In Sur-Rak’s estimation, the funeral of an Archon would be a much more productive affair if attendees were allowed to speak to each other during the interment. However, tradition dictated that they stand a quiet vigil as the Archon’s corpse was given to an equally silent Aspect of Gold.
The Aspect chosen for the task--or perhaps one who had picked the duty for themselves; one could never tell with Aspects--was in the form of a male keshe. He was beautiful to her, as all things touched by gold were, the midday sun reflecting off of his metallic skin in bright patches that Sur-Rak had to squint her eyes against. Even sitting, his head was taller than the priests who worked around him, braided hair of spun gold falling down his back nearly to the ground. When she had been younger Sur-Rak had wanted hair as long, but hers refused to grow past the halfway point of her back, as if that far down was foreign territory that dared not be crossed.
It had been a small want though, and Sur-Rak would gladly sacrifice it on the scales to achieve her greater desires, such as one day being buried in just this way, within the immortal womb of an Aspect. There, she would be forever connected to Lercel and the line of leaders who had come before her and would rule after. It was something only a few could achieve, and to Sur-Rak that made it all the more meaningful.
To be accepted though, servants of the Archon had spent a week meticulously painting every inch of Sur-Rak’s aunt in layers of gold paint to replace the ris that had vanished from her when she had been killed. Whereas before there had been breaks in the geometries of gold the former Archon had possessed, now from shorn scalp to trimmed toenails she was a pure shimmering yellow, just like the Aspect. Covered in this priceless encasement--and Sur-Rak liked to think that her aunt was weighed just as carefully by her accomplishments--the Aspect deemed the dead Archon a worthy offering. The merger was accomplished like any other tribute, the Aspect’s normally firm flesh softening where gold met gold, allowing the deceased body into their own.
When Sur-Rak had attended the ceremony more than a decade past for the previous Archon, it had cemented her desire to become an Archon herself. Now though, she found herself increasingly annoyed. The new council seat of the temples, Tuu-Veh-Nas, was elongating the funeral unnecessarily. Instead of giving the Archon to the Aspect in one grand gesture, with a few well chosen words before and after, the priests worked with agonizing slowness under his direction. They pushed the golden corpse along a low table set against the Aspect’s chest a mere inch or two and then stopped, ringing a series of gongs, or bowing for Tuu-Veh-Nas to preach philosophies from an overlarge leather book bound in gold. This gradual consumption had been going on for nearly an hour now and there was still a third of the Archon’s body left, shoulders and shaved head.
From the shifting in the gathered crowd, some three hundred people of rank, money, or both, it was clear that Sur-Rak was not the only one who felt as if their time was being wasted. Not that Sur-Rak viewed any opportunity to gather new information a loss, and she now knew that Tuu-Veh-Nas was more concerned with exploiting a singular moment of power, even at his future detriment, than playing a longer game, which was useful enough. She had however realized that after his second pointless speech and was now ready to get on with things.
Eventually, after nearly another hour, the ivory table the former Archon had been on was bare, and the Aspect’s chest had returned to the rigid stillness of metal. Sur-Rak breathed out evenly, feeling a touch lighter. Her aunt had never struck her as particularly happy as the Archon, but if eternal bliss existed, surely it was where her aunt now resided.
Those of regular position departed, while a much smaller number adjourned to the council wing, a few hallways to the east in the Archon’s expansive palace. Before earning her place among the knights as a squire, Sur-Rak had not been given leave to attend many council meetings. Now, at her request, it was where she was frequently stationed. Not alone, of course. Every squire had a knight who watched over them. Apparently in some divisions the knight and squire were paired until that squire earned their own knighthood, but in the inner division they rotated. Her uncle, the division leader, explained that this was so the new recruits could learn from all of their superiors, not just one, and so that the knights and arcknights in turn could learn more about the squires.
Today, Sur-Rak was paired with Gee-Rin, a female keshe with no rein on her temper. The knight had been furious that their division had failed to protect the Archon and nearly as livid again when one of the prime suspects of the killing had managed to escape the cells beneath the Archon’s palace. Policing the city was of course the inner division’s purview, and so patrols had descended upon the mountain, combing through the lows, judged the most likely place a human would hide. Sur-Rak was never sent on these hunts being so new, but each day her compatriots came back with very little to show for their efforts. Even now they continued to search, and Sur-Rak was sure that the tightness she saw around Gee-Rin’s eyes was the knight’s frustration at not being out there with them.
