by Garon Whited
“Uh, I do not believe I am qualified to venture an opinion on the matter. Beltar?”
“Traditionally?” he asked, taking up a goblet. He rolled it between his palms while casting his eyes high up on the opposite wall. “There are precedents.”
“There are?” I asked, surprised.
“There are. I have studied many of the books of many other religions, as you instructed.”
I instructed, came the mental whisper. I sent back the mental equivalent of a nod.
“And what have you learned?” I asked aloud.
“Surprisingly little. They are long on praise and poetry, but not terribly informative regarding the principles by which one must live in order to have a good life and a positive reception afterward.”
“I’m surprised. I would think more priests would phone up their god and ask for a clarification or two.”
“My lord, for all your terrors and deadly habits, you are, I believe, the most willing of all the gods to have a polite conversation. Polite in human terms,” he added. “The other gods may be as polite as their nature allows, never having been born of man and woman. Their etiquette may not apply.”
“Politeness,” I pointed out, “is a matter of accommodating oneself to the preferences and acceptable behavior of the other guy. I try and fail regularly. The point is, I try.”
“Perhaps, but your perspective is… more human? The others do not regard mortals as peers, and so have no need of genteel behavior toward us. You make the effort to remember what it is like to be mortal.”
You know, I think he’s right? It’s nice of him to notice.
“Thank you,” I relayed. “We appreciate your acknowledgement. Back to our holy books and your research.”
“Of course, my lord. There are cases when one or more of the gods took up the mantle of rulership through an avatar. The Twin Sisters, the Lady of Dawn and the Lady of Sunset, ruled in Tamaril and Zirafel, respectively, in some of the earliest days of the Empire. The Lord of Winter, often known as the Ice King, ruled everything beyond the frost line to the north—he may, still, if the ice giants revere him. I understand the viksagi acknowledge him as one of their gods. They are rare, but there are other examples of an avatar ruling.
“Examples of a church ruling a nation are all but nonexistent. While it has always been the case that temporal authority is influenced by religious figures and institutions, it has seldom come to outright challenge. The proper order of things is to have a king, queen, or council to rule the affairs of men. The priests rule those affairs where mortals traffic with the gods. Unofficially, such as in the power play by the Church of Light in the last days of King Relven of Rethven, some churches have wielded power as though ruling, but only in the sense of fact, not of law. At least, not until recent events.”
“So, the gods may rule a territory directly, with a god-king, but their religious institutions don’t seem to be approved as a civil authority?”
“I believe so, yes, my lord.”
Well? I asked, inside.
God-king-avatars are not exactly forbidden, but I’m told it is frowned upon. It’s also more work than you think, he added. Thing is, even if you screw up just a tiny bit, your reputation as a divine being suffers dramatically. That’s never a good thing. It prompts believers to question the whole nature of divinity and the need for gods at all! It pisses off everyone up here, so it’s not a popular move.
Ha. All you have to do when you’re in charge is be perfect. I know how that feels.
I know. There are still some of us who would do it, despite the peer pressure against it, but we generally don’t do the direct ruling thing. I mean, you can handle your chickens in a chicken house, feed them by hand, harvest the eggs, all that, or you can turn them loose as free-range birds and let them take care of themselves. Bad metaphor, yeah, but it gets the point across.
Got it.
As for a church taking over a kingdom, that’s usually not the goal. Churches like having power, but with all the competing religions, you seldom get a king who is a strict devotee of one. That’s how churches come to civil power, generally. Nobody up here minds that, since it’s generally self-correcting in a generation or so.
And if it goes on too long?
It never has.
Maybe not, but this one might.
Hmm. I’ll have to discuss this with some others.
Go ahead.
“So the Church of Light is shooting for a theocracy, a rule of mortal men’s lives by right of their god’s command. That about sum it up?”
“It would appear so, my lord.”
“Why are we having this war, anyway? Do either of you know?”
“Is this a trick question?” Beltar asked.
“Probably. Give it a shot anyway.”
“We are having this war because the Church of Light threatens the Kingdom of Karvalen. Their expansion and dominance will not stop with Praeteyn, Ynar, and H’zhad’Eyn. They will eat up the small, independent cities along the western edge of the world, perhaps even spread east to conquer Kamshasa, Kolob, and Telasco. At some point, when they feel they have overwhelming force, they will inevitably turn their attentions and armies to us.”
“Good thoughts, all. Dantos? Any ideas?”
“I agree with all deveas Beltar has said.”
“Anything to add?”
“I suspect there are more reasons, but his are sufficient.”
“What other reasons?” I encouraged.
“It is possible there is something of a personal nature in this conflict,” he said, slowly. “I do not say it is so, but I doubt there is any weeping on the part of our King over the fate of the Church of Light. Nor would the deveas or prophates of that Church weep if your rule was ended.”
“I can’t honestly deny either of those points. On the other hand, I’m never pleased at the prospect of people marching off to die.”
“Very true.”
“Do you feel these are good and sufficient reasons to start this conflict?”
Beltar and Dantos answered together, without even looking at each other.
