by Garon Whited
Boss?
Yes?
This guy is a fanatic.
I agree. But a fanatic for a decent Lord of Light?
I can’t evaluate gods, Boss.
I can, and they’re self-serving jerks. I still don’t trust this.
Maybe you shouldn’t, but Stomald believes every word.
“All right. If Lissette has no objection to you preaching your version of the word, I don’t. Bear in mind, however, the way we work with religion in the kingdom. Show me you can’t be trusted to play well with others and I guarantee you’ll find yourself back in Salacia faster than you can say ‘jihad.’ Do you understand?”
“All but the word you used, I understand,” he agreed. “You have answered one of the questions I wished to ask.”
“Oh? You did want to ask something and I steamrollered right over you. Sorry about that. What do you want to know?”
“You say I must… play well with others? May I ask you to elaborate on that?”
“Every deity here is a deity of something. They do their thing. The people go about their daily business and involve the gods when they want the gods involved. Churches do not demand singular relationships with people. If they’re moved to venerate one god, that’s fine. It’s their choice. Moreover, the churches do not interfere with each other. If a farmer wants to pray for rain at the temple of Father Sky, rather than pray to the Lord of the Harvest, that’s the farmer’s business, and the priests of the two temples don’t fight over which one he should pray to. You offer something in exchange for human veneration. You do not command it.”
“I am not certain the Lord of Light will be pleased by this.”
“I’m sorry if he doesn’t like it,” I lied. “If you’d like to go somewhere else, I’ll be happy to order you transported to whichever of our borders is closest to it.”
“No, no, Your Majesty. I am certain there is wisdom to be found in union with the Lord of Light.”
“You better pray about it,” I suggested. “You won’t want to make this decision on your own.”
“I intend to, Your Majesty.”
I turned to Seldar.
“He’s Lissette’s problem, now.”
“As you command, Lord of Generosity.”
“Walk with me.”
We left Stomald to his own devices. The Shields took up station outside his door again. Seldar and I walked together along the steps inside the tower.
“I want to talk to you about everything,” I began.
“Long walk,” Seldar observed.
“Smartass.”
“I learned from the best, Sire.”
“Mary?”
“Firebrand.”
Ha!
You shut up.
“Maybe not everything. How about I just ask about the organization of spies, informants, and agents you’ve put together in secret?”
“I am pleased you think so highly of me, but I have not done so. Ever since the passing of Felkar, I have been in the position of both castellan of the Palace and chief of staff to Her Majesty.”
“Dammit, is everybody dead? When did Felkar pass away?”
“He died in his sleep, Sire, two years ago.”
“I should have been more clear about when to call me,” I muttered.
“Perhaps. Shall I take note of it and so inform Her Majesty?”
“No, you call me if… hmm. No, scratch that. Yes, please let her know.”
“I shall.”
“So, you’re the Prime Minister and castellan of the Palace. Why not hire out the castellan job?”
“I have no one competent to fill it,” he explained, patiently. “I am training a replacement.”
“For two years?”
“It is a complex duty, Sire,” he pointed out. “The Palace is a busy building, full of the problems of a kingdom, major, minor, and in between. It requires skill and wisdom to evaluate whether to issue an order, refer for judgment, initiate an investigation, or send it to the proper authority.”
“Oh.”
“To return to your question about spies? May I ask why you believe there is a group of such individuals as you describe?”
“I have sources in the kingdom of a similar nature,” I admitted. “They’ve come across evidence of another organization, possibly two, like their own.”
“Ah. Competing spies?”
“I’m not sure they’re competing, exactly. More like redundant systems.”
“How can you know that? You do not know to whom this other group reports. Or other groups, I should say.”
“True, but their actions so far seem to indicate they have the welfare of the kingdom in mind.”
“I will investigate the matter.”
“Thank you. In other areas, how is Lissette?”
“That,” Seldar answered, thoughtfully, “is a complex question.”
“I suspected.”
We walked through the upper Palace without speaking, until Seldar opened a door for me. We exited onto a parapet looking over the city.
“The Queen,” he said, carefully, “is quite a good queen, I think. She is fair—or as fair as it is possible to be, for a ruler—and does not shirk from unpleasantness. I respect her.”
“That says a lot.”
“I am flattered you value my opinion so.”
“Give me more of it.”
“What else would you have?”
“How is she?”
“Hmm.” Seldar regarded the glowing, magical lights of the city around us. Farther out, away from the nobles’ district, enchanted lamps gave way to scattered spells and more mundane lights—candles, lanterns, and the like. Beyond that, the city was in darkness broken only by the lights from windows or citizens abroad on business. It struck me as strange. Karvalen has lights everywhere at night. The majority of Carrillon remained in darkness.
“I would say,” he began, carefully, “she is lonely.”
“Oh?”
“Is it true she can have a consort if she chooses?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. Seldar’s eyes widened, startled.
“Truly? You do not mind?”
