There was a hawk of some sort, circling far overhead. As Aralim walked down the evening street, between scattered rings of chatting townspeople, he watched it glide. It didn’t even need to flap its wings—as though the wind spirit itself bowed in service to it. Was it hunting here, in the middle of the city?
Soon, Aralim arrived at the estate of the Hanez family. Miresh had given him instructions on how to find it. He had not arranged an appointment with the Selected or his wife, but that served his purposes just fine.
A servant acted surprised to receive him at a small metal gate to their front yard. “Master Caever has only just returned from Court,” he said. “Does he know you are visiting?”
Aralim shrugged. He didn’t know what Caever knew. The servant, with bald head and silk robes, led him up to the front door and asked him to wait there just a moment. Soon Caever himself appeared, with the servant in tow.
“Aralim, welcome!” the Selected greeted, waving Aralim inside. “To what do I owe the visit?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Aralim said. “I apologize for showing up unannounced.”
Caever shook his head. “Not at all. Come in, come in.” Aralim kept his sandals on and followed Caever into a nearby sitting room. Visible through a column-braced window was a line of groomed cedar trees. The morning breeze stirred the branches slightly as Aralim sat down in a gestured chair and leaned his lantern-less staff against a side-table. “Nom’naz, will you bring me a glass of red? And…”
Aralim smiled at the offer. “Just a cup of tea would be excellent, if you don’t mind.”
Caever nodded pleasantly. The named servant bowed and wandered off to fulfill their requests. “How’s Miresh?” the Selected asked, once they were alone. “It seemed like an unusual magic trick.”
Her moving tattoo, Aralim thought. “Yes. She’ll be good. Being young, things can get away from her at times. Sorry again for the interruption.”
“It’s no matter,” Caever said.
Nom’naz returned with a small silvery tray. There were two glasses and a bottle of red wine balanced on it; the servant professionally passed his master a glass and poured it from the uncorked bottle. He turned to Aralim and said, “The tea is still being brewed, master.”
Aralim bowed his head politely.
“Have you another destination in mind?” Caever asked, as Nom’naz left once more. “Or will the Emperor determine where your ambassadorial skills are needed?”
“First, I need to reattune myself to Rema and its needs,” Aralim explained. “Then he will likely give me some options from which to choose. I don’t know nearly enough about this continent to choose alone.”
Caever sipped his wine for the third time since Aralim had started his explanation. He nodded his understanding of Aralim’s process. The tea arrived and Nom’naz poured it while the conversation continued.
“Actually,” Aralim began, smiling, “you could help me with that. You’ve been on the Court for quite some time—what do you think Rema needs, if you could do anything?”
Caever looked stumped. He thought about the question for a moment and then responded, “I’m not really sure how it should change or if it needs to change. I guess everyone just needs to keep doing their jobs.”
“That’s a difficult concept,” Aralim pondered. “I certainly can’t claim that I ever did my job properly at Court. Rema is full of very vague job descriptions.”
Caever chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He was quiet for a moment, his face buried in the wide wine glass. He would need a refill soon enough. “I should call on Wella. She would enjoy this topic more than me, I think.”
“You enjoy exerting influence, but not discussing politics?” Aralim questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“For me, politics are: who is marrying who, who has purchased what, and who does so-and-so like for his replacement the most,” Caever explained. “I’ve never been good at looking at the big picture.”
“So then the Third Court is likely the end of the road for your career?”
That made up Caever’s mind and he poured his second glass. Wine gulped from the bottle into the glass. “How long have you been in Rema?” the Selected asked, chuckling.
Aralim shrugged. “About two and a half years… counting the year in Tal’lashar.”
“As I said, who so-and-so likes for his replacement is the extent of politics here. Do you think you advanced to the Emperor’s side because you were so skilled at diplomacy?” Caever asked, incredulously. He lifted his glass to drink, but paused and added, “Meaning no offence, Ambassador.”
Aralim, offended? There’s no such thing, he thought, humoured. “None taken,” he told Master Hanez. “I did not come to Rema a diplomat, but I also didn’t come seeking position. I just followed the Path that was before me.”
“Exactly,” Caever said, with a smile. He drank more wine to punctuate his point.
Aralim felt like rubbing his forehead with irritation. “So, you simply see the Courts as a series of inherited favouritism?”