“Yes.”
Most of my misgivings about the war—and I have misgivings about any war—evaporated. I still don’t like the idea of sending people off to pick a fight and kill someone, but if these two absolutely agreed it was the right and proper course of action…
War is never a good solution. Sometimes it’s the only solution. That doesn’t make it good.
“All right. I don’t have to like it, and I don’t. But I’m convinced. I won’t question whether we should be going to war. From now on, the only questions are about how to win it. What do you say?”
“Good.”
“I agree.”
“Very well,” I said, nodding. “We’re not in the loop, so it’s hard to plan ahead.”
“In the loop, my lord?” Dantos asked.
“It’s an idiom. It means we’re not part of the inner circle—a loop of people—who are involved in the planning. I intend to make sure Lissette knows I’m here for her, though, and to encourage her to yell for help if she needs it. In the meantime… Dantos?”
“My lord.”
“How stands the city? The eastern marches, I mean. Mochara, Karvalen, Plains-port, and whatever that place is up north. You know, the one at the mouth of the tunnel to Stadius.”
“The eastern marches stand ready, my lord. With the call for soldiers, the guard contingent of every town is diminished as they marched off to the west. New recruits are being trained. Food stores are laid in for Karvalen, Mochara’s defenses are being bolstered, and the tribes of the plains have been told of the possibility of foreign invaders.”
“So, if a hundred thousand men show up on the doorstep to Karvalen, how do you react?”
“I point and laugh.”
“Really?”
“I tell you the truth,” he assured me, “for unless they have more magicians than I can count or some new engines of war, they will not b
reach the walls. If they have either of those things, I summon Beltar.”
I blinked in surprise and turned to Beltar. He chuckled.
“And I will send forth prayers to the Lord of Shadow. I feel certain He will send aid. His avatar may even appear.”
“Ah. Good point. So, Dantos, you have no real worries about being attacked?”
“Right now, no. Even if we were to be surprised at the gates and betrayed, no force large enough to take the city could approach undetected. The city guard is also on high alert for infiltrators. Saboteurs may enter, perhaps, but the infiltration of a military force, as in the previous invasion, will be difficult in the extreme.”
“That reminds me. I want someone—preferably several someones—scrying at various points around the area. Constantly. Not just during the war, but every day, all day, all night, forever. They can take it in shifts. The point is, I want someone to scryball things we can’t eyeball from the mountain. Park a scrying view in the harbor of Ashkenar, Iyner, and Salacia at least twice a day. Take a look at the Dragon’s Teeth in various places and see if there’s anything unusual. Check a couple of points along the great eastern road and the canal, see if there’s another force from the cities over there marching this way. Wait—is the canal still there?”
“It is. Trade with the Four Cities—Talmerian, Palmerian, Solacian, and Kalmerian—is not vital, but it is quite profitable. The princes of Palmerian and Kalmerian have made inquiries about the possibility of a two-channel canal and a widening of the road. None of them is anxious to give up their confederation to be part of Karvalen, but we have made it known they would not be unwelcome. I have even received semi-official visitors who wished to view for themselves how the citizens live here.”
“Are those cities still under the thumb of the Church of Light?”
“I do not believe they ever were, at least in the sense you mean,” Dantos reflected. “Their princes were certainly complicit in the invasion. They supplied troops at the Church’s behest, but the reasons for such agreement are in doubt. I believe they were not, are not, ruled. Instead, they were influenced—blackmailed, threatened, browbeaten—into assisting with the crusade.
“To wit, I have spoken with several ambassadors and even made agreements under my authority as the Lord of the Eastern Marches. If the Church of Light ruled them, they would not have agreed to my terms.”
“Oh? What sort of agreements and terms?”
“There are chapels to the various gods of Karvalen, including the Lord of Shadow, in their cities. In theory, these exist for citizens of Karvalen who may journey to or through their cities. The princes agreed readily enough, which would not occur if they were pawns of the Light.”
“Huh. I may have misjudged the situation during the invasion.”
“Those who came with the Church troops would, of course, give the impression of overwhelming devotion,” he pointed out.
“I guess. I just hate being wrong about this sort of thing. I seriously considered destroying all four cities. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”
Dantos and Beltar glanced at each other.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I added. “He considered destroying whole cities? Yes, he did. But he didn’t do it. I’ve considered it on a number of occasions and never done it, okay? Now get over it and move on.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Did we ever get the hills and tunnels put over the eastern canal? For the plainsmen?”
“Yes,” Dantos replied. “I saw to it. The mountain understood my request and did so. Those who wish to cross, whether man or beast, now find it easy enough to do so and are content.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. Now, back to the previous bit. I want wizards doing scrying on things all the time. I’ve spied extensively on the three kingdoms we’re worried about and they don’t seem to be preparing for war. They’ve got time, I grant you, before the fleet arrives, but I would be putting things in order long before a major fleet finished assembling. It makes me wonder if they don’t know what’s going on—which I find unlikely—but it also makes me think we need a formal spy system.”
