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Saturday, January 29, 2011

PoPP Stories: "Doham, Council of Discord" (Project Feathers)

          Doham’s meeting cavern was undeniably spacious and gaudy. The dome far above was painted with carefree clouds and gliding griffins circling the sun-like insignia of the nation, and the walls were draped with tapestries displaying the proudest moments of our history. I suppose these stitched and painted griffins served as a contrast to the real ones; while the fake griffins were heroic, stretched out, and enjoying the freedom of life, the griffins in front of me were cantankerous and stiff from sitting still for so long.
“I will not support you on this matter, Eldenore, and that is final.”
That was Fenlad, of course, in all his stogy, grey glory. He hardly had a chance to finish before the cavern exploded with outcry. The other griffins in the council were leaning forward, their wings spread aggressively and their beaks moving to make furious sentences. From where I was sitting in the middle of the circle of twenty-five griffins, it sounded like a bubble of cacophonous, unintelligible rage.
No surprise, really; this was the heart of the Department of Heritage and Magic, where everyone ate, drank, and breathed discord. It was just more infuriating this time. Only one more vote. I needed only one more, and then I would be free to start the excavation in Heja.
It did not look like I would get that vote today. Knowing Doham as I do, it was unlikely I would get it for weeks. Alas, the problem was rarely a matter of convincing the council of the merits of the work. Nor was it a matter of our preparedness for the danger ahead—my team and I always researched each dig site extensively before we brought it before the council. No, the difficult part was winning the straggler votes that belonged to those griffins who did not care a whit about our history. They only wanted to know what sort of favors you were willing to offer in exchange for their support.
That was usually the case, at least. I was not quite sure this time. Fenlad, in particular, was a fairly upstanding griffin by Doham’s standards.
Old Varl was trying to quiet the ruckus now. He looked so frail and was perpetually molting these days, but somehow he always managed to get things under control. He cleared his throat and rapped his claws against the steel plate in front of him, and that was all it took.
Varl gestured with an unsteady paw in my direction. “Good Eldenore, you have been quiet for some time. Is there any more information that you can offer to the council regarding the merits of your proposal?”
I fanned my wings to make sure they were still there. This meeting had already whittled the day away, and I doubted there was much I could add now that would change the outcome. If I could, I would let someone else on my team go to the meetings in my stead—Tarna, maybe—but Doham always requested me.
“I know that our records of the Heja area are meager, and that this concerns the council; the excavation could be dangerous in ways that we have no way of predicting.” Some of the griffins were nodding curtly and watching me over their raised beaks. I think this is why the council’s platform is raised—so they can look down at you without any extra effort on their part. I sighed.
“However, this is also the main reason why we should investigate this site now. The Heja area, and the desert in particular, is not very well protected at this time. If the site is discovered and explored by our regular citizens or members of the unaffiliated tribes, any potential dangers are multiplied. Let us archaeologists be the first to enter the site; we have the training and the resources to safely clear the place of any lingering magic.”
“Perhaps you think too highly of your team’s skills,” said a slender griffin with slits for eyes. “I still cannot give you my vote.”
           That was Woth, and her disapproval was perfectly fine by me. She was really the worst kind of griffin on this council—the power hungry, self-serving kind. I avoided dealing with her whenever possible.
           “I, too, must withhold my support,” piped a jumpy griffin near to Woth’s side. I did not recognize this one—he was new and young. No older than Benithew, certainly. Yet I could see in the way his eyes shifted from me to Woth that he was looking for her approval. He was her pawn—or apprentice, if you prefer a softer term. Benithew would have made an infinitely better addition to the council than a power-starved whelp like him. But that was no surprise, either. Doham had lost sight of its purpose a long time ago.
           A bright-eyed griffin shook his head. “Woth, Eldenore’s team has proven time and again that they are extremely capable archaeologists. If Eldenore believes this dig is safe, there is no reason to doubt her.”
