This story is both a sequel of sorts to A Trip to Tolmersa, and a 
response to the results of Cedonia's actions in 1449.

* * * * *

The crowning highlight of the Thalcedon social year was always the
Midwinter Ball hosted by the University of Thalcedon. Not even the
Shanari Invasion and subsequent civil war were able to put a damper on
the event. Held on Year's Long Night, the Ball was a celebration of the
passing of the old year and the birth of the new. All the major
buildings in Thalcedon had been decorated with the traditional ribbons
of silver-grey and gold tied around a sprig of belladonna--silver in
honor of Coron, gold in honor of Lucia, and belladonna to appease Demerhaze.

Thalcedon at Midwinter always had a slightly magical air, as if anything
could happen. While it almost never snowed in Thalcedon, it was cold
enough tonight that a layer of frost coated everything. The trees
surrounding the University's Grand Hall looked almost sugar-coated.

Thalcedon University always held the Midsummer and Midwinter Balls in
the University's Grand Hall. The building was one of the few remaining
pieces of Mirrish architecture left in the city, and it also possessed
the largest open interior space of any building in the city. The ancient
architects had built well; the Hall was warm in winter and cool in
summer. A few years ago, a visiting Sorceror from Mir had commented that
the Grand Hall still possessed much of the original climate-control
magic that had been built into it, even after two millenia.

Councillor Raden Ghere was not paying much attention to the
building--his interest was in the people in the building. The Councillor
for Special Projects didn't really care much for the dancing and
festivities of Midwinter, but his wife had made it very clear to him
that since their oldest daughter was now old enough to start looking for
a husband, there was no way they was going to duck out of attending this
year.

Ghere had acquiesced grudgingly; like most fathers of unmarried
daughters, he had an extreme dislike of eligible young men, as he
remembered all too well what he was like at their age. Still, the ball
offered him a chance to do some political gladhanding--every member of
the Regency Council had been invited, although not all had accepted.

Shortly after arriving, his wife and daughter had joined a group of
other young ladies and their mothers, what Ghere privately thought of as
a "hunting party". He left them to their gossip, and went to mingle with
the other Councillors.

Grabbing a flute of sparkling wine from a passing waiter, Ghere joined
General Worrel Yann, the Commander of the Legions in one of the many
alcoves that opened off the main dance floor. "Well met at Midwinter,
General," he said.

"Well met, Councillor," replied the General. "I thought you weren't
planning to be here?" he continued, fumbling with his old briar pipe.

"Ah, well, my wife and oldest daughter left me no choice," Ghere sighed.

General Yann chuckled, "I count myself lucky that all my children are
safely married--I never enjoyed the marriage-market aspect of these
affairs."

"Indeed. If I might ask, General, how goes the reorganization of the
Legions?"

"Better, by far, than I had thought. With new recruitment, Legios I
through V are now at full strength, over 25,000 legionaries. We've had
mixed success with organizing the cadres for the reserves, and we've
only been able to get an additional 5,000 Selarian cavalry, but we have
enough new recruits that we'll be able to establish two new
full-strength legions."

"Really? An additional 10,000 men?"

"Yes, the reports of the Ice Demons have increased the numbers of
recruits. The plan is that the new legions, VI and VII will take over
duties in the interior, freeing the more veteran legions for border
duty, especially in the south. With all new recruits, Cedonian and
Selarian, figured in, we'll have 50,000 men under arms."

"I see." Ghere sipped his wine, then asked, "And has the rearmament gone
according to plan?"

"Definitely. We've held off on the missile weapon question for the
momment, but we have switched over half of every cohort from javelins to
half-pikes," said General Yann.

"Glad to hear it," Ghere replied. "Well, I must mingle. A Happy New Year
to you, General." He walked back out towards the dance floor.

* * * * *

After he left General Yann, Ghere had been planning to find Theran Rinn,
the Councillor for Foreign Affairs; and Roald Kellner, the Councillor
for the Interior. Unfortunately for his plans, as he was looking for the
Councillors, his wife found him and made him join her in the next dance.
It was ten minutes before Ghere could get away.

Mopping his brow, he retired to the buffet room, where he found
Councillor Kellner deliberating over the merits of crab cakes versus eel
pie. Ghere took a plate and joined Kellner in line.

"Ah, Raden Ghere!" boomed Kellner. "A Happy New Year to you, my friend!
Tell me, which would you recommend, in a choice between the crab cakes
and the eel pie?"