Of course, the fact that Tif had managed to elude capture for so long only served to prove what Sur-Rak had suspected as soon as she saw that the human had gained three Seals so quickly, and of a foreign Aspect no less: she had the backing of someone powerful, powerful and willing to break Lercel’s laws. Sur-Rak had told as much to her uncle and each knight who asked her for more details about her association with the human, which nearly all did--Gee-Rin four times. Sur-Rak had heard multiple reports of their knights entering the “underground,” a pursuit previously deemed lacking in worth, but even as the largest division with eighteen members, they were too few to find every secreted nook in the expansive warrens of the lows, especially the wide stretch at the base near the wall. Sur-Rak had also heard that some of the watchmen there had been conscripted to assist with the matter, but still, nothing.
In all likelihood, she thought her cousin Jer had the greatest chance of finding Tif, and the fact that he hadn’t returned for his mother’s funeral proved his dedication to the task. She wouldn’t mind if his hunt stretched another week or more though, since every day that Tif remained unfound, as well as the aquaros arcknight who had been present at the time of the murder, the weaker her uncle’s position became.
“Let us commence,” said the miner council seat, a male keshe who looked and sounded as gruff as the common laborers he oversaw.
The nine council seats and some of their seconds had finally managed to arrange themselves around the halfmoon table used for such meetings and reach a state of relative quiet. Sur-Rak guessed that the amount they had chatted before beginning proceedings was directly proportional to how long they had been forced to stay silent during the funeral, but while listening from her station by the door, she had heard nothing from them she didn’t already know.
The merchant council seat, a gangly female keshe, rose. She had been chosen by lot as lead for this meeting and seemed pleased to hold the symbol of that--a golden baton--in her hand. “With the Archon’s unfortunate passing, we must elect a new leader for our great city. As is tradition, we will wait half a moon’s turn for the best Lercel can offer to be considered unless there are any objections?”
No one replied, and Sur-Rak didn’t bother correcting the council member--she had found in her short time guarding them that they disliked that. The referenced tradition had been written into Lercel’s laws during peacetime, and Sur-Rak knew from countless hours spent in the Academy’s libraries, that in Lercel’s early years, when they were battling invaders on all fronts, such practices were not the same. In those days, as soon as one Archon died another was raised immediately, given the additional Seal of Gold so they could protect their people.
“Then,” the merchant seat continued, “today we have the important task of nominating an interim Archon. Do we all see the agreed upon candidate?”
“We do,” the other eight leaders echoed, one of them her uncle who sat as the knight council seat.
Besides these leaders, a few secondaries who stood behind them, herself and Gee-Rin by the door, the only other person in the chamber was her grandfather. He was dressed in yellow, as were all others who had attended the funeral--they were all servants of Lercel this day--but to Sur-Rak he was the most changed of any of them. For as long as she had known the gnarled keshe he had employed an immersive meditation technique of his own devising that left him half in the waking world and half in his mind. The purpose of the form was to keep his ris continually charging, and it was well documented that he could outlast any other knight or arcknight on the wall which was his domain. However, with the murder of his daughter he had abandoned the technique. He stepped forward into the empty bend of the moon table without a single jerk or twitch, and though Sur-Rak couldn’t see his eyes from where she stood, the memory of him only a few hours ago looking her in the face for the first time in her life was something she would not soon forget.
“Sha-Ahn-Ras," the merchant seat said from her standing position, “you have been selected as interim Archon until such time the full election is held.”
“I refuse,” he said, his voice a hard wheeze--one thing about him that remained the same.
Sur-Rak frowned at the rejection along with the council seats. Her grandfather would have been the perfect choice as interim. Not only would his depth of experience and natural authority benefit Lercel, but she knew he had no wish to be the Archon in truth. Once the official elections were held, he would vacate the position without regret, leaving the way open to her.
“Honored division leader,” said the das council seat, “surely you wish--”
“I wish to be about my own business,” her grandfather replied, “and have I spent long enough honoring your summons.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving the most powerful people in Lercel visibly shocked.
As he stomped by, Sur-Rak was tempted to ask her grandfather if he was carrying out his own investigation, but she knew now was not the time. She would visit him on the wall soon enough and get her answers then.
