The Science of Power

by Emerson, Ru

  It was even colder than usual in the Emperor’s town house; much too warm in his personal chamber. Afronsan peeled down to the light tunic he’d had the foresight to wear under the padded, quilted rain cloak and came across the room to kneel at his brother’s side. Shesseran sat in the room’s only chair, a plain, high-backed seat close to the fireplace; he was swathed in blankets from his waist down. His face was drawn and his lips trembled; his hands were cold despite the heat of the room and the blazing fire. Surprisingly, he wore the high, heavy bejeweled diadem with which he had been crowned so many years before, though ordinarily he didn’t even bother with the everyday plain gold circlet of ten interlocked rings that the Emperor was supposed to set about his brow during all waking hours. Afronsan pressed his lips against his brother’s fingers.

  “What—new word from the north?” Shesseran asked breathily.

  “Not good, sire. I’m—I’m sorry. The chief grandmother of Red Hawk should arrive tomorrow, late, to tell you in person what she saw and felt, but I’ve already received her wire from Sikkre.” He pulled it from the tunic pocket, held it out; Shesseran shook his head.

  “My eyes won’t manage such—small writing. Tell me, Frons.”

  Afronsan cleared his throat quietly, read the lengthy message. “A hundred seventy injured in some degree or other,” he concluded. “Forty dead, including the sin-Duchess of Zelharri, though the count of dead would have been much higher, had that young woman and her apprentice not remained behind to front the Triad, shore the roof, and let most escape before it fell upon them.” Afronsan sighed, refolded the message. “Ten horses, seven camels, and forty mules as well, and nearly every wagon in the central portion of the stables. Another fifty people dreadfully ill from shock, injury, and exposure to the weather that night, before they could be got into what shelter could be found for them among the remaining wagons.”

  Silence. Shesseran sat very still, his eyes closed; his lips moved. “It is my fault,” he said finally.

  “Brother, no.”

  “Yes,” Shesseran said flatly. “I doubted you, and any other person who dared tell me straightly what that—that man was. Beginning with my tutor in Latinus, who said the boy Vuhlem had no conscience and cared only for himself.” He sighed heavily. “Brosian was right, you were right. I was too—stubborn to believe—”

  “Vuhlem put on a fair face for you, Sess; he knew what things to say to please you.” Afronsan hesitated. “And he will continue to do so, even in the face of that disaster, you know he will! If he feels there is the least chance you will accept his word there was storm and high wind; that he has no Shaper, let alone a Triad, that he seeks only to serve you….”

  “I—I know it.” Shesseran covered his eyes with a thin, trembling hand for a long moment. “Frons, I am too old for this seat and this crown. I understand so little of anything outside Rhadaz, or how best to serve our people—even simply whether to keep them from most of that outside world as I still think best, or to work with it as you do, taking certain of its goods while holding the rest at bay.” He held up a hand as Afronsan would have spoken. “No—let me finish, please, I—haven’t much strength, just now. I cannot deal with the English, the brash and arrogant Mer Khani; I cannot understand the French and the Gallic when they try to speak our language. I have no understanding of this wire, these—factories. The English music was rather nice,” he added wistfully.

  “And so it was. We’ll have more, brother, if you like.”

  “If we do, it will be your decision, Frons. From tonight forward.” He pointed toward the table. “Pull the wire, admit my council when they come.”

  Afronsan’s hands suddenly felt as cold as his elder brother’s had; he rose to his feet, moved to the table, pulled the bell wire, and then walked to the door, opening it for the twelve men who were already coming down the hall. Foreboding dried his mouth. The Council of Twelve passed him without a glance, but when Afronsan closed the door behind them and turned back, they were facing him and bowing, very deeply indeed. And Shesseran held the ancient crown in his hands. When he spoke, his voice was firm and steady, as it had not been in many long months. “Come,” he said. “Afronsan, whom I have before this hour named as my Heir, who will succeed me within this hour as Shesseran XV, and who will be known assuredly as Shesseran the Foresighted. Come and take from him who was Emperor the ancient crown of Rhadaz.”

  Afronsan swallowed, then crossed the room and knelt before his brother’s chair. Held out his hands. Shesseran placed the crown into them; it was surprisingly light but it weighed heavily upon his brow when the two chief councilors took it from his nerveless fingers and set it upon his head. “May I be worthy,” he whispered, “of your trust, my brother, and of the land itself.”

  “I do not doubt you will,” Shesseran said very quietly. He gestured; the scribe who had followed the Council of Twelve came forward with a message box and a quill, and sat cross-legged at his side. “Take this message, to all the Dukes and their households, to spread at once among the people: This day have I, Shesseran XIV, given unto my brother Afronsan the sacred ruling of our land. Obey him as you did me, and my blessing upon you all.” The man scribbled rapidly, ducked his head as he shoved the quill into its holder, and as Shesseran nodded, he turned and sprinted for the hall. The Council of Twelve bowed once more as Afronsan got to his feet.

  “Your bidding, sire?” one of them asked.

  “Bidding—” Afronsan cleared his throat. “Yes. My brother—do you wish to be part of all this, or would you rather rest?”

