The Dark Lord's Handbook: Empire by Paul Dale

Author:Paul Dale [Dale, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-03-06T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 29 Senate

Freedom of speech is fine, but not without consequence.

The Dark Lord’s Handbook

When Penbury had held council meetings, he’d done so at dinners. They were lavish affairs at which the gathering could enjoy and conduct civilised business. There had been a feeling of camaraderie, the group sharing common interests, tastes, and goals. When Morden had assumed his position as chancellor, he’d dispensed with the dinners and conviviality. He now hosted the Dark Council in his throne room, where it was clear who was in charge. There was no small talk or pleasantries, and that was fine by Morden. He wasn’t looking to make any friends.

Morden had liked Penbury, but in general he was not a fan of industrialists and bankers. He found them dry, humourless, and obsessed with keeping score through the size of their respective financial empires. While they afforded each other the respect each deserved for their achievements, there was no real sentiment or friendship. The bottom line was always business.

On this occasion there was a new member, seated appropriately on Morden’s right, one step down from his throne. Lord Deathwing looked bored and they hadn’t even started. The rest of the council members sat at floor level in a curved array of high-backed chairs. Morden could see plenty of grey hair, sagging jowls, and in the case of those from sunnier climes, liver spots. Even the once-youthful Birkenfeldt had made it to middle age and now sported a paunch. The one exception was Erik Trondheim, who had replaced his father when he’d met an untimely end in an accident at a saw mill. (The case against his wife, Brunhilda, could not be proven.) Erik’s beard bristled with energy. His golden, braided locks made him look like he should be pillaging coastal villages rather than sitting at the Dark Council as head of a vast business empire.

The Black Guard, who normally lined the sides of the audience chamber, had been dismissed, bar Stonearm. Morden had lost a Field Marshal and gained a bodyguard who never slept, never tired, and ate brains. The latter, being widely known, had the additional effect of inducing suitable nervousness amongst those present, Pierre de Hautville going as far as absentmindedly fondling the back of his head.

“Gentlemen,” began Morden once the last to arrive, Paolo de Luca, had been seated and furnished with a glass of wine, “I have decided my father will from now on be a full council member. When he speaks, and I am not present, he speaks for me.”

Brain-eating bodyguard or not, Morden’s announcement provoked a deal of physical consternation in the current council members, but none found enough courage to voice an objection.

“I have to attend more of these meetings?” whispered Lord Deathwing.

“Yes, Father.”

“A little outside my core competency, wouldn’t you say?”

It was true. There weren’t any women on the Dark Council for his father to seduce. Fortunately for Morden, competency wasn’t something he was looking for in his father’s role. He ignored the question and pressed on with business.

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