Kellanved's Reach

Lean and ragged shapes stood the walls, some wearing archaic headdresses and tattered hide cloaks. Yet through Fener’s senses Heboric saw them for what they were: entities fairly blazing with power, and he recognized them from ancient accounts: the undying army of the Imass themselves, and even the Boar within him was staggered.

He understood now why he was here. This was far more epochal than the mere transfer of authority from one ruler to another. An ancient and implacable power had been raised anew and nothing would be the same again.

He headed for the palace. Had these Elders now taken charge?

The court was a mass of panicked functionaries, bureaucrats, merchants and city aristocrats, all jostling and exchanging whispered news – awaiting their fates, in fact. Later that afternoon the doors opened and in came a short, wizened Dal Hon elder with a walking stick, accompanied by a lean youth and a Napan woman. These three walked to the front and the Dal Hon seated himself on the formal throne of Heng, flanked by the other two.

The elder raised his hands for silence. ‘Calm yourselves, please, citizens of Heng. Nothing shall change. All shall remain as before. The Protectress may be gone, but you have a new Protector.’ The ancient pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Myself.’

‘And you are?’ some brave soul shouted from the crowd.

The ancient appeared quite startled. He planted his walking stick between his feet, announcing, ‘I am Kellanved, ruler of the isles of Malaz and Nap – and the ruling authority over the city state of Cawn, and now of Li Heng also.’

Heboric squinted – the fellow might look old, but he appeared startlingly quick and vigorous for one of such apparent age. He had to wonder: was this the one responsible for the summoning of the Elders?

This ‘Kellanved’ now stroked his chin. ‘And thinking on that …’ he turned to the blue-hued Napan woman with him, ‘does that not make me emperor? After the Talian hegemony? Ruler of more than one kingship?’

The woman’s lips tightened, and she murmured from the side of her mouth, ‘Now is not the time …’

The fellow banged his walking stick to the flagged floor. ‘Now is absolutely the appropriate time! This is momentous! It must be witnessed!’ He scanned the court, peering all around. ‘Is there no historian present? None qualified to record these events for posterity? For the ages to follow?’

Heboric looked about him, as did the hunched Dal Hon elder upon the throne. No one stirred to raise a hand, and so, driven by the demands and dictates of his training as scholar and historian, Heboric very slowly, reluctantly, lifted his arm into the air.

The ancient, Kellanved, perked up. ‘Ah!’ He pointed his walking stick. ‘Here we are. Fener is with us! Welcome, priest. Please approach.’

Heboric edged his way through the crowd to reach the fore. The elder urged him even closer. Hesitantly, he advanced, but quite warily, as the slim fellow on the elder’s right now leaned forward, hand on a dagger, and he knew that one false motion, one shift too close, and that weapon would be lodged in his throat. ‘Yes m’lor – that is, your excellency?’

The elder’s brows climbed in appreciation of this address, and he shifted to look to the woman. ‘There! You see? Our priest of Fener understands. ‘So … am I not entitled to style myself emperor after the historical precedents?’

Heboric bowed his head. ‘Indeed. If one is the ruler of more than one kingdom, principate, or protectorate, then one may claim the title emperor or empress.’

The elder opened his arms wide. ‘There we have it. Emperor Kellanved.’

The Napan woman, Heboric noted, looked to the ceiling at this announcement. But he was obliged to continue. ‘However, after these ancient precedents, the date of assumption of said emperor or empress must be set at their birth.’ He raised his gaze to address the fellow directly. ‘Therefore – may I enquire as to the year you were born?’

The Dal Hon ancient snorted at this, glancing about rather as if he’d been cornered. He gestured peremptorily. ‘What a ridiculous request! As if I can remember! And who knows which dating system to follow?’

‘Nevertheless …?’

The elder huffed, puffing and shifting uncomfortably on the throne. ‘Whatever! Very well. The fifth year of the rule of Gorashel of the Eastern Dal Hon savannas – if you must!’

It just so happened that Heboric had been briefed on all the dynasties of the continent. He eyed the wrinkled elder and could not help but raise a brow in scepticism. ‘Are you saying that you are less than twenty years old?’

The presumed ancient gaped at him, astonished, only to recover quickly and wave a hand in dismissal. ‘That is not what I meant at all! Absurd! No – what I meant was one hundred years prior to that year, of course!’

He may have been mistaken, but the slim youth with him, presumably the purported assassin Heboric had heard of, covered his mouth, perhaps to disguise a smirk.

‘That was not what you said,’ Heboric persisted.