by Steven Brust
"No, I read them in a book."
"Do you trust this book?"
"Oh, certainly. It was published by the University Press before the Disaster."
"Very well, then, I accept the figures. What of them?"
"Suppose I have thirty renters, each renter, on average, has—"
"What does 'on average' mean?"
"It is unimportant. Each renter, let us say, farms fifty acres."
"Very well, let us say that."
"When we subtract from this the amount the renter is entitled to for his own use, either to eat or to sell, which is, by chance, very close to what he needs to keep himself and his family alive, we find we have the amount needed to support one soldier, along with the portion that goes into your bin, and eventually, your treasury."
"Yes, yes, or larder, or wine-cellar. I am familiar with this process. What you are saying, then, is that we are able to support one soldier for each peasant family."
"That is correct."
"This also came from a book?"
"The same book."
"Perhaps I should read it."
"I will lend it to you."
"Well, I accept these figures. And then?"
"After reading the books, I did my own calculations."
"I am not surprised that you did. But—"
"Yes?"
"What did these calculations tell you?"
"That in order to effectively defend the land in these times, with brigands and armies everywhere, we require one of two things: either one and a half soldiers for each peasant—"
"Half of a soldier is hard to imagine."
"—or we must arm the peasants."
"A risky proposition."
"Exactly."
"And then? What is your conclusion, my dear cousin?"
"There is yet a third method."
"I am anxious to hear it."
"Each time we gain an area equal to fifty acres, and, in doing so, use fewer than one soldier for each fifty acres conquered, we stay afloat, as the Orca say, for a little longer."
"Ah. I understand."
"Yes. That is why we are driven to keep expanding."
"Well, and so we expand."
"But there is a limit, you know. The expansion must necessarily slow down, because there is time required to secure each new area, and as the circle widens—"
"Circle?"
"Say, rather, as your holdings grow, it will soon take so much time to see to the arrangements that, well, the entire structure will collapse."
"Having seen the Disaster," remarked Kâna, looking around nervously, "I mislike the thought of structures collapsing."
"As do I."
"But permit me to put a question."
"Very well," said Habil, "ask your question."
"If this is how it works—"
"Oh it does, I assure you."
"How was the Empire able to function?"
"Because it was an Empire, and everywhere was order, and there was little bickering, and so only a small army, and that managed by the Empire itself, could keep order over a large area. In fact, rather than requiring one and half soldiers for each peasant, it required scarcely one soldier for each thousand peasants. You perceive there is a great deal of difference."
"Yes, yes, I see that. But is there a solution?"
"I believe there is."
"And what is that?"
"A new Empire."
"How, a new Empire?"
"Exactly."
"But that requires a new Emperor."
"Yes, exactly."
"And where might we find such an Emperor?"
"I believe I am looking at one."
"How, me?"
"Are you not a Dragonlord?"
"Well, yes."
"And have you not proved your ability to win battles?"
"Battles, yes. But to govern such an area, and that without the Orb—"
"The lack of the Orb is a problem."
"I nearly think it must be!"
"But I have a solution."
"Have you then?" said Kâna admiringly. "I recognize you so well in that!"
"I think so," said Habil, blushing.
"Well, I should be glad to hear it, Marchioness."
"A system of counselors, of observers, and governors of territories."
"I see. Advisers, then, to suggest actions, and spies to be sure I am informed of what is going on in all parts of the Empire, and rulers of sections to carry out my orders in their territories."
"You have understood exactly."
"But how am I to conquer such a large area, when you have already said that expansion such as we have been engaged in is doomed?"
"I have thought of this, too."
"I am not startled that you have."
"Shall I tell you what I have thought of?"
"I should like nothing better."
"This is it, then: You need counselors, observers, and governors."
"Ah, ah!"
"You understand, then?"
"I think so."
"Well, let us see."
"Advisers to help plan the campaigns, spies to make certain I am aware of what is going on around me and throughout the Empire at all times, and rulers to secure each area as it is conquered."
"Precisely."
"And," said Kâna, his eyes beginning to sparkle, "as we fully secure each area, there will be fewer soldiers required to maintain control, and thus these warriors can move out, while food for them, and fodder for the horses, which we cannot forget, will move out in regular paths to feed the army that is advancing."
"You have grasped my plan exactly. What do you think of it?"
"My dear cousin—"
"Well?"
"I think I will be Emperor."
"I nearly agree."
"Have you anyone to suggest for those rôless of which we have spoken?"
"Some. We will discover more as we begin our campaign. Come now, have you any maps?"
"Why yes, many."
"Good. I perceive that you have finished your omelet and your bacon, and are now drinking your third cup of klava, whereas I have finished my biscuit and my sausage, and am just pouring my second cup of tea, so let us retire to the library, and consult these famous maps, and begin to plan this campaign of which we have been speaking."
"An excellent suggestion, and one that I subscribe to with all my heart."
