Chapter 1 - Denial

Book 1 - Unfolding Song

Chapter 1 - Denial

"...I'm afraid that won't be possible, Lance-General. The War Council has deliberated over your proposal for these many months, but even though we've managed to repair some of the greater... errors, there are some glaring impossibilities you haven't accounted for. Therefore, we are forced to deny your request."

The speaker took his seat, but continued to hold his unblinking stare on the man in front of him. The speaker's short, round-cut white hair matched his simple robes and snowy-white feathered wings. Nine others, with near identical appearance, sat in a semi-circle on either side, each between imposing granite columns, adding to the utter gravity of the room. No colour to be found here; decoration distracts the eye from what was truly important.

The soldier in front of the Council, however, was a disheveled contrast to the rest of the room. Gleaming steel bands circled his body, with chain-work guarding his legs and arms. Golden scrollwork emphasized his position as an officer, though no officer would be foolish enough to wear ceremonial armour in battle. In conflict with his pristine outfit, the officer's rust-red, black speckled wings were thoroughly ruffled, with barely a feather in its proper place. His flaming hair was little better, and matched his face well. Normally the very image of self-composure, the officer's tight-cheeked face was nearly as red as hair and wings put together. He looked as if he'd swallowed a boulder. He could barely speak without sputtering.

"Impossibilities? Did you stop to think before you spoke from rote, or did you simply burn the parchment as soon as it was delivered?" He choked to a stop, barely containing his anger, and certainly not trying to hide it.

The council member who had spoken earlier gave a guarded glance to the man to his left, who returned it with a slight shake of the head. Sighing, the speaker stood once again. "You are a fool, Poraeus, if you think they will allow an attack without retaliation. What if they returned our attack with one of their own? If but half their number were sent against us, they would surely overwhelm us. Not to mention, your concerns over these people is ill-founded. They have given us no cause for which to attack. A raid now and then from barbarians is part of the cost of having general peace; would you rather have a full-scale war in the Alliance? No; your plan would bring us only ruin. Now, stop this muttering. You may stand down, Lance-General!"

Poraeus clenched his teeth, but sounds of strangled growling continued. He stood straight and stiff, giving only a sketch of the Tur'nasi kneel used for Council members, and stalked out of the chamber, head high. The speaker released his held breath in a relieved sigh.

"I did not think he would take it so well. That one will be trouble, I'm afraid. But the Emperor favours him. It's only a matter of time until he erupts; who knows what could save us then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will be retiring to my chambers." Sliding his simple stone chair back, he stood to make a formal Tur'laske bow, wings wrapping around his outspread arms to cover his face. The other Council members quickly stood and duplicated the gesture before filing out the rear door to the building, talking among themselves.

As he watched the others go, the speaker stood in silent thought. This Raven Emperor would destroy the work of centuries; him and his obsession with the Kairn. Lance-General Darte would need to be recalled from his exploration in the Southern Juchai ranges if they were to continue with the plan, though. The speaker shook himself as he realized he'd been mumbling aloud. Giving a wry chuckle, he exited the chamber, leaving the stone cold and dark once again.