“We have such things,” Dantos replied. “Through the agency of the gods and the various spies and informants of the Crown, we are well-informed of doings both near and far.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Now get some wizards on the job so we can look for ourselves, constantly, relentlessly, and thoroughly. If the spies all die and the gods go silent, I want us to know who and where our enemies are. For example, when ten thousand men start strapping on armor in Trader’s Bay, I want to know about it, who they are, why they’re there, and where they’re going—especially since I’m not sure exactly where Trader’s Bay is in the first place. Got it?”
“No, but we will get it, my lord. It will be done.”
“Thank you. Beltar?”
“My lord.”
“I’ve got a new drill for the knights.”
“Oh? What sort of drill?”
“A new item of training. Find a nice barn somewhere. Clear it out. Have them lead their horses into the barn until it’s reasonably full. Close the doors. Then open the doors and have them exit the barn. Get in and get out. Practice doing it quickly.”
Beltar’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement.
“Enter the barn, close the door, then open the door and leave the barn?”
“Exactly.”
“Quickly?”
“As fast as is humanly possible,” I agreed.
I was hoping he would ask why. If anyone in the Church of Shadow was going to, it would be Beltar. But, as puzzled as he was, he didn’t ask. He merely nodded, not understanding, and agreed. Darn it, I hoped for better than that.
“We shall begin drilling on this vital new maneuver immediately, my lord.”
Okay, maybe he didn’t ask why, but I did like the fact his tone was doubtful, lightly seasoned with sarcasm, and fried in a cast irony skillet. I despise mindless fanatics, but Beltar isn’t mindless. He’s loyal and trusting even when he doesn’t understand—which, come to think of it, might be better than questioning me all the time. Jury’s still out on that one. Maybe there’s a happy compromise between the two.
I nodded and dismissed them both before getting down to serious breakfasting.
Suitably nourished for the labors of the day, I returned to my scrying room and did my best to breach the defenses of the Church of Light. All I wanted was a little crack to peer through, nothing major. A simple peephole for observation would be fine. But no, I was doomed to frustration and annoyance. Something blocked me at every turn. It wasn’t a shield as I understood shields. It didn’t feel hard or offer resistance. It was more passive, like a bright and swirling fog.
My only conclusion was there was something funky going on. At a bet, it was some sort of divine manifestation. I consulted with my altar ego and he confirmed it.
“You couldn’t have mentioned this at breakfast?”
You didn’t ask me about it at breakfast.
“You’re a mind reader!”
You hate that!
“Yes, I do!”
Well, then, fine!
“Fine!”
We sat in silence for a moment. I sat in silence. He existed somewhere, presumably doing the equivalent of sitting.
“It’s been a bad morning,” I admitted, finally.
I gathered. You’ve been beating your head directly against the opposing will of a celestial being. I’m not surprised you’re tempery.
“Do you have any idea how bad it sounds when you put it like that?”
Yes.
“Yes, I suppose you do. All right.” I slouched in my chair and rubbed my temples. “I want to know more about what goes on in those buildings,” I told him. “I want to know how they come and go, how many priests they usually have, what sorts of ceremonies they conduct, what sacrifices, what offerings, how often they pray, the whole nine yards and the spare bullet. Am I going to
have to physically go there and pretend to be a worshiper?”
I wouldn’t.
“I didn’t say I liked the idea!”
Why not just ask Stomald? He’s a professional priest. He used to work there. He would know, wouldn’t he?
Banged my head against the back of the chair. Repeatedly.
Was it something I said…?
“I am an idiot. A complete idiot. Only I don’t get a box and a screwdriver!”
Okay… not following.
“I’ve been so focused on spying and scrying and prying into things a couple thousand miles away, I didn’t even consider just asking someone who was there to see for himself. I forgot all about Stumbled.”
Stomald.
“Whatever! I didn’t even think to use him as a source of information.”
Happy to help.
“Which,” I said, sitting up in the chair again, “you have done. I’m sorry I’m a grouch. I apologize for snapping at you. My nighttime self is a bit hungry and it carries over into the day as a sort of irritability.”
Maybe you should wait until you drink dinner before you have a talk with Stomald, he suggested. For his safety.
“That,” I said, slowly, “might be a good idea.”
Evening fell like a ton of bricks. I was in the royal bathchamber, neck-deep in the water and meditating on the concepts of patience and time in relation to immortality, when the sun dipped below the western horizon—excuse me, below the edge of the world—and I shifted into dead mode.
It does not help my transformation process to be hungry while it goes on. This is one of the reasons I try to stay topped up. The other reason is hunger frenzy can be lethal to anything within a thousand yards. At least, when I was younger. It may be more dangerous, now.
I don’t want to experiment along those lines.
I moved to underneath the waterfall and waited out the internal changes. It helps to have an external sensation, I think, like the falling water. It’s something to feel besides the itching, tingling, stinging sensations. I needed the help because I was also assaulted by a determined, deep-set, hungry feeling.
I shouldn’t have worked so hard during the day, darn it all. Still, it’s good to remind myself what it feels like. There’s something to be said for practice. Someday, I might be ravenous and have to contain it for a while.