Thus began Kâna's campaign, which at its start was one of the countless efforts of minor aristocrats to preserve the few holdings they had, and which by its end was so much more.
Chapter the Fourth
How a Band of Road Agents
Met a Sorceress Who Was Not,
In Fact, Picking Flowers
On a spring day in the 229th year of the Interregnum, a woman could be seen to be picking flowers in a meadow near the banks of the river that the Easterners call the Naplemente, which name, we believe, translates to "the last of the light." The name was given it by an Eastern explorer who, having traveled as far from his homeland as he was willing to go, saw it as the farthest western point he could discern; he therefore called it by his country's name for the end of the day, or, perhaps, the place where the last of the daylight is seen. It still goes by this name among some, especially Easterners living within the Empire, but it is more often known as the Adrilankha River, for the simple reason that it passes through this city before finding its way to the ocean.
The meadow to which we direct our attention, however, was nearly three hundred miles north of this city, and there were no cities nearby, though, to be sure, there were no small number of inns and tiny villages, as more than a few roads ran in diverse directions through the region.
As to the woman picking flowers, we should say that she was eight or nine hundred years of age, with narrow eyes, a clear noble's point beneath dark hair that curled around her ears, a small mouth, and a face that showed that she had lived no easy life. While she was unencumbered, she traveled with a
mule, which held a heavy pack, and one item of especial note: that being a staff of white wood, polished until it nearly gleamed, and featuring a small reddish marking on one end. Other than this staff, she appeared to have nothing more than what anyone might take for extended travel in the woodlands.
Watching her as she made her slow, painstaking way through the meadow, one might suspect her of being a midwife or herbmaster, until the observer realized that she was not, in fact, picking the flowers, so much as searching through them—indeed, her concentration was so fixed upon the ground that she did not, at first, realize that she was not alone.
When she at last became aware of it, she looked up with a sharply indrawn breath to find eight or nine horsemen watching her from a distance of only a few yards.
"A good day to you, madam," said one of them. "You appear to have lost something."
"And a good day to you, sir. I am called Orlaan, and, as you have deduced, I have, indeed, lost something."
The horseman looked at his companions and, with something like a smile, said, "Tell us what you are looking for, then, and, as we are all gentlemen here, we will help you rind it."
"Will you, indeed? Why, I should be most glad for the assistance, and I will tell you at once."
"Well?"
"I am searching for a soul."
The horseman stared, then, frowning, said, "I beg your pardon, madam, but I fail to understand what it is you do me the honor to tell me."
"But, what could be simpler? There is a soul somewhere hereabouts."
"I… that is to say, a soul?"
"Exactly."
"Well, how did you come to lose it?"
"Oh, I never had it."
"But… then, it is not your soul?"
"No, it belongs to another."
"But, how is that possible?"
"For another to have a soul?"
"No, no. For there to be a disembodied soul. I have never heard of such a thing."
"It was a strange effect of Adron's Disaster."
"But that was two hundreds of years ago!"
"Oh, yes."
"Then you have been searching for it all this time?"
"Oh, certainly not. It was scarcely a hundred years ago that I realized it was missing. It took me that long, you perceive, to train my skills to the point where had an awareness of such things, and to perform the divination that revealed that it existed."
"But now you know it exists?"
"I have Seen it, yes."
"And it is here?"
"As to that, I cannot say. I traced a line from Dragaera City—"
"Dragaera City! That is a sea of amorphia, from all I have heard."
"Well, so be it, then. From the sea of amorphia to Dzur Mountain, and I began my search at the edge of the sea, as that is where I happened to be when I made the discovery, and my search has, so far, brought me here."
"But, well, what will you do if you find it?"
"Oh, I will find it."
"Very well, what will you do when you find it?"
"I will put it into that staff which you observe on my mule."
"Well, and then?"
"I have not the least idea in the world. But I am convinced it will be useful. Such an object—"
"Madam, I believe you are doing yourself the honor of mocking me."
"Not in the least," said Orlaan coolly.
"You should be aware, madam, that we—that is, my friends and I—had only intended to rob you of your mule and your possessions, and perhaps to sport with you a little. But, as you have chosen to mock us—"
"Oh, I have been aware of your intentions all along."
"Have you? Well, you do not appear worried."
"I have no reason to be worried."
"And, would you care to tell me why? Quickly, if you please; you perceive my associates are becoming impatient."
"I will be as fast as the Great Flood of Thuvin."
"Very well, I am listening."
"I have mentioned that I was near the Sea of Amorphia."
"That is, the Lesser Sea."
"Yes, yes. The Lesser Sea. Well, can you imagine what I was doing there?"
"Why, I have not the least idea in the world."
"I was coming to an agreement with it."
"With the amorphia? The Gods! You consider me too credible by half!"
"Not, perhaps, a conscious bargain on its part, but I was learning how to speak with it, to convince it to do what I wish. In a word—"
"Elder sorcery!"