“Yes, that’s one way to put it,” Caever replied. “Obviously, making a mistake will cost you that favouritism so I will admit there is more to it—especially the higher one’s rank. But I’ve come a long way off of amiable socialization alone.”
Aralim smiled. “With that much socializing, you likely know most of what’s going on in the city—by accident, if nothing else.”
He lowered his wine. “I have friends in most of the industries and know many politicians—local and across Numa’nakres. Do you need me to introduce you to anyone?”
“Maybe at some point,” Aralim said nonchalantly. “You see, as a Walker of the Path I’m always curious about the collections of power. I have an opportunity to study the Emperor, but I also had an interest in Ovoe and his—small revolutions?—before his fall. Now I’m curious where all that power has gone.”
“Ah.” Caever’s face was unreadable, either due to secrecy or impending drunkenness. “Well, I gave Ovoe’s operation a wide berth. Wella would never stand for it, you know? And with a young one…. Well, you have Miresh. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course. It’s mostly a matter of study. Wella is a strong proponent for the Emperor then?”
Caever tilted his head. “Yes and no. She values her family. At least during our lifetimes, the Emperor has been less likely to take the lives of those who disappoint him. Ovoe, on the other hand… was ruthless.” He took a long drink from his cup—this was his third.
Aralim had a momentary flash of Zarru’s severed head on Ovoe’s desk. He blinked and tried, yet again, to forget it. “Ovoe threatened my life on more than one occasion,” he said.
The Selected rolled his shoulders. “There are other structures of power—siding with Ovoe was never a necessity.” He paused, glanced at his wine glass almost quizzically, and then set the cup aside. He was done drinking.
“And these other power structures are more reasonable than Ovoe’s?” Aralim asked. “Or just a different form of the same madness?”
“I’ve said too much,” Master Hanez said, smiling politely. “Perhaps we should change the subject, before Wella overhears my poor discretion and scolds me. You have begun learning Yoreen, haven’t you? I heard Riela and Miresh speaking about it recently.”
Aralim suppressed a derisive snort. “Perhaps I need to speak to Wella. That’s twice you have differed to her on important topics.” He paused dramatically to sip his tea. “Yes, I’ve begun Yoreen. It shares a lot of characteristics with my beliefs of the Path.”
Caever glanced around nervously. “I see. Very good. You believe you can accomplish anything, yes? No wonder Riela enjoys it.” His staccato phrases were trailed by glances at the wine glass. This man was an alcoholic mess. He certainly could not be orchestrating the massacring of Tag’na’s city guards.
“I don’t believe I can accomplish anything—not yet,” Aralim corrected. “But I believe people should use what power they have to reshape the world around them. Something you don’t seem to agree with.”
“If I had power enough to reshape anything—trust me—I would.”
Aralim nearly hit himself in the forehead out of annoyance. He exhaled heavily. “With all due respect, Caever—that’s a terrible answer, and I’ve finished my tea.” The tea cup clacked against the wooden side-table. Aralim stood up, grabbed his staff, and strode toward the doorway to the front foyer.
Caever only shrugged, looking half-confused and half-offended. He started to stand up, before realizing giving chase to Aralim would be in vain.
Striding into the foyer, Aralim found Wella entering from another door and heading across the room towards the sitting room. She blinked, smiled, and spread her hands to welcome Aralim. “Aralim, welcome to our home!” she exclaimed.
“Ah, Wella,” Aralim murmured. “I didn’t realize you were here…. Meanwhile I’ve been trying to talk philosophy with your husband.” He didn’t slow down, still heading for the exterior door.
She spread her hands and laughed. “Oh dear. And let me guess, he took it as an excuse to down a few?” She mimicked drinking from a glass.
Aralim nodded, hesitating at the threshold of their home. “Which would be fine if it led to any actual opinions.”
“I’m sorry on his behalf. Perhaps next time you and I should speak, without alcohol.” Wella looked at him hopefully.
Aralim at last allowed her a smile. “A lovely idea. Perhaps next month, after I deal with some other matters?”
“Of course,” Wella replied. “At your leisure.”
With a nod, Aralim strode outside. The sun was starting to set, and the hawks were still circling over Rema—waiting as patiently as the Emperor for their prey to show itself. Aralim walked with a scowl, before chiding himself—he should not have let Caever irritate him so. The man was a fool, but that didn’t mean the Hanez house was free of hawk traps.