  “It is your plan now,” Shesseran whispered. “I am—not strong enough or prepared in any fashion to deal with events, in Holmaddan or anywhere else, brother. And they are no longer my difficulties. I have another—road for which to prepare myself. Go, brother, take my council and let them serve you until you are ready to appoint your own; do what you can to reclaim control of Rhadaz and her Dukes. My greetings to your lady; tell her—tell her Shesseran gives her his love and wishes her strong sons for you both. My—prayers will go with you, know that.” He licked his lips. “Send my servant to ready me for bed, if you will be so kind.”

  Afronsan bent down and kissed both his brother’s lean, wrinkled cheeks. “Gladly, brother. Rest well. I swear to you I will do my best, not to fail the land and her people.”

  “I—know you will.” Shesseran closed his eyes; he coughed harshly. “Go.”

  An hour later, Afronsan returned to the massive civil service building and his own apartments; where he had ridden out with only one servant, he found himself accompanied by seven, and an additional man to carry and guard the ancient crown. I did not think it would ever come to this. Never so soon. Not within—within my brother’s lifetime, for certain. The speed at which events had moved during the past two hours left him dazed; he had to concentrate on keeping his seat. “A pity, such an end for such a great emperor,” he whispered. The wind was rising; the men on either side fortunately didn’t hear him, or see him surreptitiously blot his eyes. A moment later he was grimly deep in plans for the next several days; there would be little sleep for him, particularly this night—and the telegraph wires would be hot indeed before the sun rose.

  One other thing, he decided; he wrapped reins around his right arm, and with his left fumbled free the silver contraceptive bracelet, shoving it deep into his pocket. As events in Holmaddan showed, life was uncertain. Better that the new emperor—and the lady who would be named empress as soon as possible—do what they could to make certain the ancient line went on.

  AFRONSAN WHO IS NOW SHESSERAN XV, TO THUKAR DAHVEN: YOU WILL HAVE RECEIVED ALREADY THE MESSAGE OF MY BROTHER, WHO WAS EMPEROR. TO YOU AND THE THUKARA JENNIFER AND ALL HEIRS OF YOUR BLOOD AND HERS, I RECONFIRM SIKKRE; FROM YOU I ASK THE FOLLOWING. DIVIDE YOUR TROOPS; KEEP THEM STILL SECRET SO LONG AS YOU CAN FROM THE NORTH, SEND HALF OF THEIR NUMBER TO THE DRO PENTI BORDER, WHERE THEY WILL REMAIN HIDDEN; THE REMAINING HALF TO THE NORTH VIA THE ROAD PAST HUSHAR OASIS. UPON MY COMMAND, THE WESTER
N ARMY WILL SET UPON ANY HOLMADDI TROOPS OR MERCENARIES OF ANY BREED WHO WITHHOLD DRO PENT FROM ITS RIGHTFUL DUKE; BEZJERIAD WILL ATTACK SIMULTANEOUSLY FROM THE SEA. AT THAT SAME COMMAND, THE NORTHERN ARMY WILL MOVE QUICKLY INTO VUHLEM’S CITY AND MAKE ALL EFFORTS TO TAKE THE DUCAL PALACE AND THE MAN HIMSELF, IF THIS IS POSSIBLE. THERE WILL BE A FORCE OF SHIPS THERE AS WELL, AND SHOULD THEIR OWN BATTLES GO WELL, SUPPORT FROM LAND FORCES IN CORNEKKA AND THOSE COMING NORTH FROM DRO PENT—YOUR OWN MEN AND DUKE WUDRON’S (THE GODS WILLING). MY BLESSINGS UPON YOU, AND UPON THIS VENTURE, XV

  TO LEHZIN OF BEZJERIAD, THE CONFIRMATION OF YOUR NEW EMPEROR, THAT THE DUCHY IS YOURS AND THE HOLDING LINEAR, TO THE HEIRS OF YOUR BODY. FROM YOU, I ASK THE TROOPS AND SHIPS YOU PLEDGED PREVIOUSLY TO DRO PENT AND ALSO ASK THAT YOU SEND TO SEA YOUR FASTEST SHIPS TO GARNER THE ATTENTION OF A LASANACHI, PREFERABLY ON ITS WAY SOUTH AND THEREFORE NOT EXPECTED IN HOLMADDAN BY THE TRAITOR VUHLEM. HAVE CONVEYED TO THE CAPTAIN OF THAT SHIP THAT A NEW EMPEROR SITS UPON THE RHADAZI THRONE, AND A NEW ORDER RULES. ALSO TO THAT CAPTAIN, THIS: WHATEVER PRICE VUHLEM, WHO WAS LEGITIMATE DUKE OF HOLMADDAN, OFFERS YOU FOR THE TRANSPORT OF THE DRUG ZERO AND OTHER GOODS—SUCH AS SMALL CHILDREN CARRIED IN SECRET FROM THE DRO PENTI PALACE TO THAT OF THE HOLMADDI DUKES—THE NEW EMPEROR WILL TREBLE THE PRICE, AND PAY IT IN GOLD IMMEDIATELY UPON SATISFACTORY RESULT. IN EXCHANGE HE ASKS LOYALTY FOR ONLY ONE MOON-SEA-SON, AND SHIPS AND MEN TO AID THE RHADAZI EMPEROR IN HIS CLAIM AGAINST THE HARBOR OF DRO PENT AND THE COASTLINE OF HOLMADDAN. ONCE DRO PENT IS IN THE RIGHTFUL HANDS, AND HOLMADDAN AGAIN LOYAL TO THE EMPEROR, THE LASANACHI MAY FEEL FREE TO WITHDRAW TO THEIR OWN LANDS, OR TO MAKE NEW BARGAIN WITH EMPEROR AFRONSAN, WHO IS ALSO SHESSERAN XV, AND WHO WILL NOT PROVE UNGRATEFUL.