He gave her a brief look as he passed by, startling her again with the directness of his gaze, and then he was gone.
“So be it,” the miner council seat said, his voice even rougher than before. “It seems we must turn to the obvious alternative.”
“And who might that be?” the merchant seat said, sounding perturbed that someone would act as lead while she held the council’s baton.
Sur-Rak wondered the same. She had been at the council meeting two days prior when the group had decided on her grandfather. It had been a quick affair: he was the first and last candidate discussed, and no others had been mentioned.
“I will consult with the Aspects about this,” the temple seat, Tuu-Veh-Nas, proclaimed in the same self-important voice he had used during the funeral.
“Have the Aspects deigned to speak since last I checked?” the fighting school seat said, a flamboyant keshe with rings of gold around her neck.
Tuu-Veh-Nas gave his fellow council member a haughty stare. “There are many ways to communicate beyond the obvious, and deciphering such is a particular gift of mine. It is, in fact, why I was called to serve.”
Sur-Rak doubted that very much. Gleaning knowledge from Aspects, whether from a single subject or by observing the behavior of many, was an imprecise discipline at best and little more than guesswork at worst. Judging from Tuu’s performance today, she wouldn’t be surprised if his self-proclaimed skill was equally overblown.
“The obvious alternative is Hur-Rek-Sar,” the miner seat said, finishing what he had started.
Sur-Rak went rigid, her change in posture so abrupt that Gee-Rin took notice, eyeing her and the empty hallway outside the room they guarded.
“All in favor,” the miner seat said.
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Council seats looked to one another, while her uncle who had just been named remained seemingly impassive. Hands began lifting at an alarming rate.
Did he plan this? Sur-Rak couldn't help but wonder. Convincing her grandfather not to take the role and getting the miner seat to nominate him? She had known her uncle would be one of her chief rivals in becoming the Archon, but she hadn’t expected him to strike so quickly.
A majority of hands lifted, and it was done.
Sur-Rak hissed air out of her teeth. Not even a sunset past the Archon's funeral, and she had already fallen behind in the race. Her heart felt as cold as her Gold ris covered flesh.
“Council seats,” her uncle said, turning to regard each of them from where he sat near the middle of the curved table, “you honor me. I will accept this responsibility and do my best to guide Lercel during this challenging time.”
Sur-Rak took a normal breath, centering herself, as her atta had taught. Being interim was a point in her uncle’s favor, but the situation could still turn to her advantage. It was possible he hadn't fully prepared himself for this moment and would abuse his newfound power before he adjusted to it. After all, an appointment like this was an opportunity to perform poorly just as much as it was to succeed.
The merchant seat begrudgingly passed the baton down the line to her uncle and when he had it, he continued on.
“It so happens I was planning to bring a matter to the council today regarding Lercel's defenses, and I see no reason for that to change with these circumstances.”
A council member coughed into the silence, but none objected.
“As our diligent knight patrols continue to report,” he uncle said, “the forces of Death amass ever nearer us. In fact, a new hold has been created only a few day’s walk from the walls of Lercel.”
Conversations erupted in the hall, and Sur-Rak shared a look with Gee-Rin who seemed equally surprised. Sur-Rak had been aware of the increasing numbers of Death troops in the area, all knights and squires were, but the new hold was a shock. It must have been reported by one of the two remaining patrol divisions moments before this meeting for her not to know.
“Due to this,” her uncle said, his voice riding the wave of the worried council, “I propose that we hold another round of acceptance for squires, and this time cast our net much more widely. Being a knight is a great honor, but it will avail us nothing if we are too few to defend this city, and judging from the size of Death Aspects in the area, we are currently outnumbered more than a hundred to one.”
“That is indeed a terrifying prospect…,” the bespeckled engineer seat said in measured tones.
“We could accelerate the election,” the merchant seat proposed, looking perturbed she hadn’t had this information earlier. “The sooner the Aspects uplift the new Archon, the sooner Lercel has the protection of the Gargant again.”
The Gargant, a massive gold and metal construct over fifty feet tall that could be controlled only by the Archon’s fifth seal, had been Lercel’s trump card for generations. However, the merchant seat’s proposal nearly put Sur-Rak off balance again. If the council agreed to a rushed decision, the likelihood that her uncle's position would be made permanent increased exponentially. She thought this had to be his stratagem from the beginning, but then for whatever reason he shook his head against the idea.