“Seldar, as much as my poor ability allows, I love you like a son. I don’t think I’ve ever lied to you, even a small, casual lie of convenience. If I have and I’ve forgotten it, I regret it anyway. So believe me utterly when I tell you this. Lissette is the Queen. As far as I’m concerned, she’s stuffed and mounted between the Crown and Throne. Anything she wants to make such a situation more bearable for herself, I’m for it. My only concern about her having a consort is how it will look to the nobles. Well, and whether or not he’ll make a play to claim the throne for himself. Or herself, if Lissette wants to lean that way.”
I put my hands on a pair of crenellations and watched the city.
“Seldar, there was a time when I thought this marriage… no, there was a time when I hoped this marriage might be… I don’t know. Workable. A marriage of more than convenience. I would have liked to make Lissette happy. Now, it seems the only way I can make her happy is to avoid doing anything to make her unhappy. I’m not expressing this well.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“No, I suppose I do not. Yet I shall endeavor to recall your words whenever I wonder.”
“Fair enough.”
“May I ask what you think of her plans to go to war?” he asked.
“Explain to me again why Karvalen is going to war in the first place.”
“Her Majesty recognizes the danger posed by the Church of Light. It controls Praeteyn and Ynar, effectively making the two kingdoms an empire under the rule of their god. H’zhad’Eyn, while not yet fully assimilated, is nevertheless another nation coming under their sway. Kamshasa seems more resistant to the blandishments and lure of a male god, curtailing meaningful expansion to the east.
“Nevertheless, as the Church of Light spreads, their power grows. If we wait until they have fully incorporated the three major states of t
he southwest, we will not have the force to repel them when they come for us. They may amass an even more telling force by conquering the cities, towns, and villages of the western rim, where there are no great states, uniting them as they have not been united since the days of Zirafel. Either way, we will be hard-pressed to defend ourselves from the massed might of such an empire. To wait until they feel they are ready for war is folly.”
“Seems likely,” I agreed. “I have no doubt they’ll be knocking on our shore as soon as they’re sure they can win. The Lord of Light doesn’t like me.”
“It is not all about you, Master of Insecurity.”
“I know it’s not all about me. It’s a reason I understand, though, since it’s a reason somewhat dear to me, personally. I’m sure you also have extremely savvy political reasons why they’ll be attacking Karvalen.”
“Indeed. The spread of—”
“None of which I want to hear,” I added, hurriedly. “Move to the part about the war.”
“The Queen and I differ only on the timing of the war,” he continued, smoothly. “I expect them to consolidate their power by continuing to infiltrate and slowly assimilate all the people from the border of Kamshasa, west to the Edge, and north to the frost line. She disagrees. With three major kingdoms in their hands, the process of conquest can accelerate, she feels.”
“Convert or die.”
“Exactly. In this case, convert or be sacrificed on the altars of the Lord of Light.”
“So, with H’zhad’Eyn about to make a third kingdom in the theocratic empire, it’s becoming imperative to put out this fire before it gets completely out of hand?”
“Out of consideration to your family, I would not phrase it so, but the essence is correct.”
“She does know this is going to be messy, right?”
“How do you mean?” he asked, turning sideways to half-sit on the parapet.
“War. There’s no clean and simple way to throw this kind of party. There’s an ocean to cross, which means ships and lots of them. Probably a combat landing on the beach, as well. We can’t hide a whole armada from even cursory spying, so they’ll know we’re coming. Then there are the logistics of supply, evacuating wounded, reinforcements, assaulting fortified positions and the need for siege engines—this is going to get ugly, and get ugly fast.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“She knows all of it, possibly better than you do. In her capacity as Queen, she is making preparations to do it.”
“I’m not sure I could.”
“You are not a great king,” Seldar pointed out.
“True. I—hey!”
“I know what an insubordinate and possibly treasonous thing it is to say so, but I have done it quietly and privately, Sire.”
“At least you didn’t hit me.”
“Do I need to?” he asked, seriously.
“I hope not. But I wasn’t about to gripe about being told I’m an awful king. I was about to ask why you think so. I know why I think so.”
“Do you truly feel you are a poor choice for King?”
“Yes.”
“Since you agree, what more is there to say?” he asked. One corner of his mouth twitched—a smothered smile.
“I accept your statement in the spirit in which it is intended,” I decided. “Why am I lousy king?”
“I did not say you were a lousy king, Oversensitive One. I said you were not a great king.”
“The difference being…?”
“You are a good king, when you must be a king, and would rule well over a prosperous nation. You lack a certain something to make you a great king.”
“So, I’ll do fine as long as the place only needs someone to sign the paperwork and wave at parades, but when the bells and whistles go off, I’m not suited to the job?”
“Not exactly. Let me give you an example. I have heard it said you invented a plow—an expensive one, to be sure—but a plow to carve half a dozen furrows in a single pass.”
“In the interests of moving this along, I’m going to agree without pointing out technicalities. Continue.”