"Why are you asking me, Roald?" said Ghere as he served himself a
generous helping of pickled herring. "You and I both know that you'll
end up taking both."

Kellner glanced with amusement at his large paunch. "You're right,
you're right, Raden, but it's a question of politeness, after all. Tell
me, how are things at 'Special Projects'?"

"Not very special at the moment, I'm afraid. We've had some success in
'insertions', but we've had trouble with securing our communications.
Still, at least we've purged some of the riff-raff we picked up back at
the beginning. How are things in your department?"

"Excellent, my friend, simply excellent! Thanks to General Yann and the
Legate of Legio IV, we were able to put our people in place in Vizinia
before the Burcancy supporters knew what hit them. We are in complete
control, administratively, and the preparations for the elections next
year have gone very well indeed," said Kellner.

"Hm. Do you know how the Vizinians are likely to align, factionwise?"
Ghere asked.

"It's unclear," said Kellner. He forked two crab cakes and a slice of
eel pie onto his plate. "You can be sure that almost none of them,
Nobles or Commoners, are going to be Imperial Loyalists or War Party.
Some of the Nobles are likely to join the Constitutional Monarchists,
but my best guess is that most of the nobles will form their own
faction, while the Commoners will split between the Urban League and the
Grange."

"So we'll keep our majority in the Commoners?" asked Ghere.

"Very likely, but things will be even more fractured in the Nobles."

"I see," said Ghere. He started to speak, then broke off as his wife
entered the room. "Oh gods, there's Delia. She must want another dance.
Quick, Roald, head her off for me so I can eat in peace."

Kellner chuckled. "No problem, Raden, although, if you're planning on
eating all that herring, she certainly won't want to dance with you
afterwards."

"That, my friend, is the idea," said Raden over his shoulder as he
hurried away.

* * * * *

After making his escape, Ghere settled down in an alcove to enjoy his
snack. Unfortunately, the alcove he had chosen was also occupied by a
Professor Emeritus of Philosophy from the University, and Ghere soon
found himself trapped into listening to a mind-numbing lecture on the
nature of Being as opposed to Becoming. The Professor was rather deaf,
and Ghere was unable to politely extricate himself from the 'conversation'.

When Ghere saw Dr. Vellin passing by with another Councillor, he quickly
signaled. Vellin, no stranger to dealing with elderly academics, quickly
intervened, and five minutes later, the three men were standing at the
edge of the dance floor.

"Happy New Year, Raden," said Dr. Vellin. "I believe you know Councillor
Yorke, the Councillor for Agriculture and leader of the Grangist faction?"

"Yes, we've met," replied Ghere. "A Happy New year to you both."

"And to you," replied Yorke. Tomas Yorke was a recent addition to the
Inner Council. He had gotten the Councillor for Agriculture post in
exchange for his faction's support of the Urban League in the Nobles'
Circle.

"What are you doing here, Raden?" asked Dr. Vellin, "I thought that you
hated dancing?"

"Oh, I do hate to dance, but my eldest daughter turned 17 this year. My
wife, Delia, made it clear that not attending this year's Midwinter Ball
was Not An Option. It was either come to the Ball, or spend the next
year sleeping in the guest bedroom," Ghere replied.

The other two men laughed sympathetically. "Well," said Yorke, "I'm sure
you're not the only father who's here tonight because his wife insisted.
Although, speaking of not attending, have either of you seen the Duke of
Caladyn and his wife here tonight?"

Raden shook his head in negation, while Dr. Vellin said, "He told me
that he would attend, but perhaps his health may have prevented him.
Although, he might be up to something."

As the three men walked along the edge of the dance floor, heading
more-or-less in the direction of the entrance, Yorke said, "It's
curious, you know. The Duke went away on a sea voyage around Midsummer,
for about two weeks, but nobody seems to know where he went. Since then,
he's been living at his townhouse here in Thalcedon, when he normally
spends the fall at his country estate near Caladyn."

Raden Ghere grunted noncommitally, and turned his attention to the Ball
Room's Grand Stair. He had always thought it rather silly that to get
into the Ball Room, you had to first climb up a long staircase, and then
go through a double door and descend another set of stairs, with the
eyes of everyone below you on you, but his wife and daughter had both
been thrilled by it.

Standing by the doors at the head of the stairs was a majordomo whose
job was to announce the names and titles of arriving guests. The man
either had leather lungs and an iron throat, or he was sneaking drinks
on the sly. If it was the latter, he held his liquor well.