"Exactly."
"Pah! I do not believe you."
"Well," said Orlaan, shrugging. "It then remains only for me to convince you."
Some hours later, a certain Teckla, who had been kept by the brigands to cook for them and help with tasks around their encampment, observed that his band had not returned. After consulting with himself (there being no one else around with whom to consult), he went off searching for them in the direction in which they had departed. Soon enough, he found what remained of them, and could only speculate on what sort of catastrophe could have left these blackened and burned remains. He did, we should say, feel a slight twinge of sorrow—the brigands had not been as unkind to him as they might have been, but then he realized that, with the booty they had left, he would be able to live comfortably for many years, if he managed it well. And, when his means began to run low, he could, no doubt, hire a boat to bring him down the river to seek his fortune in the city.
As for Orlaan, there was no sign. It had happened that, on that day, she had found what she had been seeking.
Chapter the Fifth
How Arra Prevented Aging
And Morrolan Discovered
His Growing Notoriety
It so happened that on a spring day Morrolan entered the chapel at Blackchapel, looking for his Priestess, Arra, who was, naturally enough, often to be found there, as it was not only where she consulted with penitents, and not only where she conducted her services, and not only where she worked with and trained what had come to be called "the Circle," but was also where she lived.
Having introduced the subject of living quarters, and, moreover, observing that the reader last had occasion to look in on Blackchapel several scores of years earlier, we consider it our duty, before continuing, to say two words about Blackchapel as it was at this time—that is to say, in the 243rd year of the Interregnum (although, the reader must not forget, an Interregnum that had no direct effect and little indirect effect on matters this far to the East of the old bounds of the Empire).
Since we have last visited, then, there have been considerable changes. In the first place, what had been a sort of low, swampy field north of the chapel had been drained by clever engineering on the part of a certain Cecilia, and a series of low cottages had been built there to house those who had been steadily arriving in the village—or, more properly, the town—ever since Arra had begun her work.
Blackchapel had absorbed these new citizens in the simplest possible way: When they were not engaged in their training in the magical practices, or working with Arra to send out the strange psychic calls to attract more of their number, they put their talents at the disposal of the local citizens. The most annoying of the pests who disturbed the local agriculture were now almost unheard of. Lost livestock no longer remained lost. There had not been a bad year for fish as long as the current generation could remember.
All of these services for the townspeople were performed at the absolute insistence of Arra, who pretended that the instant the Circle became a burden on Blackchapel, the slow, steady, peaceful growth of the Circle would be, at best, interrupted. Morrolan, for his part, paid little attention: he had the single-mindedness (and, to be sure, the accompanying tendency to be oblivious to everything outside of his immediate focus) that seems to be as much the birthright of the young Dragonlord as the fierce temper and callous disregard for life.
To be sure, Morrolan was of a naturally cheerful disposition, and had had no occasion
for any display of temper. The townspeople considered him something like their pet demon (though, of course, they would never think of using such terms to his face) and as such, considered him something like a living token of good fortune, and he made friends easily both among the townspeople and the witches. These friendships were hampered only by Morrolan's observation that the people who surrounded him—indeed, everyone except himself and Arra, who were marked by the special favor of the goddess—tended to grow old and die at an alarming speed.
Over the decades, the distinctions tended to diminish between the two groups: local peasant girls could not help but find the witches fascinating, and no one is as attractive to a peasant boy as a woman with the mysterious powers of a witch. The populations therefore tended to mix, with only those newly arrived remaining separate, for a time, from the life of Blackchapel.
And so, as we have said, there was nothing but harmony in Blackchapel between those whose families had dwelt there for generations uncounted, and those who drifted in to become part of the Circle, a harmony that, so far as Morrolan knew, was entirely natural and normal, he being unaware of Arra's diligent work to maintain this state.
Arra, for her part, could not help but be aware of the aspects of Morrolan's character to which we have referred, and so, without complaint, simply added to her duties all of those matters that can be called "politics"; that is, the requirements of maintaining harmony between her witches and the locals of Blackchapel.
On the occasion of which we now write, she heard Morrolan call her name, and so emerged from a back room into the chapel itself, dressed only in a long towel of a particularly absorbent material, and with water streaming from her hair and collecting in small pools on the hard stone floor.
"I beg your pardon," said Morrolan. "I was not aware—"
"It is nothing, milord," said Arra. "I was merely immersing myself in sanctified water to which certain salts and herbs have been added, as part of the process of maintaining my youth. The favor of the goddess does a great deal, but, you perceive, even she can use aid in her endeavors from time to time."
"Oh, as to that, you seem to have maintained all of your youth with no change, so far as my eyes can see."
"You are most kind."
"Not at all. And, come to that, when I look in the glass, I do not seem to have particularly aged myself, which speaks strongly for the powers of our goddess, and the rejuvenating effects of the Circle, does it not?"