The objection caused a stir among the brothers and discomfort among the officers who were rooting for Bertram and the break in the millennia-old tradition of nominating Navuh's sons to the Brotherhood's highest leadership positions.
Losham stepped back to the podium.
"Let us speak of blood, then, since Mazlen has raised the subject."
He looked across the hall.
"Lord Navuh's blood runs through every soldier in the Brotherhood. We are all the children of Mortdh. It might run more strongly through the eight sons on this platform, and it ran even stronger through the three Lord Navuh eliminated two days ago because they forgot who they served and to whom they owed their loyalty and submission. The thickness of their blood meant nothing when they decided to break the rules and disrespect their lord."
He looked across the hall at the faces of the various commanders, from the highest ranking to the lowest.
"Blood is just the framework. Lord Navuh has always appointed the most capable people for the positions they were best suited for, and he never hesitated to remove anyone from any position if they failed to perform to his satisfaction. If he were here today,I have no doubt he would have chosen Bertram because blood is not as important as merit."
He took a breath.
"If you believe my judgment is wrong, Mazlen, the proper course is to take your concern to our father when he returns. Until then, the appointment stands."
He paused, leveling his gaze at Mazlen. "I will remind you that the three lost their lives because they decided the lord's rules did not apply to them. They believed that their blood entitled them to enter where they had been forbidden. Blood does not protect anyone from the consequences of disobeying our lord. I would advise you, and every brother on this platform, and every officer in this hall, to consider that lesson very carefully before you question the rules."
The silence in the hall was absolute.
Mazlen's expression hadn't changed except for a tightening around his mouth. The public rebuke he'd been given had been more deliberate and threatening than he had anticipated. Using Mazlen as his prop, Losham had reminded everyone present that invoking any prerogatives, and especially those of blood, was ill advised. The three brothers had believed that they were above the lord's law because they were blood of his blood.
They had been fatally wrong.
"Sit down, Mazlen."
Mazlen sat.
Losham could feel more than hear the collective release of breath. The dissent had been raised and answered, and the answer had been good enough that the men in the room couldaccept the appointment of Bertram and justify it to themselves and to their subordinates.
In the background, the Eight were doing their thing, reinforcing Losham's mandate with their thrall. Once it was done, everyone would leave the hall convinced that Losham had chosen the perfect replacements and that the Brotherhood was in capable hands.
Losham stepped back to the podium.
"The Brotherhood is not weakened by the deaths of three leading commanders because the Brotherhood's strength is in our collective might, and those on top are replaceable and exchangeable. The Brotherhood has been purged of those who thought they were above the rules. Those who remain were reminded why the lord's word is absolute and why it always needs to be obeyed."
A murmur of approval spread through the rows of officers.
"The Brotherhood does not tolerate betrayal, and it does not tolerate disrespect or disobedience. Without exception, every traitor has eventually met his end regardless of blood."
Losham lifted his fist in the air. "Glory to Lord Navuh the wise and the just, with his bounty we thrive, by his will we live or die, we are all brothers in the Devout Order of Mortdh, in his name we wage this holy war."
9
SULLHA
Armed with a pitcher of lemonade and several glasses, Sullha went to the laundry.
It was located on the western side of the compound, in a long, low building with vents at the top to let the steam escape. The morning shift had been working since five, and as Sullha entered, the heat coming off the machines felt like a wall she had to push through.
The laundry smelled of bleach, hot fabric, and the particular scent of industrial detergent that was used for washing linens and uniforms. About fifty women were working at the machines and the pressing tables and the folding stations, their hair pulled back into kerchiefs and their faces shining with sweat.
It took her some time to locate her mother among the women who all looked the same.
She was at the pressing machine.
The years had not been kind to Leehy, and she hadn't been kind to herself either. She just didn't care.
