The Last Philosopher

Truth by majority rule

"We should not get into a discussion of why a g-o-d would send us a p-wyrd," Zhetoniss said.

With that, like many good questions in the dome of wasted hours, Drik's was neatly ignored. The Áettar had never made a secret of his disdain for the Pedran head. Possibly because the big rock had never worn a robe to a council meeting. The Loitar head would never admit it, but he took style too damned serious. He was also petty enough to take Troll's lack of style personal. Nonetheless, Trolls were exempt. Because they tended to rip even the most well fitting robe. So it saved on fabric, which wasn't an inexhaustible resource even in a free labour economy.

While his colleague was looking down his nose at the granite slab in the loin-cloth. Lyeasrakardsul took Drik's example and leaned back in his hard stone-seat. Tensing up with discomfort, he tried to look relaxed. It could be a while before someone stumbled onto a self-serving angle.

Good, best to let them draw their own conclusions, his inner sorcerer thought while he fiddled with his pipe. No need to tell them were going to have to fulfil a p-wyrd quest

"The fact is we all know what happens to those who refuse the divine!" The Loitar head grimaced with disgust. "And for my part, if I am to choose between dying in agony, and not dying in agony, it is not a difficult choice."

That was quick, he nodded along, never ask the council to do what they can convince themselves to do.

"Besides, our underlings need never know! The whole thing will be another council secret, even if the p-wyrd was sent to a Knome abuser!"

Zhetoniss finished up with a jab at him, it was expected but his gut still contracted with shame. Nevertheless, this personal and professional crisis felt good somehow, normal even. The first council had started the morning meetings to deal with the crisis after the Spell. But in Empris one crisis followed another and it had long ago become the new normal. With the familiar feeling of humiliating pressure, something was knocked loose in his mind after Áettar's comment.

"As a point of clarification," he addressed the question at the fabulous man-beard. "May I ask how the council knew I went to see the Knomes?"

"Hrm-hm!" The Dwarf cleared his throat instead of shouting, a clear sign of guilt.

"I thought that servant looked familiar! You had me followed! How dare you?"

"We had information from a reliable source that you were intent on subversive activity." The Dwarf retreated into classic Xefef speech, saying things that have essentially no meaning.

"We? You were all in on this? You all agreed to have me followed," he asked highlighting the obvious lie. "What about the first time? Someone was watching me with magick, which one of you was it?"

Sulenthvorenth's face was stone, but there was something in Drik's granite expression. The Troll's literal stone-face wore a pebble of discomfort.

"Watching people is more of a Dalmicir thing, is it not? You should look to your own school," the Xefef head counter-accused.

He had said too much. There was no way he could prove anyone had watched him with magick. The man-beard was doing his best to draw himself up. If not for his raised seat, his nose would be on the table's edge.

"You can be sure I will look into it," he replied, "but maybe someone was watching in order to get permission from the council to have someone else followed?"

"What are you insinuating?"

"Oh, I am not insinuating, only speculating, but you did all agree to have me followed?"