Chapter 21 #2
But why was she here? Why did Kamsi have access to this place? Her father seemed to have dipped his hand into the pockets of the wealthy.
That night, the council chamber was packed and overflowing.
Torches blazed along every wall, chasing shadows into corners, illuminating faces that ranged from furious to fearful to fearfully blank.
Rain accompanied them, beating fiercely against the roof of the palace.
Word had spread through the palace like fire through dry grass: the Elder of Justice had called an emergency impeachment.
The Iyom's father—a man whose name had been whispered in connection with every manner of corruption for years—was finally being called to account.
And the Valthorne delegation was present.
Ragnar sat in the guest section, his mask in place, his eyes missing nothing. Beside him, General Thane stood with arms crossed; they had sat like this in many Tribe meetings; this was no different.
The Igwe sat on his throne, expression unreadable. The Elder of Justice rose.
"Your Majesty. Honoured nobles. Guests." His voice carried.
"We are gathered today to address crimes that strike at the very heart of our tribe.
Crimes of slavery—not of foreigners, not of enemies taken in battle, but of our own people.
Borjigin children, bought and sold like cattle, trafficked through networks that reach from the Steppes to the southern empires. "
Gasps erupted. The Elder waited them out.
"These are not rumours. I wished more than anyone that these were just accusations from jealous rivals." He gestured, and the doors at the back of the chamber opened. "I have witnesses."
The first witness was a trader—a man with hollow eyes and sickly yellow skin. He shuffled forward, flanked by guards, and knelt before the Igwe.
"Speak," the Igwe commanded.
The trader's voice was hoarse. "I worked for him. For five years, I moved goods—I thought they were goods. They told me they were goods." He swallowed. "They were children taken from villages along the border, sold to brokers and moved through my wagons to waiting ships."
"Who told you this?" the Elder demanded.
"His men." The trader pointed at the Iyom's father, who sat stiff and pale in the respondent's seat.
"His operation. He’s been running it for years.
I didn't know at first. When I found out, I tried to leave.
They said they'd kill my family." His voice broke.
"They showed me a lock of my daughter's hair. "
The chamber erupted. The Igwe's hand slammed down, demanding silence.
The Iyom's father rose, his face purple with rage. "Lies! This man has been paid to destroy me!"
"Then explain this," The Elder of Justice said, holding up an old document stamped with seals. "A contract of sale, found in your personal vault, witnessed by your own scribe. For the purchase of five hundred and forty-three Borjigin children, sold to a Kemetian slaver, dated five years ago."
The Iyom's father stared at the document as though it were a snake about to strike. "That—that is a forgery—"
"And this?" Another document. "And this?
And the testimony of seventeen former employees who have come forward since dawn?
And the children themselves—rescued last night from a warehouse on the edge of the city, still in cages, still bearing the marks of your brand?
" The Elder's voice rose. "Shall I bring them in?
Shall the nobles of this court look upon the faces of our own blood, our own tribe, and hear from their own lips what was done to them? "
The Iyom's father's mouth opened and closed. No sound came out.
This was not supposed to happen. His operation had been quiet for years; how had they found out? How had they gathered so much evidence so quickly?
The Elder pressed on.
More witnesses.
More documents.
More testimonies.
Each word was another nail in a coffin that had already been sealed.
Finally, the Igwe raised his hand.
"Enough."
The chamber fell silent.
He looked at the Iyom's father—a man who had sat at his table, who had shared his wine, and whose daughter had borne his favourite son. His expression seemed to struggle; should it be anger? Or was he trying to show disappointment? No one could quite tell.
"You stand accused of crimes against our people, against the gods themselves, who forbid the selling of Borjigin blood.
" His voice was quiet, but it carried. "The evidence is overwhelming.
The witnesses are credible. The children are here, in my palace, screaming for the blood of their loved ones you have sold!
" His soft words ended in fury, and the Elders were quick to stand from their seats and fall to their knees.
