Sir Malikel requires your presence because of your expertise with the Demon Riders, not because of any connection to Brancel. You are to observe the meeting and be prepared to
answer questions if called on.”
For a moment, he was selfishly relieved, though the attacks in question must have been bad if they warranted an emergency Council meeting. “I’ll be there.”
The clock had chimed half past nine a short while ago, so he didn’t have long. Tristam changed out of his plain tunic into more appropriate court finery—an embroidered silk tunic
with breeches and soft leather boots—and headed out the door.
The Council Room antechamber was a large room in its own right, lined with smooth black marble decorated with gold accents. A crowd had already gathered in anticipation of the meeting. Tristam
saw no sign of Malikel, but Kyra came through the door soon after he arrived. She wore a gown of wine-colored linen to accommodate the Council’s dress expectations, though she no doubt still
had at least one dagger strapped to her leg underneath. He knew she chose her dresses based on their sturdiness and how easily she could climb in them if needed. Her gaze drifted around the room,
not quite focusing on anything, and Tristam had to call her name twice to get her attention. That was almost unheard of. Kyra was nothing if not alert.
She raised tired eyes to him as he approached. “Ho, Tristam.”
“Are you all right?”
There was the slightest pause before she answered. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”
He might have questioned her further, but a herald announced the beginning of the meeting, and the crowd filed through the double doors. On the far side of the main room was a raised platform
where the full Council sat in two semicircular rows of tables. Observing benches lined the floor between the door and the Council seats, and Kyra and Tristam settled near the back with other
observers of low rank.
Willem called the meeting to order, and a scribe took the stage. “Two farms and the guesthouse of one manor were attacked in the predawn hours. Two deaths have been reported thus far, and
several more were injured.”
Concerned murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Three attacks in one morning was alarming indeed. Tristam thought back to the day he and his friend Jack had stumbled upon a farm in the midst of a
raid. He still remembered the chaos, the fleeing people, the panicked bleats and bays of livestock. Jack had died that day at the hands of the Demon Rider Pashla and her companion.
The scribe finished speaking, and Willem took the stage. “This is the biggest threat that has faced the city since our war with Edlan twenty years ago.” Willem was a convincing
speaker when he wanted to be. He spoke with authority, punctuating his points with bold sweeps of his hand. “And our Defense Minister does nothing. The Demon Riders sleep safely in our forest
and pillage our fields at their pleasure. What can possibly be your justification for this, Malikel?”
“The Demon Rider threat must be met with caution,” said Malikel from his seat. His voice was level, though Tristam could sense anger just beneath. “I’ve explained this to
the Council many times. The Demon Riders are not a threat like Parna or Edlan that we should simply throw our soldiers at them. They refuse to face us in open battle. They know the forest
better than we do, and they’re better at disappearing into its depths. Without a sound strategy, sending our soldiers to meet them would result in far more casualties than we currently
suffer.”
“You argue for a good strategy,” said Willem. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Our best course of action is to focus on defending our vulnerable farms and manors while we prepare our soldiers with new weapons and tactics. The Palace smithies are forging new spears
as we speak, and our soldiers are learning new formations for forest combat. We secure our farms first.
answer questions if called on.”
For a moment, he was selfishly relieved, though the attacks in question must have been bad if they warranted an emergency Council meeting. “I’ll be there.”
The clock had chimed half past nine a short while ago, so he didn’t have long. Tristam changed out of his plain tunic into more appropriate court finery—an embroidered silk tunic
with breeches and soft leather boots—and headed out the door.
The Council Room antechamber was a large room in its own right, lined with smooth black marble decorated with gold accents. A crowd had already gathered in anticipation of the meeting. Tristam
saw no sign of Malikel, but Kyra came through the door soon after he arrived. She wore a gown of wine-colored linen to accommodate the Council’s dress expectations, though she no doubt still
had at least one dagger strapped to her leg underneath. He knew she chose her dresses based on their sturdiness and how easily she could climb in them if needed. Her gaze drifted around the room,
not quite focusing on anything, and Tristam had to call her name twice to get her attention. That was almost unheard of. Kyra was nothing if not alert.
She raised tired eyes to him as he approached. “Ho, Tristam.”
“Are you all right?”
There was the slightest pause before she answered. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”
He might have questioned her further, but a herald announced the beginning of the meeting, and the crowd filed through the double doors. On the far side of the main room was a raised platform
where the full Council sat in two semicircular rows of tables. Observing benches lined the floor between the door and the Council seats, and Kyra and Tristam settled near the back with other
observers of low rank.
Willem called the meeting to order, and a scribe took the stage. “Two farms and the guesthouse of one manor were attacked in the predawn hours. Two deaths have been reported thus far, and
several more were injured.”
Concerned murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Three attacks in one morning was alarming indeed. Tristam thought back to the day he and his friend Jack had stumbled upon a farm in the midst of a
raid. He still remembered the chaos, the fleeing people, the panicked bleats and bays of livestock. Jack had died that day at the hands of the Demon Rider Pashla and her companion.
The scribe finished speaking, and Willem took the stage. “This is the biggest threat that has faced the city since our war with Edlan twenty years ago.” Willem was a convincing
speaker when he wanted to be. He spoke with authority, punctuating his points with bold sweeps of his hand. “And our Defense Minister does nothing. The Demon Riders sleep safely in our forest
and pillage our fields at their pleasure. What can possibly be your justification for this, Malikel?”
“The Demon Rider threat must be met with caution,” said Malikel from his seat. His voice was level, though Tristam could sense anger just beneath. “I’ve explained this to
the Council many times. The Demon Riders are not a threat like Parna or Edlan that we should simply throw our soldiers at them. They refuse to face us in open battle. They know the forest
better than we do, and they’re better at disappearing into its depths. Without a sound strategy, sending our soldiers to meet them would result in far more casualties than we currently
suffer.”
“You argue for a good strategy,” said Willem. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Our best course of action is to focus on defending our vulnerable farms and manors while we prepare our soldiers with new weapons and tactics. The Palace smithies are forging new spears
as we speak, and our soldiers are learning new formations for forest combat. We secure our farms first.
Similar Books
