Chapter 45 – The Solari

Capital of Solari Territory, Aurelion — The Spire

A long, high-pitched horn echoed through the holy capital. Work was paused. Scripture was set down. Meals were halted. And, for the elite of the bishopric, wills hardened. A conclave was imminent.

Not long later, the lives of thousands had already returned to normal. All except dozens of robed bishops and their staff, each making their way to The Spire.

The massive domed building was the crown of Aurelion, stretching far above any other structure in the city. Its bottom levels were used for public worship, its middle for administrative and managerial necessities, and its top for one purpose.

Arthur Demetri climbed upwards just for that reason, taking long, purposeful steps. The marble staircase beneath was eaten up with ease as he ascended.

Behind, William and several aides followed. They were having a slightly less easy time of it.

“Father, I just worry we are moving too hastily. Do you not think this premature? If you’re wrong…”

A tired smile crossed the Spymaster’s face. Without pausing or turning back, he spoke. “William, I sincerely hope I am wrong. I do. But, from everything we’re learning, I fear the opposite to be true.

“You fear the opposite?” asked William, nearly out of breath.

The high bishop lowered his voice, speaking so only the priest could hear. “I don’t just fear I’m right. I fear that we’re too late.”

William didn’t reply at that. That didn’t surprise Arthur. What could you say when he, the man who knew perhaps more than any in all of The Solari, feared that they were too late?

His saying that was measured, not happenstance. The spymaster needed his second informed. Compartmentalization served its purpose, but so too did coordination. And if the Solari were to survive this test, it would be together or not at all.

That fact most of all kept his nights restless as of late.

Minutes later, they reached the entrance to The Hall of Rays. Two golden plated paladins stood sentry, blocking the way to any but bishops.

The sentinel on the left moved forward, holding up one gauntlet armoured hand. “High Bishop Demetri. You may enter, but your party must remain in the lobby.”

Around, over a hundred other aides were already sitting on nearby benches, engaged in quiet chatter. His own would mingle shortly, ensuring any rumors of note were cataloged and filtered up to him.

“Of course, paladin.” He turned, smiling gently at William. The priest was still lost in thought at Arthur’s warning, brow furrowed. “William. All will be as The Five will it. Have faith.”

Shaking himself, the priest bent down, pressing his lips to the ring on Arthur’s finger. “I do have faith, father. I just worry.”

“Well, stop that! I worry enough for us both.” Then, kneeling so he too was on the same level as William, he whispered in his ear. “I got word today from a rider that Caen sent us a very interesting friend. From the front lines. See to it you intercept him before anyone else hears of this. I’ve taken measures, but I can’t be sure. You can leave Johan here to meet with the other staff.”

To his credit, William kept his expression still. “Yes father. I’ll see it done.”

Coughing delicately, he held out his hand. “Before you go. Don’t forget that this might be difficult without the writ.”

Cheeks coloring, William turned and snapped his fingers. “Yes, yes. Of course! Johan, Marcus. The writ, please. Quickly.”

One of the aides immediately held out an ornamental case. The other unclasped it, removed the protective silk, and gently lifted the parchment within.

Taking the painstakingly scribed writ, William turned to his master. “Father, if you really are set on this, I expect the south bishopric will be quick to follow you. Your true challenge will be with the rest.”

Arthur waved dismissively. “Leave that to Klive and me. You have your job. I have mine. By the five.”

“By the five.”

Using both hands, Arthur grasped the parchment, nodded one last time to his fellows, and entered the hall.

***

As the holy capital, it was seen to that every part of the city, from domicile to worship, was as beautiful as it was extravagant. Tens of thousands called it home, living between its wide paved streets, marble temples, lush gardens, and hilltop shrines.

Most of the architecture was made up of columns and domes, with angular shaping that mimicked rays of sunlight near rooftops. A subtle nod to the solaric roots of the theocracy.

At the Apex of The Spire, however, held something only bishops ever saw. Something that nothing else in the entirety of Aurelion could compare to. The Solarium.

Stepping inside, Arthur took stock of his battlefield. He had to stop himself from grinning.

Our gambit should pay off. And, even now, only two thirds of the bishops showed. He and Klive had gone to great pains to ensure their own supporters were part of that group.

In practice, the enormous lists of petitions and motions, many of which held minimal consequence, meant that most bishops only showed up to one out of every three conclaves. Today was actually a relatively high turnout. By design, of course.

Judging by the confused looks on some of his political adversaries’ faces, they were starting to wonder why.

All in good time, my brothers. All in good time.

At full capacity, sixty devotees could be seated in the circular, tiered chamber. Ranking High bishops at the bottom, mundane bishops on the top.

And, at the floor, sat the archbishops. All had a different obelisk behind them. Vigil, Pyre, Bounty, Lens, and Radiant. Representations of The Five.

It was an unspoken rule for them to remain impartial during the proceedings, acting as the champions for their Chosen of the Five. To interpret, not dictate.

In practice, that meant smiles and nods in the light, with whispers and maneuvers in the dark.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he and Archbishop Klive locked gazes. A subtle bow of the chin was exchanged, before both shifted elsewhere.

Making his way to his spot on the first tier, Arthur found himself once again in admiration. Not of the devotees gathered here, but what they were gathered within.

The solarium was an enormous dome of glass at the peak of The Spire, framed by curving veins of gold. Its top was left open, allowing the sun to reflect just right. The result was a brilliant beam of radiance funneling directly into the chamber’s center. Right at the focus of that illumination, a massive dais was carved into the stone.