The doors opened, and a set of cards were handed to the majordomo.
Glancing at the first card, he moved to the edge of the landing, and
announced, "The Duke and Duchess of Caladyn!"

The Duke and his Duchess came through the doorway and paused for a
moment, so that everyone in the room could see them. Duke Yarrow was a
tall, straightbacked old man. White-haired and clear-eyed, he wore his
old formal Legion uniform rather than fancy dress. His wife, Majora, was
about a decade younger than her husband, and about a head shorter. Her
hair was also white, and she wore it in a complicated knot at the back
of her head. Her dress was simple in style and cut, very much in the
style of fifty years ago when the Duchess was a girl.

After giving everyone a good look, the Duke and Duchess started down the
stairs. The Majordomo glanced at the second card he held. "The Count and
Countess of Rochlyn and their daughter, Lady Agatha Rochlyn!" An older
couple accompanied by a young girl walked out onto the landing and 
paused for a moment, before walking down after the Duke and Duchess.

Yorke glanced at Vellin and Ghere. "So far, no surprises, Premier. The
Count of Rochlyn is the Duke's eldest son, is he not?"

Ghere nodded and said, "Yes, and Lady Agatha's the Count's only child."

Vellin said, "The Duke keeps his own political counsel, but his son is a
member of the Constitutional Monarchist faction in the Nobles' Circle. I
don't entir--Good gods!"

The majordomo had turned white as a sheet. He stared at the card he was
holding for a very long time. Then, he turned and picked up a large,
black staff which had been leaning, unnoticed by the doors all evening.
The majordomo strode to the edge of the stairs and slammed the butt-end
of the staff on the stone steps, three times.

At the shocking sound, the musicians fell silent and all eyes turned to 
the majordomo. He swallowed hard, and called out, "His Imperial 
Highness, Crown Prince Arden of Cedonia, and his sister, Her Imperial 
Highness, Princess Irinia of Cedonia!"

As the young man and woman dressed in the imperial colors of white and 
gold trimmed with purple stepped through the doors and began to walk
down the stairs, Dr. Vellin hurried to meet them, with Ghere and Yorke
trailing behind. While Dr. Vellin had managed to compose his facial
features into a semblance of a smile, Ghere could hear the First
Councillor cursing vehemently through tightly clenched teeth.

When they managed to fight their way through the crowd to the foot of 
the stairs, Ghere glanced at the Duke of Caladyn. The old man looked 
like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. His wife, son, 
daughter-in-law, and granddaughter, on the other hand, all seemed rather 
more nervous. When the Duke saw Ghere, Yorke, and Dr. Vellin 
approaching, he smiled even wider. Turning to the Prince and Princess, 
he said, "Your Highnesses, may I present to you Dr. Alden Vellin, First 
Councillor; Raden Ghere, former Imperial Chamberlain and current 
Councillor for Special Projects; and Tomas Yorke, Councillor for 
Agriculture and leader of the Grangist faction."

Prince Arden inclined his head in a regal nod, while his sister Irinia 
dropped a curtsey. "A pleasure, Councillors," said the young man, "Our 
great-uncle speaks highly of you, Dr. Vellin, and my mother the Empress 
sends her fond regards to you, Councillor Ghere."

"The pleasure is all mine, your Highness," Dr. Vellin said stiffly. 
"However, it would be best, perhaps, if we could speak privately? Your 
presence here is . . . most unexpected."

The young Prince exchanged a glance with the Duke. "I assure you, Dr. 
Vellin, it was not my plan to spring this upon you unprepared, but I was 
overruled. We will gladly speak with you in private, but we mustn't take 
too long, Doctor. I promised Cousin Agatha at least one dance tonight, 
and I always keep my promises."

He turned to his sister, and said, "Will you be all right with Aunt 
Majora and the others, Irinia?"

She nodded, her red eyes flashing merrily, and said, "Don't worry about 
me, Arden. I'm sure that I will have no problems finding a dance partner 
tonight."

He brother nodded, and turned back to face the three Councillors. "I am 
at your disposal, gentlemen. Shall we be about it?"

As the Prince and the Duke walked off in the direction of one of the 
alcoves off the dance floor, Dr. Vellin turned to Ghere and Yorke. 
"Round up every Inner Council and faction leader who's here tonight and 
have them join us," he ordered, before following after the other two.

As Ghere hurried towards the buffet to find Councillor Kellner, he found 
some comfort in the fact that what ever else happened, he wouldn't have 
to dance again tonight.

* * * * *

Andrew





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