A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 562 The Trial - Part 8

Another vote for his execution. Votes from great and powerful men, and thus far, not a single man had properly defended him. Did that not mean that it was over? Already two ministers out of five had voted against him, and the third had sat the process out. Could he really rely on General Tavar to back him, or even Hod? Looking at them both, Oliver didn't think so.

It was such a thoroughly hopeless situation that he couldn't help but smile. It was so terribly wrong, that it couldn't get any worse. He reviewed his actions that evening. Could he have done better? In the lead to his visit to Asabel, he certainly could have… he could have avoided all that worry, if he'd known what sort of person she was.

Maybe if he'd dared to trust her a little more, even the situation with the assassin would have developed into something different, perhaps.

But from the moment the enemy had appeared before him, Oliver held no regrets. Indeed, it had been violent and brutal, and he'd let Ingolsol loose for the affair, but Gods, if Ingolsol could not dance in such situations, then when could he? It seemed to Oliver that the world needed Ingolsol, to take care of such business.

Claudia's heroism didn't shine so brightly in the dark corners of a quiet castle.

"Very well," Tavar said finally. The crowd were jovial by now. Oliver knew not exactly why they were there. Another terrible weakness that he had – his lack of information. But even as he shifted it about in his head, in an attempt to condemn his own ignorance, he held back. He'd grown up a peasant all his life.

Could he really be expected to know everything there was about the nobility in the span of a month and a bit? No. He let the mysteries remain what they were, until he could ask someone who knew better.

"Minister of Logic," Tavar said, turning to Hod, as he sat with his legs draped over the edge of his stone throne. Of all his thrones, merely based on the material, his seemed the least important. Oliver wondered if there was any significance to that fact. Tavar's was gold, Lazarus' bronze, Jolamire's silver, Hod's stone and Gavlin's iron.

As materials, there certainly seemed to be a disparity between the five. And the man that Oliver was certain to be ranked highest had the gold seat, after all, so perhaps there was indeed some meaning to it.

Hod looked irritated. His legs over the edge of the throne, and his hands folded across his chest – he did not even look at the General. He was gazing at the ceiling, and the painting of Claudia and Varsharn.

"Hod," Tavar said, in a lower voice. "It's your turn. Move it, would you?"

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Hod looked at him sharply. His eyes were like daggers. It was the most serious that Oliver had ever seen him – the Minister of Logic had always been rather foppish and foolish in Oliver's presence, as though he didn't take seriously what the others took for granted. Now he was different. There was anger about his angular face. He wasn't the least bit intimidated by Tavar's irritated prodding.

"Tavar," Hod said in a low voice. "You won't let this slide, will you?"

Tavar merely looked back, uncomfortably, unable to give him a straight answer.

"Things cannot remain the same after this," Hod said. He was the youngest amongst them, likely only in his late twenties at best, but there was a weight to his words that even Tavar couldn't sidestep. He shifted himself to sit properly on his throne, and in his simple noble clothes and his short-cropped hair, he somehow carried himself more as a King than any of them.

Tavar twisted his mouth, and glanced down at the row of Ministers. He heaved a sigh. That was at least something he could agree with. "I know. We can not operate as we are, not after this."

The other Ministers heard his words and shifted uncomfortably, though they did not look alarmed. Jolamire and Lazarus shared a look. Whatever that look meant was anyone's guess. Finally, Hod hefted himself to his feet. Unlike the ministers before him, he went directly for the centre, striding toward the far bigger man in Tavar, and forcing him to concede.

Tavar did so willingly. Oliver might have been mistaken, but he could have sworn that a look of relief passed over the man's face, as he reclaimed his own throne and sat down with a sigh.

Hod eyed the crowd. He didn't speak. He was on the top of the throne steps, dominating the centre, but he didn't say a word. He merely glared at them, projecting his fury.

"Do none of you know this country's history?" He asked lightly. His words seemed innocent enough, but there was an edge to them that made these richly dressed noblemen and women cringe. There were Lords amongst them, Oliver knew that much, but there was not a single man that was able to return Hod's gaze. "Do you know what made us? Do you know why we have a King? Why do we have Lords?

Why do we have nobles?"

More silence, as Hod continued to stare them down. "I can only think that you do not. If you did – if you knew where the beating heart of this country lay, you would be not so quick to discard it in favour of your petty politics, in favour of past grudges that have gone unpaid."

He spoke like the other Ministers, lightly around the issue, not exactly stabbing at the heart of it, but saying enough that they knew what he meant. The only difference was, that even dancing around the issue, Hod's words hit like a bludgeon, as he declared the lot of them incompetent.

"If you look for justice, you've come to the wrong place," Hod said. "Today, the direction we move in is not one of justice. It is the direction of poisoning our country routes, ridding us of our strength. Arthur and Dominus are dead, our greatest warriors buckled. We thought them to be dead for many years, but now we hear again, and we're reminded again of what we lost.

Has that provoked no change in you?"