“Its use is now widespread, and the kingdom is prosperous, indeed. Did you also provide us with a loom to create cloth more quickly? The water-powered hammer-mills? The canals, the King’s Roads…?”
“In the same spirit of moving things along, let’s say I did.”
“How many more ways did you take the labor of your citizens and multiply it, make it profitable, make it simple?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Uncounted ways, then. And a good king would do such things for the prosperity of the kingdom. Now, when the lake-cities—Talmerian, Palmerian, Solacian, and Kalmerian—when those four invaded Karvalen at the urging of the Church of Light… I have heard it said you have the power to smite a city and all within it. May I ask if this is true?”
“It is. Don’t add substance to the rumor, though. I would strongly prefer you didn’t spread the fact around.”
“I will not. Did you consider smiting their cities?”
“Briefly.”
“I note you did not do so. When the invasion from the west came through the Darkwood, you could have done something similar to any of the rebel city-states, or to the army as it marched along the road?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you not?”
“Striking a city kills innocent civilians. They didn’t do anything. Even an army isn’t a bunch of murderers frothing at the mouth and intent on killing us all. Most of them are doing what they’re told because they’ll suffer if they don’t. Most armies are a bunch of farmers given weaponized tools and told to march or else. They don’t deserve to die because their king or prince or whatever is a moron.”
“And therein lies your failing as a king,” Seldar finished.
“I’m still not seeing it.”
“It is a failing for which you are more loved than you will ever know,” he stated.
“Loved?” I snorted. “They showed you out during my last official visit,” I reminded him. “Did you not hear what happened in the throne room when the Demon King put the Bright Queen in charge?”
“I am well aware,” Seldar agreed. “It was at my suggestion, was it not?”
“Yes, but I’m the one who had to do it.”
“It was not easy for you, was it?”
I turned away. I’m not proud of what I did and I try not to think about it. Now I remembered events and found I couldn’t look Seldar in the eye.
“It wasn’t easy,” I agreed. I did not elaborate.
“You dislike to murder.”
“Yes.”
“Good. It is one quality of a good man. Yet, a king must consider more than those things which please or displease him. We have a war to go to. You will be there, I feel certain. When a hundred men charge across the field, swords raised, will you fight?”
“If you let me anywhere near the field, yes.”
“Even knowing they will die? Knowing you will have to kill them?”
“Yes.”
“Now consider kings. As I see it, there are three kinds. The first will do nothing, content to leave wars and the like to his ministers. The second will go merrily to war, thinking it the right thing to do for his welfare, or the welfare of the nation. The third will consider war as an order to murder strangers, and order it so only if he must, and only if he has the strength of character to accept the responsibility.
“The first is useless, but possibly harmless. The second is dangerous and often a horror for his people. The third bears the burden of the crown, knows well its weight, and has the strength to be worthy of it.”
I thought about it for a bit, looking out over the harbor and the lights.
“I might manage to be a great king,” I said, finally, “but I don’t know if I could do it every time. Ordering others to go all wholesale on the murder isn’t something…” I trailed off, not sure how to express it.
If I order ten thousand men to kill everyone in a city, every man who swings a sword shares, in some small measure, a portion of the responsibility. I’m aware I’m loading that onto the shoulders of a soldier doing his job, and I don’t like it. I didn’t like doing it to Lissette. It was one of the more horrible things I’ve ever done.
I admit I’m irresponsible, cowardly, and have an allergy to commitment, but I also know “I was only following orders!” is not a defense. Ask Eichmann, if you’ve a suitable necromantic circle.
“You are a good man,” Seldar assured me, “and a good king, my King, but you are not a great king. You care too much. You cannot be as impersonal, as calculating, as a great king must be. You are too kind.”
“I never thought I’d be accused of being too nice a guy.”
“It is your most terrible failing.”
“If it’s my worst quality, I think I can live with it.”
“Only if you are not ruling.”
“Yes.” A horrifying thought struck me. “How does Lissette cope?”
“As best she can. I think it helps she is a mother. She can view threats to the kingdom as threats to her children. She can summon up the viciousness, the callousness, to be as brutal as is required.”
I had a terrible vision of Lissette, sword in hand, backed by the twins, defending a child’s crib. The ring of dismembered bodies around them was a hill, a wall, a rampart of corpses. It was not a pretty image and I resolved to never let it happen.
“Savage,” I commented.
“Sometimes savagery is required.”
“So it is.”
Seldar sighed and stood up. He stood next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. I keep forgetting how big he is. He’s not a seven-foot giant like Torvil or Kammen, but he’s taller than I am. I guess I’ll always think of him as the short, skinny kid I met when I came out of the mountain.
“Sire, you say you love me like a son,” he began. “Within the limits of your ability to love.”
“I’m not good at it.”
“I believe you. I also believe you underestimate yourself in many ways.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Yes, but you will not believe me,” he replied, smiling sadly. Before I could answer, he went on. “For my part, I feel for you not only as my King, but as, perhaps, an elder brother whom I deeply respect and admire—but do not envy.”