The Wordless Mage
Chapter 56: Speaker of the High Table

Chapter 56: Speaker of the High Table

Silence.

Silence was all that befell the clutter of the upper-class, even the respective heroes flicking their heads down, unwilling to protest the consensus being built between the Pope and his constituents.

"Well, that settles that. And as for you, Tarnell, I hope that you understand the difference between you and I, not only in class, but etiquette. Not only interjecting to refute the word of the gods, but even going so far as to make a stand for a wraith. It was a mistake to invite like-minded, greedy merchants such as yourself to this banquet--one that I won’t repeat in the future."

Tharos was staring into the man who’d originally spoken out in defense of Rowan, the quiet anger gnawing away at his hands to tighten around his staff. And still, he maintained his composure.

The room--primarily those who carried with them some form of gold necklaces or wristbands--booed at Tarnell, hands thrown in the air with all the strength of their combined rage.

Tarnell’s face bled red from the embarrassment, turning away and crossing his shoulders. He wordlessly closed his eyes and blocked out the roaring crowd.

"Now, now, lets not get in an uproar. If you are a merchant of pure-heart, you may be individually evaluated by the church. Moving forward, though, I’ll repeat my question one more time to dispel any possibility of refutation." Tharos raised his staff, granting it the same blinding spell that ate the atmosphere around it. "Does anybody reject the prospect of capital punishment for the wraith?"

The air drifted aloft with the growing unease exuding from the bodies in the area, touching upon Rowan, gritting his teeth with even greater frustration as each second passed, uninterrupted.

No, I can’t die yet.

Black filled, his stomach ballooning with an intense doom. Nobody around him had sensed it, but as his cluttered fists slowed in their shaking, he felt for a resonating voice in his mind.

’Take me by the hand, and we can both escape this.’

He could feel the same presence in his mind, drifting with mere fragments gathering the strength to make its call. It was desperate, but was it really all that bad?

After all, Rowan craved just as desperately to tear each person limb by limb.

"Pope Tharos, I simply cannot allow this, no matter what personal insecurities you convey to the people present here. Need I remind you the conversation we had? Do not believe for a second that you can strut around as you so wish." Viral rose up, holding his sword in the sky like one would a flag.

His voice was strangely loud--far more than should’ve been possible. However, at closer inspection at the purple striations beating at the air, Rowan realized that it must’ve been some aspect of arcana.

On the other hand, Tharos held his hand behind his back, looking between the crowd musingly. He didn’t speak--at least for a moment--his chest rising from his deep inhale. With momentarily closed eyes, he turned to Viral.

"I see, Viral. So it has come to this." He opened his eyes, solemnity overtaking his prose. "Then, Speaker of the High Table, may you come forth?"

’What?’

’What is this about?’

’Why him?’

The crowd stammered for any reason for the man’s presence, his very existence an enigma.

Viral, on the other hand, looked blankly toward Tharos’ left, watching carefully as a figure emerged from the blotch of individuals gathered behind him.

"Yes," the man uttered, pure dominance in his gaze and posture.

He was towering to the point of disbelief, well over seven feet tall. Violet red painted his scalp with the very same flaring flame that struggled to contain itself within his aether, the smoothness of his face an uncomforting contrast.

Despite the many lavishes that the upper class adorned in the gathering of celebration, his clothing was rather plain, flat colors of brown and gray drawing far too well the harrowing presence that the man kept within his very being.

It was a struggle for Rowan, to wrap his head around the emerging dignity in the way the man composed himself, and yet, for the man to also possess feral emotion that burst forth with each movement and slight shift in expression.

"Tarnell..." Viral sighed, turning back to where Rowan sat. He’d been almost resolute in Rowan’s defense just a moment ago, and yet, there were something that had shifted in the room. "What is the meaning of this?"

Tharos smiled, putting one hand on Tarnell’s shoulder. "How about you go ahead and deliver him the news, Tarnell?"

Tarnell looked up between Viral and the crowd, puffing his chest out so that he could muster the proper volume to be heard by all.

"King Viral, I have been informed of the threats that you offered the Pope, including but not limited to the proposal of the dissolution of our very theocracy. Is this not a slight to the very gods, one that we of the parliament condemn with all our being?"

All around them, fellow members of the parliament nodded their heads, stepping forward in support of Tarnell to reveal their similarly plain-looking clothing that paled in comparison to the bright of others inhabiting the space.

"Tarnell, you can’t be serious? Are you so desperate for power that you would betray the decision that we’ve all come to make just months prior," Viral begged, his arms matching the quick tremors in his speech, "when we came together and decided to collective vote out the--"

"Enough!" Tarnell sliced his arm in front of him with furrowed brows, displacing himself from the Pope by his side, "Holy Pope, do not believe the lies coming from the former king’s mouth! I have remained loyal not just to theocracy, but you! And that will remain so until death takes me."

"Former king...?"

"Hah, don’t worry Tarnell, I understand your anguish, and I ensure that with the new age, you will be given the proper reward that the gods deem necessary. For the time being, though, we will cast a vote. Are there any that contest to this?"

The Pope stepped back with his final call of inquiry, watching carefully as none dared to present their arms forth.

No, they were in full support, screaming curses at the king with a varying degree of food and drink splashing where he stood.

Viral squinted at the onslaught of objects, raising his hands in front of him. It was of no matter to Tharos, though.

"Then that settles that. We will finish this in a courtroom, Viral, of which your fate will be decided." He waved his hand back as he turned, looking over at the two silenced heroes and the equally silent Kaia who’d been muttering to herself the entire time with strained eyes. "As for the three heroes, escort them to their rooms. They need not witness these court proceedings."

Finally, he looked back at the one ’hero’ who sat on the floor, wide-eyed and stunned. He didn’t need to talk to him to understand the emotions swirling in his mind.

"And in the case of the wretched Wraith, detain him to the lowest chambers to be dealt with at a later date."

Rowan didn’t respond to the words, not even the movement of guards in his peripheral vision ratting him any more than he already was. No, the one most shaken was Viral, knees on the ground with his head buried in his hands.

"Sir Rowan... I’m sorry."