The Monarchia of Vasyllia is first concerned with the care and welfare of its citizens. Therefore, we have found it necessary to form a representative body, the Dumar.

I. Dumar representation will be based upon population density.

II. Twenty will come from the first reach, fifteen from the second, five from the third.

III. Let the reaches choose their own.

IV. The Dumar will assist the Monarchia in an advisory capacity.

V. According to the discretion of the Dar, the Dumar may also legislate certain internal matters.

VI. The Dumar may, in extreme cases of dynastic turmoil, call for a Council of the Reaches to choose a new Dar.

Official edict of Dar Aldermían II, year 734 of the Covenant

Chapter 10

The Dumar

The heavy double doors of the Chamber of Counsel opened inward to reveal a fresco of the Covenant Tree adorning the entire far wall. Just as the doors opened, sunlight pierced through the colored glass in the windows, and the flames danced on the painted tree. Gooseflesh prickled Voran’s arms at the sight. On either side of the rectangular room stood tiered wooden galleries filled to the brim. Every one of the forty representatives of the three reaches of Vasyllia, the full Dumar, looked at him with undisguised hatred. Of course, Voran thought, he had chosen to aid Nebesti over Vasylli. He understood their hatred, but he deplored it. It shocked him how deeply entrenched Vasyllia had become in its insularity.

In each of the four corners of the room stood a great stone likeness of a tree—a birch, an oak, a beech, and an aspen. For a moment, he thought he saw a Sirin in the branches of the birch, but he was mistaken. Even so, the flame in his heart surged, and he felt new strength blooming from his chest.

Dar Antomír sat in a simple throne of white marble under the fresco of the aspen sapling. Mirnían—his face an inscrutable mask—stood before a throne of malachite a step lower than the Dar. Sabíana sat on the Dar’s left on a throne of pink granite. She seemed to look at Voran, but as he approached, he realized her eyes were directed at a point beyond his left shoulder. He had hoped she had forgiven him; it appeared he was wrong.

“The Dumar may be seated,” said Mirnían. “Chosen speakers of the Dumar, step forward for counsel.”

These were two military men, the willowy chief cleric Otar Kalún, and a young courtier Voran did not know. He could smell lavender on him, even from this distance, and his silver cloak shimmered as he moved. Voran disliked him immediately. He knew the type—a social climber who would not hesitate to sell his own grandmother for advancement in the Dumar.

The chosen speakers stood on a step lower than Mirnían and Sabíana and faced Voran. At that moment, when even Sabíana looked at him with the eyes of a statue, Voran finally realized the full seriousness of his situation.

“Vohin Voran,” said Mirnían, “son of Otchigen, the former Voyevoda of Vasyllia, you are charged with dereliction of duty. Before you speak in your defense, know that it was the Dumar’s wish that you be clapped in irons upon your return to Vasyllia. Only the Dar’s clemency grants you the freedom you now enjoy.”

“Something you hardly deserve,” hissed Otar Kalún. His pupils were abysses in eyes of pale grey.

Dar Antomír tensed, as if he were about to rebuke the chief cleric. But he did not. Sabíana looked down at her hands, cupped on her knees. The tips of her mouth curled down, either in anger or in sorrow. Voran couldn’t decide which. He wanted her to look at him again. He was sure it would give him strength. But she did not.

“Highness and Dumar assembled,” Voran said, his voice shaking in spite of himself. “Nebesta is fallen. Your scouts doubtless spotted the refugees days ago. What they did not tell you is that the Second City is no more. Every male Nebesti has been slaughtered or captured.” He felt anger rising, his voice hardening. “The invader has sent their women and children ahead, doubtless to spread fear and to burden Vasyllia with their care.” This last phrase he spat out with contempt. Every face but the Dar’s twisted. In an upsurge of emotion, Voran went on the offensive.

“But that is nothing!” Voran’s voice echoed. “Nebesta was invaded not merely by an army of men, but by something the Nebesti call changers. Dark creatures, half-man, half-beast, capable of changing physical form to suit their needs. They are led by the Raven.”

The hall erupted in noise—laughter, shuffling cambric, frantic whispers, hands wringing sword-hilts. Voran kept his gaze firmly on the Dar’s. He saw understanding there and the beginning of fear.

The older military man boomed over the noise. “Highness, must we listen to stories? This man is charged with treason.”

“Perhaps Vohin Voran would care to elucidate?” It was the courtier. He did not even try to hide his derision. Voran’s gut twisted. This man was wrong, somehow. Voran had a compulsion to run him through with a sword. It was so strong that he had to physically restrain himself.

“Fools,” Voran said more quietly, but his voice echoed still. “Are you blind to the dying of the tree? The fire on the aspen sapling is dying, far earlier than its allotted time. Does this bother no one?”