“Even if the Archon was confirmed this very day, they couldn’t possibly master the Gargant quickly enough for it to matter. Much easier to teach our youth how to extend the strikes they already practice up and down the length of Lercel, so they can use them from atop the wall.”
“But you have great skill in manipulating the apparatus for your legs,” one council member dared. "Surely the Gargant would operate under the same principle."
Sur-Rak knew her uncle could go from cool calmness to angrier than Gee-Rin in a heartbeat, especially about such a tender subject, but he limited himself to a tight smile. “You give me too much credit. True, conceptually they would be the same, but I’ve had a lifetime to use these,”--he motioned to the connected metal bands that ran up and down his legs-- “and would not have that luxury with the Gargant. In addition, I cannot begin to fathom the difference in controlling something a mere half my body size compared to the massive scale of the Gargant.”
Another council seat opened their mouth to speak, but Sur-Rak’s uncle didn’t pause long enough to let them voice their thoughts.
“I urge you not to wager Lercel's future on me, but instead our robust and eager youth. There are countless keshe, and even humans, who dream of becoming a knight but will never in their life be able to afford the second seal. Let us give them the means to fight and defend a city they love just as much as we do.”
“You would draft those with only a single seal?” the fighting academy seat said. She didn't sound worried or elated by the prospect, merely calculating.
"I would. It was how our predecessors defended Lercel during the time of the Founding, as I’m sure you all know. In my estimation, the practice should never have been replaced, but that can be a conversation for another time.”
“Even if we lower our standards, we don't have the gold,” the miner seat said, sounding no happier now that his nominee was the interim than before. “If we empty the veins of the mountain any faster we may exhaust the supply prematurely or cause a collapse.”
“I’ve read your reports and know the dangers,” her uncle responded, “which is why we should use the Gargant in a different way, to create an army of knights.”
Sur-Rak experienced a sharp, primal joy. This was precisely what she had hoped for. Her uncle was overextending himself with such a controversial request so soon after his appointment. The council seats would surely react poorly to this blatant overstep.
As if he lived to prove her right, the museum seat finally spoke, even rising from his seat. “Reap the Gargant of its gold, thereby destroying one of our clearest ties to our predecessors and a marvel of design? It is unthinkable. Would you tear down the Archon's palace to raise our city wall? I think not.”
The das seat rose before the museum seat was back in his chair. “I must agree. The Gargant is a symbol of not only the Founding of Lercel but what gave us freedom and respect from the other tribes. To dismantle it would be to dismantle a part of our very selves.”
“While that is a heartfelt sentiment I share,” her uncle replied to the pair,” such things will not protect us from our enemies.” He turned his gaze to the remaining seats.” Do you think the founders would want us to lose what they achieved for an object of memory? Such visionaries would never be so singularly minded.”
“Object of memory?” the merchant seat sputtered. “The Gargant is our greatest defense and you would have us undue it?”
“It is not our greatest defense when it cannot be used,” her uncle countered. “Bereft of an experienced Archon, it is simply a fixture of Lercel, not its savior.”
"But we have only sketches of the outside,” the engineer seat said in almost emotionless tones compared to the other speakers, “nothing of the inner workings. What if we need to build such a thing again and we cannot?"
“Think of what you could discover as we break it down,” her uncle said. “You could see the inner workings of the machine firsthand. Knowledge that could not only allow us to build another but also fuel other discoveries. What if we constructed them of a size for anyone with the fourth seal to control, or found some other use for them?”
The engineer seat rubbed his chin, pondering.
“Who among you wishes for more ris?” her uncle continued, “or has a child you wish to see raised? My sister used the Gargant only twice to defend Lercel. Deconstructed, hundreds of citizens could make use of its gifts every day. And without them I do not see us surviving the avalanche of Death that will surely fall upon us.”
Her uncle was making a more compelling case than Sur-Rak had thought him able, and to her dismay, enough seats ended up voting his way when the call was finally made. He was manipulating them with not only reason but fear and greed. She would need to do the same and more to overcome him.
The council seats continued on, discussing what to do about the reformation of the southern patrol division, whether the previous members would keep their knighthood, and other things, but none of the remaining topics were nearly as concerning to Sur-Rak so she listened to them with only half an ear, thinking on her own machinations. Eventually, her uncle rose, the metal supports that braced his useless legs squeaking as he did. He left with his adopted daughter Opa, who he had oddly brought as his second even though the girl wasn’t even a squire, and other council members and their seconds followed close behind.
