Free The Sons of Hull by Lindsey Scholl Page A

does well by you.”
    “The king does well by you , Telenar. More than he knows.”
    Chiyo waited as Telenar gathered his cloak, then the two began the short march from the palace to the East Wall. It was late afternoon and the pristine capital city pulsed with activity; the white-washed walls caught the light of the setting orbs and made the entire city shine golden as vendors put away their wares for the night. Entertainers were already beginning to stream onto makeshift stages and music wagons. Orbset was one of Telenar’s favorite times: the air was filled with music and majestic rhetoric from Keroul’s greatest creative minds. Plays from ten thousand score of mornings and evenings ago were performed with dramatic precision. Music from the age of Ruponi the Great drifted toward the heavens. The arts came alive during a Lascombe night, and this awakening was one of the few things that buoyed Telenar’s spirits.
    Behind them, the capital spire towered over the city. Not only did Lascombe house the finest of creative souls, but also the keenest of bureaucratic spirits. The Capitol School of Administrative Government was renowned from east to west, with many distant kings sending their best and brightest to study there. Under the great spire sat the Keroulian Square, with its four sides symbolic of the four different directions. Members of the Square were august men and women over forty cycles and wise in many areas. The elections for these five hundred and one positions—one hundred and twenty-five for each quarter of the country, then one capital-quarter representative—were highly competitive. The Square dealt mostly with quarterly issues and answered directly to the king, by way of bi-cycle reports. Though they had little say if the king did not agree with their suggestions, they could conduct a constituency-based vote of contention: this advised Relgaré that his subjects were displeased with a decision and were, perhaps, on the verge of massive revolt. If a vote of contention resulted in an overwhelming majority of disgruntlement, the king was advised to take serious pacifying action.
    Telenar had observed this form of government all of his life and found it to be relatively successful. But his concern was not bureaucracy; it was the salvation of future generations. On this his thoughts settled as he and Chiyo wound their way through the city streets. Heads turned and bowed low as they passed. The rogue priest—the townspeople knew he was no longer involved in the regime of the Fraternity—and the king’s great warrior were not rare sights to the public. Common though the vision was, the two of them walking together was an inspiring sight. Telenar was respected as a wise, if somewhat odd, man, while the tales of Chiyo’s deeds in battle wove the materials of the greatest ballads. Two living legends they were, and the people of Lascombe revered them.
    Chiyo pulled his cloak tightly around him. “It’s getting colder. I can almost see my breath.”
    His friend nodded agreement. “How are the Marches doing?”
    Chiyo stopped, surprised at the Telenar’s insight. “Who told you?”
    It took a few paces for Telenar to realize his companion was not beside him. “Told me what?”
    “That’s why the king wishes to speak with you. He is going to send you to the Marches.”
    Telenar froze in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
    Chiyo shifted his feet, as uncertain of his king’s reasoning as Telenar. “He says there are a number of good men out there. It would be a good place for your search.”
    “He just wants me out of the city. He has never liked me, and I think in these past cycles he has grown even more uncomfortable with my presence. Well then, I’ll go to his Marches. My fortnight will be up in one more week, and I suppose Marcher wars are as good a place as any to find an Advocate.”
    “You might have to leave a little earlier than that. A train of troops goes out in three days and he wants you