CHAPTER 10

The silence in the Chem Assemblage was stifling. Even the Elder sat still as stone on his black anthracite throne, unwilling, and unable to alter the atmosphere. A tense expectancy hung like a vapor in the chambers. Something was about to happen which had not occurred since the bad old days of the Chem Empire. When the empire was young tyrants strove for the mace of the Elder. They slew each other over the title and blood flowed freely over the anthracite seat. Members of the august body of the Assemblage not in step with the new ruler, or too slow to foresee the sudden changes of fortune were shipped wholesale to Pantrixnia, or slaughtered on the floor of the Assemblage. It was a bloody time of upheaval and passion. The only thing that prevented the Chem from ruling the galaxy was the Chem themselves. They were feared and respected, as much by their own people as the other cultures of the galaxy. Those turbulent times faded with the strong hand of Terumaz. When she took the seat of the Elder thirteen thousand Terran years past it was over the heads of six other rival clans. She put down all rivals and left one strong voice throughout the empire. Instead of expanding, though, Terumaz permeated the empire with a sense of order and tradition. She made the Assemblage a body of constancy, inertia to the volcanic passions of her people. The Triumvirate was her final legacy, for it was from the Triumvirate that the orderly succession to the Elder took place. The Assemblage was a mixture of elected and hereditary officials, but those of the Triumvirate was chosen by tests of courage and wisdom. It was from this select group that the Elder placed the hopes and trust of the people. In a locked seal about the Elder’s neck, to be opened only upon the Elder’s death, was the name of the member of the Triumvirate who would ascend to the anthracite seat.

The Elder fingered the seal sadly as he looked out over the diminished Assemblage. Many fled at the rumor of Bureel’s coming. He thought they were wise. Nazeera’s decimated armada, though it had inflicted horrific damage upon Bureel was no longer able to effect this particular session of the Assemblage. It was a somber moment for the Elder, for it signaled the end of generations of Chem unity. The Elder sighed aloud at the realization of his failure, and the coming loss. They finally grew to reach their potential as an empire, but there was always that bad blood in his people that gave in to passion over reason. Somehow he failed to read that in his people’s eyes.

A strident clang on the Assemblage doors marked the coming of Bureel. All eyes turned there. With a groaning announcement reserved for dark times the doors slowly swung open. In strode Bureel, his raiment of gold and red, his step quicker than it should be. At his back were his lieutenants, and forty warriors in two files. Not since the Ascension of Terumaz had warriors armed for battle entered the chambers of the Assemblage. The members of the Assemblage parted to make way for the Usurper. With a stern monarchical gaze centered on the anthracite throne Bureel made his way through the midst of the Assemblage towards the raised dais of the Elder. The throne was on a dais of seven steps. As Bureel approached the dais the Chamberlain leapt forward to bar his way with a massive golden mace, saying, “Who are you that dares to approach the seat of the Elder?”

“I am Bureel of Chem,” Bureel stated. “I claim this seat by right of honor, and the will of the Assemblage. I claim this seat to restore the honor and glory of the Chem. I claim this seat to destroy all who would oppose the ultimate right of Chem dominion.”

The Elder rose and took the golden mace from the Chamberlain. “That seat is already occupied, Bureel,” he said sternly. “Only those who have won the right by conquest may demand so great a price. I see no such laurels about your shoulders. I see only the mantle of treachery!”

“You see with skewed and foolish eyes, Elder,” Bureel snarled. “It is I, Bureel, who control the system of Chem, and thus the hearts of the people. You were not strong enough to lead us back to the days of glory. Your poison in my wife’s ears led her to betray her own people. You’ve brought your own house down, but Bureel shall intercede before the entirety of the House of Chem comes down with you. Will you yield me the Mace of the Elder, or will I claim it through right of challenge to a traitor?”

“I will not yield it freely to the likes of you,” the Elder told him vehemently. “I will yield it only through the right of challenge! You will not take the empire but from my dead hand!” The Elder took the heavy mace and swung it whistling through the air. He was quicker than Bureel gave him credit for, and the Elder very nearly succeeded in settling the issue then and there. A flange of the mace caught Bureel’s temple and cut the skin. Bureel’s involuntary cry of pain and anger rang through the hall as his blood flowed freely. The Elder swung the mace about in a wide sweeping arc over his head and brought it crashing down towards Bureel. This time Bureel had his wits about him. He stepped aside the heavy blow and the mace chipped the granite floor with a tremendous ring. The Elder, despite his heart, was too old for such a fearsome weapon. The missed blow caused the Elder to lunge helplessly towards Bureel, and he was unable to steady himself in time. Bureel grappled the shaft with his left hand, holding the Elder’s hands down, and with his right he stabbed the ruler of the Chem in the throat. The blade cut cleanly through beard and flesh, riding over the gorget to nestle in the Elders spine. Bureel withdrew the blade with relish and a fountain of blood spattered his boots. The Elder staggered back, losing his grip on the mace. It clattered to the granite floor. Gasping, eyes wide and vacant, the Elder refused to fall. He tottered back to his seat and slumped into the throne. Blood cascaded from his mouth and wound, pooling in the seat, and dripping onto the floor.

Bureel smiled and picked up the mace. “You’ve lost, old man,” he sneered. “This, and the empire, is now mine! Take comfort in that!”

“Not so, my lord,” the Chamberlain interrupted him. The tall Chem approached and took from Bureel the massive blood stained mace. “You have, as usurpers of old, laid claim to this seat, which is yours by right of challenge. Yet the Ascension cannot take place until the alignment, which is twenty-three decurns hence. Until that time you have the rights and privileges of a victor, but not the seat of the Elder.”

Bureel backed away with a snarl. He seemed about to strike the noble Chamberlain down, even though he was a loyal supporter, but tradition had a strong hold on all Chem, even Bureel. He bit his snakes tongue and said, “You speak your office well, Chamberlain. I, of course, will respect the ritual of the Ascension.” Then he turned to the Elder, who was by now grown pale and blue. “Keep your seat then in death for a little while longer, but die with the knowledge that it will be mine!”

The Elder smiled as he died, and his lips formed words, though nothing but a dying stream of blood burbled forth. Bureel could read the lips though, and an involuntary shudder shook his foundation for empire. He turned on his heel and left the dying Chem, those silent words still ringing in his mind. “Nazeera yet lives, Bureel. Much can happen!”