Chapter Thirty-Six #3
Cormal made sure to keep his voice even, despite the desire to lob a few fireballs that was creeping up his spine. “You certainly don’t have to, if you would also like to deprive your citizens of the best healers.”
They’d laid out all the facts to the councilors about the Prince’s recovery and the reason that it was possible, including the… misunderstanding that had resulted in the loss of Life Magic and the vilifying of carnalions.
“That’s not fair!” they immediately blustered.
Cormal tried not to roll his eyes. He wondered how he’d ever thought he could manage in the role of Summus. One little fireball wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?
Thankfully for continued diplomatic relations, the Queen interceded.
She had the best seat at the center of the top tier, and Cormal enjoyed how the councilors had to keep turning to look at her before going back to glaring at Cormal and everyone on the floor.
(There was apparently a strict schedule that governed which councilor sat where between the bottom and middle tiers, but the Queen kept the top tier for herself, her family, and the heads of the Mage Warriors and Warriors.
Cormal was entirely certain it was to prevent the councilors from squabbling like children.)
The Queen said, “What I think you will find is unfair, Councilor, is the idea that you would benefit from the work of Life Mages while also barring them from your district. Surely, you see that is an unacceptable double standard.”
Their eyes narrowed. “Only the Life Mages, then. You can’t honestly expect any of us to accept carnalions in our districts!”
Brannal interjected. Maybe he could tell that Cormal was about to lose his temper.
Or perhaps he was just demonstrating why he should have this position.
“Carnalions already live in your districts. At the present time, they are in hiding and trying to survive. We’ve long known that they’re able to go among us unnoticed, and unfortunately, old rhetoric prevented us from admitting what that meant.
Many of them quietly live their lives without harming anyone. ”
“They feed on people!” someone yelped from the bottom row—had it been the seventh councilor?
Cormal should probably have been paying more attention, but it was hard not to lump them all together as obstructive jerks.
“They feed on sexual energy,” Perian corrected patiently. “That’s something we release when we’re aroused and when we reach completion. The consumption of that energy isn’t inherently dangerous.”
This caused an explosion of sound as all the councilors had something to say about that. All at once.
“Quiet!”
With obvious reluctance, they obeyed their queen.
“It’s true that carnalions and Life Mages are capable of killing people,” Perian admitted.
There was another rush of sound that was quelled with a clearing of the throat from the Queen. She gestured for Perian to continue.
Perian’s expression was intent, his gaze stern.
“It’s equally true that Mages are capable of killing people.
As are Warriors and Wardens and regular citizens.
Can some of those people do so more easily than others?
Of course. Does that mean we should judge them before they’ve committed a crime?
Based purely on the fact that they could?
We never apply such standards to Elemental Mages, Warriors, or Wardens.
We therefore request that you treat carnalions and Life Mages the same way. ”
There were a lot of unhappy expressions in the room, but for the first time since this had been brought before them, some of the councilors looked more thoughtful than angry or scared.
Kinan smoothly continued. “We’re not asking that carnalions and Life Mages be given free rein. They would be subject to the same laws as other citizens. If they commit a crime, they would be tried for it. But we’re asking that you cease to preemptively judge them guilty.”
The old man from the ninth district looked over at Brannal and Cormal.
His hair had gone almost completely white.
His shoulders were just starting to stoop, but his dark eyes were fierce.
While all the council members wore the long robes of office, Cormal thought that the ninth councilor’s were particularly—and unnecessarily—ornate.
They were blood red silk brocade with an unreasonable amount of gold thread.
His round gender beads were gold with what Cormal was afraid were probably little rubies to match.
They glittered as he moved his head. Actually, all of him glittered.
Angrily, the ninth councilor demanded, “How can you be all right with this? You’ve hunted demons your whole life!”
“We have,” Brannal answered gravely. “And we’ve lost friends and colleagues as a result of some of these fights.
We’re not saying that all demons are good.
Further discussion with carnalions has reinforced our correct opinion that wraiths especially are not capable of higher reasoning.
They will only seek to assuage their hunger, and unfortunately, completely consuming human life energy is the only way for them to do that.
Nightmares are capable of killing humans, but it seems their natural state is more peaceful.
With further study, we may be able to better manage our interactions with them to reduce any loss of life. ”
He stared the man down. “But there is no doubt whatsoever that carnalions are highly reasoning beings on par with human intelligence. They’re capable of complex decision-making.
They aren’t human, but they’re able to restrain themselves from their baser urges, just like humans are.
We’ve hunted them our whole lives. It’s possible that we’ve correctly stopped those who have gone bad the same way that some humans do.
” Brannal’s expression was grave. “It’s equally possible that we’ve driven desperate carnalions to desperate acts as they tried to protect themselves.
I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.
The burden will be a little easier to bear if I can advocate for changes moving forward. ”
The man stuck out his chin stubbornly. “And what would your dead friends and colleagues think of that?”