Somadina followed suit; he had not spoken one word. A crime like this was too disastrous to try and defend, and though he knew of it, he did not think Borji would ever have the resources or brainpower to find a way to impeach his grandfather.
No, this couldn’t be Borji; that much his heart could understand. It was the work of another.
The Iyom's father also fell, his body trembling as fear began to settle; there was no coming back from this. "Your Majesty—mercy—I was only—"
"Mercy?" The Igwe's voice snapped. "You sold our children to barbarians to be worked to death in foreign lands, to be used in ways I will not name in this chamber. And you ask for mercy?"
He looked at the Valthorne delegation. Though Ragnar had not spoken a word, he had witnessed such a shameful thing.
"According to our laws," the Igwe began with a heavy heart. If not for the foreigners watching, he might have been more lenient, but he had to save face somehow. "He will be sentenced to—"
"My Lord!" A woman rushed in, falling to the floor at the stairs to the throne. The elders exchange glances, muttering displeasures. Women were not allowed to sit in the council unless called.
The Igwe stared down at his wife; she was wearing a veil, as was proper, but it still displeased him greatly to see her.
The Iyom had come in without ceremony, without permission, and without the careful orchestration that usually preceded her appearances before court.
She was still dressed for the evening—her robes immaculate, her veil perfectly placed—but her hands shook where they pressed against the floor, and that was the tell. The Iyom's hands never shook.
"My Lord." Her voice settled into precisely the register that had always worked on him. “My Lord, I beg you to hear me."
The chamber was very quiet.
"This man—" she lifted her head just enough to be heard clearly—"has been a servant of this house for thirty years.
He has given his life to the Borjigin. Because of him you have a son.
" Her voice caught, perfectly timed. "Somadina will one day sit on your throne and carry your name into history.
Would you take his grandfather from him?
Would you make him watch his family destroyed before his very eyes? "
The Iyom's father had not moved from his knees. He was watching his daughter the way a drowning man watched a dangling piece of rope.
The Igwe's expression shifted, softening around the eyes; he was struggling to separate the woman from the crime. His fingers had loosened on the armrest.
The Elder of Justice saw it. His jaw tightened.
A single breath of laughter came from the guest section. Laughter of grim amusement, loud enough that it sent a chill down everyone’s spine.
Every head turned.
Ragnar had not moved from his seat. His posture was unchanged, almost indolent, with knuckles holding up his head. But his eyes held an expression that made the nearest nobles shift instinctively away from him.
"Forgive me." He did not sound sorry. "I was simply thinking if a woman's tears were sufficient to erase the sale of one’s own blood." He paused, as though genuinely considering the scales. "What an efficient justice system."
The Igwe's hand retightened on the armrest.
He looked at his wife, still on the floor. He looked at the Elder of Justice, standing with a document in each hand. He looked at the nobles, the witnesses, and the guards at the door.
"Rise," the Igwe said to the Iyom. His voice had changed. The softness was gone.
She looked up at him, her legs weakening as she saw his face. For one, his eyes looked past her, not at her.
She had lost.
"The Great Khan is right; the evidence is clear." The Igwe straightened on his throne. "By the law of the Borjigin, by Ani who forbade the selling of our blood, I sentence Tobechukwu Obiechina to death. To be carried out at dawn."
The Iyom's composure shattered.
She wailed, crawling to the throne. She grabbed the Igwe's robes as the guards moved towards her father. "No—no, please, he is the only father I have, please, my Lord—"
The guards pulled her father upright. He didn't fight them. He knew his life would end by dawn.
And then the doors burst open.
A heaving guard, clearly having run from somewhere, stumbled into the chamber and looked around at the chaos.
The Igwe's head turned. "What is it?"
The guard tried to speak but needed to catch his breath.
"Speak, boy!"
"Your Majesty." His voice was barely audible over the Iyom's weeping. "There has been a great disaster!"