Voran turned slowly to look at the rest of the Dumar. Some faces were paler than when he entered. A few did not return his gaze.

“We have caused Nebesta’s fall. We have broken Covenant with Adonais, and now the fire on the tree will fade, and we will not be able to bring it back. The ancient protection girding Vasyllia will fade, and our city will fall.”

“Father, will you do nothing?” Mirnían shook with anger. “This man is charged with abandoning innocent pilgrims in the wild, and he is raving about covenants.”

Dar Antomír continued to stare at Voran. Voran returned his gaze, willing himself to be still. He focused on the flame in his heart. It burned strongly. Dar Antomír nodded slightly and seemed to come back to life.

“Peace, my children.” He raised his hands and the clamor died. “These are serious things Vohin Voran speaks of. Otar Kalún. Is what Voran says possible? This covenant between Adonais and Vasyllia. Is it anything other than an old story? And if it is, under what circumstances can it be broken?”

“Well,” said the cleric, feeble voice dripping with disdain, “in the more recent redactions of the Old Tales there are several obscure references to the Vasylli being a ‘High People, chosen by Adonais,’ but it would be very difficult to extrapolate any covenant from those few passages. I cannot account for the older collections of tales; they have serious textual inconsistencies. As for the Sayings, there are a few references to a covenant, yes, but the writers of the Sayings seem to assume the reader knows of such a covenant as established fact. They never describe it explicitly.”

“Then there is reason to believe that the Covenant exists?” asked Mirnían, his face once more an impassive mask.

“Highness, if I may speak?” said the courtier. He reminded Voran of a snake with his insinuating and effeminate gestures.

“Speak, Sudar Yadovír,” said the Dar.

“I have studied the Sayings,” said Yadovír. “If one reads them literally, then yes, the Covenant is an established fact. But if so, then we must take every verse in the Sayings as literally true, must we not? In that case, animals can speak with human tongues and Sirin are still flying around in the deepwoods.” He laughed, and his neck muscles stuck out obscenely.

Voran had a nagging sense that Yadovír knew more than he should, that he was challenging Voran to make a compromising admission. He had a sensation of panic, like a drowning man with legs cramping in pain. Yadovír continued.

“It makes a great deal more sense to read the sections concerning the Covenant as a metaphor for the mutual love between Adonais and Vasyllia.”

“I agree with Yadovír,” said Kalún.

“Do you really, Otar Kalún?” Rumbled the younger military man, huge and red-faced and red-bearded. Until that moment, Voran hardly noticed him, he was so silent. “I am not a learned man, but I know that if you start subjecting all the old truths to the test of your own fallen mind, everything collapses.”

He looked at Voran and nodded, though his expression was still guarded.

“Dumar,” said Voran, heartened by the big warrior’s support. “Tell me, did our scouts give us any indication of this enemy that razed great Nebesta in a single night?”

No one answered.

“This is not a normal enemy we face. Surely there have been enough omens, even for your doubts! I have spoken to Lord Farlaav. He is a man known to many of you. He himself told me of the monsters in Nebesta…”

“You do seem to know a great deal, Vohin Voran,” said Yadovír. “But why must we submit to your superior knowledge in this? You abandoned your own people in the wild. And you say nothing of that.”

Voran felt backed into a corner. He was still sure, somewhere deep within, that Yadovír wanted him to admit to seeing the Sirin, though why, he could not say. As Voran spoke, his own body tried to stop him from speaking. But it was too late to turn back.

“Highness, Dumar assembled, I did not abandon them. On the third day after we left, I encountered a Sirin by the road. She sang to me, and our souls are now bound. But it is a perilous thing—to encounter the Higher Beings. I passed into another place. Another time. When I came to myself, I found myself in a completely different part of Vasyllia, more than twenty miles away from the Dar’s road. It was there that I found the refugees. Ask the scouts. They know how far the refugees traveled, and by what woodsmen’s roads. I lost the pilgrims, yes. But not through my own volition.”

They didn’t believe him, Voran saw it immediately. All he heard was silence, intense as the hum that follows the ring of blade against blade. Mirnían’s expression shifted subtly, and Voran thought there was a glimmer of something behind it, maybe yearning. Sabíana now looked straight at Voran’s eyes, her cheeks barely touched with pink. When he met her gaze, she did not look away. He found he could not hold her gaze for long.

“Chosen speakers of the Dumar,” said Dar Antomír, his voice touched with finality, as though he were condemning a man to death. “Have you anything further to say before I speak in judgment?”

No one answered, and the silence echoed.

“Very well. Vohin Voran, we hereby find you guilty of dereliction of duty. You are exiled from Vasyllia, you and any children you may come to have, until your death, under the pain of public execution.”