The Tellanon

16. Traitor

In the exact middle of a round room with a domed roof, a man sat at a mahogany table. He was in his fifties, tall and rather fatter than most of the other Tellanon. It suited him, though. He radiated a sort of power, with his black eyes and silver hair. His looks were, for a part, responsible for the fact that he was  the commander of the Tellanon, instead of his twin brother.

The other reason was that it was him that had struck down the rebel 'king' of northern Thén, now over thirty years ago. The unruly north had rebelled against the Tellanon, claiming they had been added to Thén's land by treachery and unjustice. From now on, they said, they would be a country of their own.

The Tellanon could not have let that happen, so they had sent out an army north to meet 'king' Lokkan's host, and it was there that Sandir had parted Lokkan's fair head from his shoulders and ended the rebellion. He knew full well that the north would rebel again  someday, but it would not be under his reign that they won.

And anyway, he had to concentrate on another war. It had reached his ears that the Mud Plague had broken out. From the almost twenty Thousand men that had set out, three Thousand had already died. It was worrying, but not yet a disaster. There were seventeen Thousand men left  still. More than enough to break Valharis, if he planned it well. Most of the plan had already been made, but there was a coucil tonight to make the last decisions.

He looked around his office. It was round and made of stone. Every part of it screamed wealth. There were trinkets everywhere, decades' worth of collecting armour and weapons, maps and books, everything from jewelry to chandeliers. On the wall over his head, the Tellanon words were written in black ink. All shall bow. The words were haunting and important to the Tellanon, but not quite so important as their good bond with the gods.

All of Thén was very religious, but none so much as the Tellanon. They prayed in the Octagon every day, offering  and praying to both the bad and the good gods. Sandir stood up just now, and lit a candle for bravery, the god that was often prayed to in times of war.

There came a knock on the oaken door. Sandir looked up from the map he had started to examine, and bid the man come in. It was Gemyr, one of the bloodtellanon, a descendant of the original group of advisers. Sandir himself was the  descendant of the founder of the Tellanon but Gemyr wasn't much less powerful than he.

Gemyr bowed low and took his place just across from him. Sandir's cupbearer poured them wine and retreated. She was a pretty girl of maybe sixteen years old, a sign of good will from a northern lord. The enmity between the two Théns ofter scared lords in the north who remembered the war, and they hoped to remain friendly with the Tellanon. And what strengthened the bonds more than gifts? Fear, maybe. Well, he could give Thén something to fear.

Gemyr raised his golden cup with wolfshead adornments, and drank deeply. His blond hair fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were the brown of many of the Merrónese. he was broad-chouldered, tall and handsome. If he hadn't been one of them, all the women in Thén would have desired him. Now, he had something better than women. He had power.

All the other Tellanon were eating in the dinner hall, but Gemyr had requested audience, claiming he had heard somehting important. Sandir did not doubt it. Gemyr was master of spies, it was his task to hear important things.

Sandir let the silence last a while, waiting for Gemyr to make the first move. The young man did not, and Serin had to make the first move.

"Well?" He said.

"My lord, we have discovered a traitor." Gemyr said. Sandir blinked emotionlessly. This was hardly a surprise. There would always be traitors in times like this. It would be better if Gandyr knew who it was and killed him or her silently, without telling anyone. It was his usual way. Something had to be different this time, or Sandir would never have been bothered with it. He leaned forward, hands clasped together.

“Who?” He asked, mentally making a list of his men and the servants, narrowing it down until only a few were left. Gemyr’s answer surprised him.

“A girl, you say? How did she enter? We have guards, do we not?”He was still calm. This traitor was dangerous, but he trusted she could be silenced easily enough.

“We don’t know how she entered. All we know is that she was seen riding out the gate mere hours after we finished our council. She has also been spotted near the Ethunan on several occasions.” Gemyr said. It was raining outside, Sandir noted. The raindrops pattered against the window. The apprentices were practicing outside. His nephew  would be among them, he knew. The boy had turned fifteen a month ago, and had been a proud member of the Tellanon since then. Sandir grunted.

“Tell me about this girl. Where does she live? Who does she see? Where does she go? Does she have frieds or family?”

Gemyr told him everything about Emyra Doransdaughter of Agalath. Her family, her school, the belief she was a witch, her contact with the townsfolk, her frequent visits to the College. They based their plan on this information. They were merciless, and their plan was vicious but effective. It was also quick, cunning and frighteningly easy for them to make up.

When they had it together, both men stood up and left. The door closed behind them and they walked the length of the hall together, went up some stairs and around some corners, until they stood in front of the door of the council chamber. Gemyr went first, announcing Sandir. When he entered, all the Tellanon rose as one and bowed deeply. The bloodtellanon sat down first, the old Tellanon were next, then the newest Tellanon. The trainees, rain-soaked from their brief practice were last. Sandir noted a few had returned from a mission in southern Thén. He took his seat at the end of another mahogany table, very like the one in his office. The chairs weren't as comfortable, though. They were hard and even if they were carved beautifully, it wasn't a comfortable seat. War councils weren't supposed to be comfortable, though. The room was lit by a chandelier and several torches. It was cold, but Tellanon were taught to ignore feeling. Only the apprentices noticed, and they did their best to hide it.

Servants brought forth the maps. They all pointed out things and after more than two and a half hours, they had finally decided most things concerning the plague and the war.  Gemyr brought up the subject of the traitor.

"Gentlemen," He said. "The war has its first traitor. A girl from Agalath. Emyra, they call her."

At the far end of the table, Berren went white as a sheet. He had returned not two hours ago from his mission in Jarnege in southern Thén, where he had had to help the regime stay upright. Jarnege was in league with the North, everyone new that. It had been a small but important mission. If the north rebelled, which was the logical thing to do now that the Tellanon were relatively weak, Jarnege might me the key to victory.

All his journey he had longed to be with Emyra again, to laugh and dream together. There was no one in the world who could point out the world to him like Emyra, and he had thought maybe he could surprise her tomorrow. It was evident now that he wouldn't see her ever again. Emyra...where could she be? He knew she wasn't a traitor. She wouldn't be betraying just the Tellanon, she would be betraying her father and brother. She wasn't a traitor. She couldn't be. She had probably tried to go after him. He should have told her more, but he hadn't had the time. Now she was as good as dead, and it was his fault. If he had told her, she wouldn't have gone, the Tellanon wouldn't have known she existed, she wouldn't have been in danger.

And now she was. The Tellanon's plan was terrible. Berren listened carefully, remembering every detail. It was a good plan, it would crush Emyra. She would die, whatever he did, she would die. Berren fought back the panic and maitained a calm appearance, trying to look as cold as the others. 

They were easily convinced, and when it was time to vote, everyone agreed. All raised ther hands and decided the fate of Emyra, and many others. Without thought, Berren raised his hand. The matter was settled.

They would capture Emyra alive, and find out as much as they could. It was agreed upon. Emyra would die.

Not half an hour later, a sword was held against Lynn's throat. 

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Sorry it's so short, but it's important, right? More important than you know...