[center]The malady is kinder than the cure.
- from [i]The Conquest of the Rivers[/i], a Salizi Tragedy in Three Acts[/center]

[b]The Moot...[/b]

[i]"I, for one, will not tolerate this situation to continue. If you, my peers, feel the same, then lend me your support. Otherwise, I can only hope that your yokes lay lightly upon your necks."[/i]

The Moot erupted into shouting- [i]"here, heres!"[/i] and "[i]Well saids!"[/i] vying with loud accusations of disloyalty and dishonor. The young king went pale upon his throne, and looked to his mother. The High Queen, dark and still and beautiful, said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on a corner of the room, on the shadows behind one of the smoldering braziers.

"It'll be all our necks soon enough, Varvudda," said a low, gravelly voice that seemed to echo amid the vaulted ceiling. It took a moment for the crowd of jarls and thanes to notice the man in black walking calmly down the center of the great gray hall, toward the royal dais, and another for the Moot to lapse into relative quiet.

The Stonecutter guards made to intercept the newcomer, but at an almost imperceptible shake of the Queen's head they nervously kept their places. The man in black stopped at the steps before the throne and, smirking, gave a slight bow before turning to face the Moot.

"And who the fuck is it that speaks thusly to the Jarl of Sentinel?" spat Evar, rising once more. Several of his own older thanes eyed their lord with alarmed surprise, and his father grabbed his arm but Evar shook him off, "Who addresses the jarls and thanes of the Broken Lands?"

"Daigon," slurred the elder Varvudda, "It's Daigon, boy!"

Evar looked at his father, understanding dawning of his face, and turned back to the newcomer.

"I am the Jarl of Sepulchrave," said Daigon, "Master of the Gravemire. Though I believe many of you have another name for me."

He turned from Varvudda, meeting the gaze of the other jarls, "We do not have time for Moots, brethren, meetings, or talk of taxes. You know I am no friend to Clan Stonecutter, but old arguments died with Aigoth."

"Ah," said Evar, "So the Coward makes his bid..."

"Not for myself, Evar Varvudda," said Daigon, his pale eyes meeting the younger man's angry glare, "but for unity. You know where I have been. The Salished have turned their gaze north, to our lands, once more. The Union no longer threatens them. The Clans must face the Empire together, or fall individually. The boy king cannot lead us with a boy regent." 

"Will the clans follow a sellsword, absent from our lands for a lifetime?" asked Evar.

"No, they would not," said Daigon, "I nominate Erlendr of Clan Red Knot as regent."