Woth tilted her beak upward. “Need I remind the council of Eldenore’s last excavation? It is true that she is one of our star archaeologists, but there is also a reason why we prohibit the creation of new spells by all but the most skilled mages. That she would so quickly disregard our laws does not reflect well on her.”
           Why did she have to bring that up again? I took a deep breath to let my anger cool. “May I also remind the council that I have been acquitted of all charges of wrongdoing.”
           “Yes,” said Woth icily. “But who cleared you, hm? Certainly not this council. The papers said it was a direct request from the Peacekeeper himself, but…”
“Come now, Woth!” a raspy voice called out, drowning out her complaints. Almost in unison, the council and I looked up toward the arched opening of the southern balcony. A small and pitifully bedraggled griffin that I had never seen before sat there, picking at the feathers of his mottled coat. He waggled a claw in our direction. “There is no reason to voice such doubts in these halls.”
           Varl’s claws rang out against steel and he craned his neck to see the unwelcome visitor. “You, up there!” he called. “This is a private meeting. You should not be here.”
           “Oh, I think we can be wherever we like,” said the visitor. He pulled a small metal object from the bag tied around his shoulders. It glinted in the low light as he glided down from the balcony to our chamber.
He offered the little object to Varl. From where I was it looked like a small metal carving of the nation’s insignia. Varl muttered a spell under his breath and the object glowed.
Varl gasped. “This is an official seal of the Circle of Advisors!”
“Indeed.” The visitor nodded and snatched the seal out of Varl’s claws.
Varl studied the visitor’s unprofessional appearance. “Who are you?”
“Just an auditor—called Sevl, if you like. The Advisors have to check up on the branches of government every once-in-a-while, you know.” He inattentively plucked a feather from his neck; much of his body was covered in bare, featherless spots.
“I believe we are close to adjournment today,” said Varl. “You are free to watch the remainder of the meeting, but please do not interrupt again.”
“Of course…but in a moment.” The auditor turned to look at me. “Ah, Eldenore. Another dig, is it? And in Heja this time? My, my. Please be extra careful.”
I bowed my head, slightly. “My team intends to take every precaution available.”
“Good. You’ll need them.” The strange griffin shook his wings and then sauntered off the council’s platform. He settled into a spot near the fringes of the chamber, far out of the way and partially hidden by a shadow.
“Now,” began Varl. “Shall we take a vote?”
The vote came out exactly the same as before: eleven in favor, five undecided, eight against. Only one more vote; I needed only one more.
           “The results are inconclusive,” Varl observed. “I believe we should postpone—”
“Wait.” Fenlad held up a paw. “I never said my vote could not be won.” Muttering rippled throughout the council. “May Doham act as witness—I would like to defer my vote to the Advisors.”
My beak fell open. The other griffins of the council appeared to have similar reactions, which soon turned into more arguing.
Varl patiently silenced the council. Unlike the others, he was calm and collected. “Would you like to explain, Fenlad?”
Fenlad shrugged and sat up straighter on his scruffy haunches. “I believe this is too uncertain an excavation. I cannot run the risk of this measure passing without the Advisors being made aware.”
Varl nodded, apparently satisfied. “Very well, then. Auditor Sevl…” He turned toward the auditor’s position and stopped. Sevl was no longer there. “Where has he gone?”
A griffin at the end of the council shook his head. “He slipped out a few minutes ago.”
“Hm.” Varl rubbed the underside of his beak with a claw. “Then I will schedule a meeting with the Advisors myself.” He looked toward me—or, rather, in my general direction because his eyes were not very good. “Good Eldenore, you will have to garner the approval of at least six of the Advisors to proceed with your excavation. Do you understand?”
           “Well…” I blinked. “Yes, I understand.”
           “Good.” He nodded and called for the meeting’s end. Together we recited the National Oath and then filed out of the cavern.
           For the rest of the night I tried to puzzle out Fenlad’s motives, but nothing I devised seemed satisfactory. Perhaps he really did think this issue was too big for Doham to handle alone, but I certainly did not. Then again, in all my years I have never before seen one of Doham’s meetings audited. It was possible the Advisors had already taken an interest in this case, and Fenlad was trying to gain favor.
As an afterthought, I wondered if Fenlad knew that my cousin was an acting member of the Circle of Advisors. I doubted it; if he knew, I am not sure he would have made the move that he did.

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This is the second Project Feathers story. Click here to read the first.

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