A few lingered, speaking in whispers as they departed, but it wasn’t long before almost all were gone, and Gee-Rin stepped into the hallway to get a better view of their charges, just as Sur-Rak had known the knight would.
The moment gave her an opportunity, one she had been planning on exploiting before her uncle’s sudden rise in power, and with it having happened, that plan was now a necessity.
She moved from her position by the door to the one council member who remained in the room.
The das council seat was old, older even than her grandfather, and he moved at a slow pace. He was only halfway across the chamber when she reached him.
“If I may be so bold, council seat, thank you for trying to convince my grandfather to take the position of interim.”
“Sur-Rak?” the elderly keshe said, squinting at her as if he didn’t know that she guarded him five days out of six.
“Yes, council seat.”
He brightened. “It is good to see you. Will we have the pleasure of your attendance at the Flower Cup?”
Sur-Rak was pleased that he was initiating a longer conversation with her but found it ridiculous to think of the das guild having such a frivolous ceremony with a war on the horizon. However, her current situation allowed for only one answer. “Of course,” she said with a slight bow. “Attending is always the highlight of my spring.”
“Wonderful, I look forward to seeing you there.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile as he resumed his shuffling walk. “It is always invigorating for the novices and adepts to be in the presence of a past champion.”
“Providing them motivation would be my honor,” Sur-Rak replied, falling into slow step beside him. She had planned to bring up her next question in a different way, but the opening he had created should yield the same result--or so she hoped. “Do you know if my uncle will be in attendance?”
The council member paused, frowning up at her. “I don't believe we've ever hosted him, nor do I recall seeing his name on the entry lists of years past. Not in my tenure at least.”
“Truly?” Sur-Rak said, even though she had known the answer before asking. “Odd, considering so many past Archons frequented das tournaments in their youth to hone their skills of insight and calculation.”
“That is true. Perhaps his injury as a child prevented him traveling to the guild hall? Why, I should offer to give him a tour,” the council member said, warming quickly to his own idea. “After all, das can be picked up at any age.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she said, pausing the appropriate amount before adding, “though…”
“Yes?” he asked, raising a tufted eyebrow at her hesitation.
“Don't some of the older sets have gold in them? If I remember, the Qishan set is pure gold but for the bases, is it not?”
The council member paled. “He wouldn't consider such a thing, would he?”
Sur-Rak lifted her shoulders slightly. “He seems to have no compunction in ridding us of the Gargant, and it is more ancient.”
“But they are from the third ruling, carved by Min-Rou himself. The word irreplaceable doesn't begin to do them justice.”
“I, of course, understand,” Sur-Rak said, adding as much warmth to her voice as she could without feeling ridiculous. It helped that she truly did find the set breathtaking, with a luxurious hand feel. “As someone who has had the privilege to hold such masterly crafted pieces, I can only imagine them precisely as they are, in a place of honor in the players' hall. But some…” she paused again, just enough to make her meaning clear, “have not had such an experience, and through their own choice, likely never will. It is a shame because, as the first Archon Don-Rue wrote in his death letters, ‘The Archon should represent all interests, not just a select few’.”
The council member wet his lips. Though he was well known to be a great lover of das, he had never been much of a player, reaching his position through money, not skill. One of the first things Sur-Rak would do when she was Archon was replace him with an actual champion of the Seasonal Selection.
“I...believe you are correct in your assessment, which means that certain sets will need to be protected. Perhaps it would be best if some were temporarily archived, or repaired. I can think of two that need new felt. Yes, that should work.” He turned to leave, nodding to himself, but Sur-Rak caught his attention with her next words.
“I don't think you will need to go so far, council seat. I have it on impeccable authority that my uncle will not be running unopposed.”
The elderly keshe eyed her, and she could tell that he was, blessedly, skilled enough at reading people to discern what she was implying.
“...I see. That is good news indeed. I will think on our conversation in preparation for the election to come. I can certainly see the prudence of a more...well rounded replacement.”
Sur-Rak bowed again. “Thank you for your consideration.”
The council member walked away faster than before, likely to get back to the guild and hide those old das sets. With his departure, Sur-Rak allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. That was one.
Now she just needed four more.