Once your eyes adjusted, it wasn’t blinding. It was divine.

“This is your doing, I take it,” muttered High Bishop of Treasury, Aldara. Her blonde locks were kept in formal wear, bound in her Solcrest.

Taking his seat, Demetri gave a gentle but measured smile. “Oh, come now Aldara. Don’t look at me like that. I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t believe it absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, well. I’m surprised you even showed up. You do realize that the list of petitions still numbers over five dozen. I doubt your writ will even make it to the floor until four or five conclaves from now. Six if Oren has anything to say about it.”

Demetri quirked his lips at that. “Perhaps. Or, perhaps The Five will see fit to surface what matters most, and let the less pressing issues sink.”

Aldara snorted at that. Giving him an amused look, she reached for the quill at her side. “That seems rather unlikely.”

Around them, hushed conversations and muted whispers filled the hall. Demetri ran through another head count, getting a feel for how many supporters he could count on.

Amidst scribbling and reviewing figures, Aldara spoke again. “I’ve heard much of this proposal of yours. I’ve heard very little, however, as to what it’ll cost.”

He was just about to make a half-willed reply when two loud bangs of a heavy gavel cut through their conversation. At the top of the chamber, the arbiter stood. Arthur bobbed his chin in approval when he saw whom it was.

As planned. Lys is on rotation.

“Order! Order! The Five bear witness to this session. Seeing as midday is approaching, I am officially calling today’s conclave to order. We speak in the light, or not at all,” proclaimed Lys, repeating the ritual.

Arthur nearly pressed his palm to his face when he saw the satisfied smirk on Klive’s lips.

You old goat. Half the bishopric’s going to know you arranged Lys to be arbiter with you looking like that. Gah… Oh well. I suppose it hardly matters now.

At the doorway, the paladins on guard closed the massive oak doors, each making up half of a solaric sigil. None could enter or leave until the conclusion of today’s agenda.

“For today’s session, we have a packed schedule. Items that are not seen today will be placed at the next conclave in two weeks’ time.” The arbiter paused. “However, there is a pre-conclave matter to be addressed.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Pre-conclave matter?”

“What?”

Murmurs of unrest filled the chamber.

To his side, Aldara gave Arthur a pointed stare. He very purposefully did not look back.

Two more slams of the gavel. “Order! Order!”

On the other side of the room, High bishop Oren stood, white robes unfurling behind him. “Arbiter! Explain yourself! What in The Five’s name is a pre-conclave matter?!”

Shouts of agreement came from others behind him. Without surprise, Arthur noted that only half of the western diocese with Oren had shown up today.

Not enough. And, judging by the growing redness on his face, the man knew it.

Cocking his head, Arthur Demetri tapped two fingers on his armrest. On cue, High Bishop Callun of Doctrine looked over. He gestured meaningfully at him with his free hand.

Rolling his eyes, the wiry man stood. He adjusted his spectacles, before clearing his throat. “Under the canonical precedents of the third solarch, subsection fourteen of the Rites of Convocation, a writ bearing an archbishop’s sponsorship may be elevated to pre-conclave standing if, and only if, the matter pertains to an active threat against consecrated lands of the faithful therein.”

He sat back down, adjusted his glasses again, and folded his hands.

Fists pounded and feet stamped in approval from the central diocese, most seated to Arthur’s rear.

“Seconded!”

“Third!”

Oren glared at the arbiter. “This is ridiculous! Has any bishop here actually heard of this pre-conclave nonsense? Can anyone confirm the wish-wash Callun just gave us?”

Canon Lys sighed. “That wish-wash is indeed correct.” As if on cue, she held up a copy of parchment with the clause referenced. “Furthermore, I have verified the pre-conclave agenda item does reference a matter as described by Callun.” Then, rushing out the words before another objection could be raised, she continued. “As such, the conclave recognizes High Bishop Demetri, under sponsorship of Archbishop Klive.”

Oren stared in incredulity. For several tense moments, he stayed upright. Still. Arthur half thought the man was going to break precedent. But, just as the tension stretched taut, he sat. Even as outraged as he was, denying the floor once given was a serious offence. One that even a high bishop had to tread lightly with.

For his part, Arthur rose in one fluid motion. Writ in hand, he descended, taking measured steps until he stood precisely in the center of the floor’s radiant light. Around him, the five arch bishops stared. Two of whom had unspoken fires blazing in their eyes.

“Thank you, Arbiter,” he said. Loudly, crisply. Then, instead of even looking to the archbishops, he instead let his gaze travel in a slow circle at the audience above. To those who would actually vote.

“Fellow brothers, I come today to petition for a permanent establishment consecrated in North Valdren, the resources and arms to hold it, and a champion to lead it. I know this may seem presumptuous, but with the evidence I will be sharing, I think you will agree with me that it is warranted.”

With every word he spoke, Oren’s face grew darker and darker. Arthur saw him stealing a look at his side, where the other high bishop seats were empty. Conveniently vacant for today’s proceedings. Turning, Oren began whispering furiously to a robed figure seated behind him.

Arthur ignored him, pushing on. In his hand, he held up an envelope. “I recently came into possession of a letter from Lord Vask of North Valdren. In it, he speaks of events that at first glance are only of mild concern. A lord Hector Hallen, whom many of you may recognize by the name of his late father, Renold Hallen.”