Chapter 11

Laris Rychart, Prince of Osh’riyo, third in line to the Imperial Throne, scanned the parchment for the third time. His cousin, the Emperor had drafted a proclamation declaring that it was high time the desert folk be brought to heel. To that end, all of the desert folk found in the main body of the Empire were to be shipped to Osh’riyo for what the proclamation colorfully called “interrogation.” Since these men and women couldn’t be placed under Oath, Laris was ordered to be creative in his methods for securing accurate information.

“So, my cousin has taken it into his head that there’s a conspiracy against him, and that it took root among the desert people,” Laris said, speaking to Yokir, his seneschal.

“And what does he tend to do about it, your Highness?” Yokir asked. He was an old man. He had served Laris’s father and grandfather, although he was just a young man when he first started service for the Rychart family.

“Apparently, he is sending them to me to get to the bottom of this.” Liam looked at the date of the proclamation and cursed. “And it appears that the first boatload of suspects will be arriving within the week. Curse the griffin’s inability to fly over the seas!”

Yokir took this in stride. He had long heard his master complain about the limitations of the vaunted griffin cavalry his cousin and their ancestors put so much stock in. “Of course, your Highness, it is that same inability that makes you so powerful in the northern seas.”

Laris spat. “It’s that inability that makes me third in line for the throne instead of first. If those lice-ridden beasts could fly over the seas, my ancestor would not have been sent here to secure this rock, while his younger brother and his line ascended to the throne!”

Yokir bowed his head, properly admonished. Of course, he knew this story. He had grown up listening to the same complaints from three generations of Osh’riyo Rycharts. Laris was right. But then, so was Yokir. The griffin’s inability to fly over vast stretches of oceans is what allowed his master so much freedom. As much as Laris chaffed at not being Emperor, in a very real way, he was Emperor of the northern seas and Et’alash.

“Your Highness, we will have to hurry if we are to prepare the dungeons for the sheer numbers of prisoners they will be expected to hold.”

“What’s to prepare? Throw these desert dogs into the cells as they are now. Perhaps the cold and wet will convince them to speak more freely.”

“Be that as it may, your Highness, the cells we have now can only hold four comfortably. That means we can house a total of 250 prisoners. From the sounds of things, we’ll be expected to hold many more. We need to expand the cells.”

“Bah! Who cares for their comfort? They are prisoners!”

“That may be, your Highness,” Yokir replied with patience. “But they still receive the protection of the law. They will petition the courts for relief if you treat them badly.”

“And how are they going to do that, Yokir? They won’t have access to counsel. The Emperor’s orders are very clear. I am to take all necessary steps to get the information he demands. He said nothing about the legal niceties. He wants results.”

Yokir bowed. “As you command, your Highness. I will go speak with the jailor, to be sure things are ready.” He had concerns about the Emperor’s orders, but he had voiced them to his master. His duty was served. It did appear that Laris had approval from the highest authority to do what was necessary.

As Laris watched Yokir walk out of the throne room, he allowed a small smile to blossom on his face. Things were going very well.

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