose scholars’ recently published work has covered such illuminating ground as the history of a distant fishing village and records of the journals of former prisoners. Other departments include theoretical mathematics, which after more than two decades of existence, has yet to provide a single tangible application, economics which has given our economy the useful benefit of hindsight, and a department which refers to itself as ‘archaeology’ and consists of a single professor who is clearly senile.”

Yara was now standing, enjoying the perspective from above her rivals. “Your Excellency, I do not exaggerate when I say that the university staff believe themselves beyond your jurisdiction. They pursue their own interests and expect you to pay them handsomely for the honor. If their work is as essential as they clearly believe I say we have them prove it by acquiring their own funding.”

“What is the current budget of the university?” Oslian asked.

“Slightly less than two million jewels each year,” Yara replied.

Oslian paused to moisten his lips. He breathed out in a veiled effort to repress a cough. “That is a far greater sum of money than I was aware of.” The elderly man adjusted himself on his throne. It appeared as though he thought to stand, then made the assessment that he would remain seated. “Yara, I thank you for bringing this to my attention. I have been preoccupied with… other issues. The state of my beloved university pains me. It was a gift I gave to this nation, my intention being to have the university, in part with the royal library, bring a much-needed increase in the level of education and knowledge of the populous. It appears that I am the one who has learned from this venture. Without the guiding hand of an enlightened leader, an institution will fail to reach its potential, and indeed, fall back to that most basic of human desires- pride. I know the disposition of the type of person who becomes a professor. I have had interactions with them for many years, longer than most people have been on this earth. They claim to seek knowledge, when in reality, they wish to convince others that their ideas are correct. The effect of a lack of oversight is plain to us all. There will be a temporary closure of the university, until a time in which I declare. I will restructure the entire institution, after my new palace has been completed. In that endeavor, the money will not be wasted.”

He smiled, then laughed briefly before another coughing fit began. When it subsided, he looked at Yara. “Well done, my dear.” He looked at Rovellia. “What have your investigations yielded, Rovellia?”

The young woman was visibly uncomfortable. The image warmed Yara’s heart. “My investigations are, at the moment, yet to be completed, Your Excellency.”

A triumph.

Last to share his findings was Martin. Instead of being called upon, he preempted the divine king. “Your Excellency,” he said. “While I have not located a sole source of revenue equal to 2,000,000 jewels a year, I have found money from a similarly unlikely source.”

Martin had Oslian’s attention. Yara’s as well. The complete lack of foresight into what Martin spoke of making her uneasy for the first time that day. “Waste is, alas, a more common theme than any of us would like. Your Excellency, I made an inquiry into the disbursement of funds for your military. A sum of 400,000 jewels is assigned to improving the weaponry. However, even the generals themselves admit that no grand advancement has been made in years. Much of this money is being paid to Simon Howswilder. A brilliant man, no one doubts. His past work has done much to ensure your military has the equipment it deserves. Unfortunately, those advancements are in the distant past. Not only has he not delivered new equipment to the military in more than half a decade, he no longer pursues those avenues. He is currently obsessed with rocks which he calls ‘dawnstones.’ They produce a small quantity of light and heat. He has been studying them for years. Your military has gained nothing from this diversion.”

The man paused to let his words sink in. Yara could not help herself from wondering where he would go next. And how does he know all this? My people watch him, and he rarely so much as leaves his home. He has agents, but who? “More dismally,” he continued “is the fact that the military leadership has grown fat and indolent. When was the last engagement they were involved in? It has been decades. They likely feel there are no threats, and therefore relax. Do any of us believe that our neighbors to the east sit idly, or that the island populations would not revolt again if they sensed weakness? Even more concerning, Sunset’s merchants grow wealthier each day, yet they want more. And what song is constantly being played into their ears? That of the independence of Withigan. There are men and women there whose wealth dwarves that of any person in our nation, with the exception of our divine king.”

Yara looked at Oslian. His expression had shifted over the course of Martin’s speech. Anger had changed to determination. He appeared stronger, younger than he had just minutes before, as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Yara believed she was witness to the final step toward a decision that she knew Oslian had been contemplating for a long, long time.

“I suggest,” Martin continued “that we sever our deal with Simon Howswilder, who no longer has any interest in the defense of this nation. Furthermore, the salaries commanded by your military’s leadership are vast. Yet, what have they done to earn those rewards? I think Your Excellency would be wise to deal directly with the rot in the fabric of our nation’s defense.”

Oslian had raised himself to a near-standing position. His veined hands gripped the sides of his throne. “Your words have shown the truth of things, Martin. All around me, the will of the people is failing me. A complacency has set in. I have given this nation too much. They have forgotten what life was like before the reign of Oslian Vinredor. My fear now, is that our enemies have taken account of this.”

Her thunder had been stolen. Her efforts would be an afterthought, and the future ramification of this could see her rival granted the title she knew should be given to her. That I alone have earned. Grand Advisor. Though… there was a piece of information she had come across that may shift her ruler’s attention. As she was about to speak, a new presence entered the council chamber. The royal herbalist, Esther. She swiftly approached Oslian and clandestinely handed him something. She closed his fist with her own hands.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Your Excellency,” she said as she sat down.

Oslian said nothing. Unsure of how this latest development had shifted his mood, Yara hesitated. Until, she looked at Martin. Full of himself. Manipulative. Furthering his agenda through the efforts of others. He will pay. She steadied herself. She knew she had one piece of information that would be of particular interest to the divine king.

“Your Excellency,” Yara said. “There was another intriguing detail I uncovered in my investigation.” All eyes turned to her, as she knew they would. “News of an old acquaintance of yours, who is said to have disappeared in a puff of smoke. The former professor of history, Woller Karuvian. He left the university two years ago, and no one has seen him since. He fled in the middle of the semester, with no witnesses to his flight. No one can say where he went, and he did not so much as tell his colleagues he was leaving.”

“What?” Esther said, a look of shock on her face. “Two years ago?”

Oslian’s hands had begun to shake. “He must be found,” was all he managed to get out.

A silence overtook the chamber. Confident just a moment before, Yara was unsure of what to say. She knew there was history between the Divine King, the Royal Herbalist, and Woller that went back more than forty years. But the nature of their relationship was a mystery to her. There is much here that I need to uncover.

After an excruciatingly long period of time, Oslian broke the silence. “Yara, you will discover where that man went. You will find him, and you will bring him to me. This council meeting has ended. Everyone out.”

What precisely have I stumbled upon here?