  SEND ALSO TO THE GALLIC STATES FOR BATTLESHIPS, IF THEY WILL PROVIDE THEM. WHETHER OR NO, ASK ON OUR BEHALF IF THEY WILL TRADE WITH US IN WIRE FROM THEIR LANDS TO OURS, AND IN STEAM TRAINS AND OTHER GOODS, ONCE THIS PRESENT CRISIS IS SET ASIDE. BLESSINGS UPON YOU; YOUR AID IN THIS DIFFICULT TIME WILL NOT GO UNREWARDED, XV

  TO DUKE ALETTO AND DUCHESS ROBYN OF ZELHARRI, AND TO DUKE JUBELO AND DUCHESS MISARLA OF CORNEKKA, BLESSINGS OF THE NEW EMPEROR UPON YOU AND YOUR LINE, READY THE MEN YOU PROMISED ME A WHILE SINCE, AND AWAIT MY COMMAND, IT WILL NOT PAY YOU FALSE COIN IN THE DAYS TO COME, XV

  TO DUKE ALETTO, YOUR NEW EMPEROR’S SINCERE SORROW AT THE DEATH OF YOUR SISTER, AFRONSAN

  MERCHANT CHRISTOPHER CRAY, CEE-TECH, MONDEGO, NEW LISBON: EVENTS MOVING QUICKLY NOW; ANY INFORMATION YOU CAN SEND NORTH REGARDING ZERO AND THOSE DEALING IN IT, PLEASE DO, AND AT ONCE. MY PERSONAL SORROW TO YOU; I KNOW YOU WERE FOND OF THE SIN-DUCHESS. ALL THE MORE REASON FOR BOTH OF US TO SEE VUHLEM PAYS FOR WHAT HE HAS CAUSED TO BE DONE.

  WEDDED BROTHER PREPARING TO EXTEND WIRE AT ONCE FROM FAHLIA BORDER INTO PODHRU, ALSO GALLIC RAIL WHICH YOU AND HE BOTH ASSURE ME WILL NOT HOLD OR FIT MER KHANI ENGINES, SHOULD THEY BRING THEIR OWN RAILS WEST OF GREAT MOUNTAINS. IF TIME, CONCLUDE THAT DEAL AND SEAL THE BARGAIN WITH THE GALLICS, A SMALL PERCENTAGE, PERHAPS, TO WEDDED BROTHER FOR HIS AID IN THE MATTER.

  SAFE TO RETURN HOME, IF YOU WISH, AFRONSAN

  Chris set the wire aside and rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. “Damn him!”

  “What? Damn who?” Ariadne laid a hand on his arm. Chris held out the telegram Edrith had just brought, let her read it. “Hell,” he said bitterly. “All those years with her uncle and that old bat Merrida, she was—she was still just a—a neat person. And now—oh, damnit. Vuhlem—” He got up, paced the small room the Mondego inn had let them have as a sitting room. Ariadne watched him anxiously; he still looked dreadful, and the ribs clearly hurt him. “Eddie. Mind going back out?”

  Edrith shook his head. “What—more liquid from the healer?”

  “God, no,” Chris said feelingly. “Gotta send a wire.” He crossed to the room’s only table, turned over several sheets of paper, tore one in half, and began to print rapidly across what was left. “Here, this should do it. Get back here, fast as you can, though. The French should be sending for us any time now.”

  CEE-TECH TO EMPEROR AFRONSAN, SHESSERAN XV: DOING WHAT WE CAN HERE, BRING DOWN VUHLEM AND AVENGE LIALLA. MER KHANI VERY HELPFUL RE ZERO FOR NOW AND PHILIPPE DUPRET SENDING STEAMER FROM PARIS TO TAKE TESTIMONY RE DUPRET—WHO SOLD ZERO-TREATED ‘BRANDY TO VUHLEM, VIA LASANACHI. SHOULD HAVE FULL PROOF OF THAT SOON, CHRIS

  SHESSERAN XV TO THE ONE WHO WAS DUKE OF HOLMADDAN, VUHLEM: WE ARE WELL AWARE WHY THE CARAVANER BUILDING YOU CHOSE FOR THEIR HOUSING WITHIN YOUR DUCHY FAILED; IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH STORM WINDS, AND ALL TO DO WITH A TRIAD WHICH IS EMPLOYED BY YOU. KNOW, VUHLEM, WE DO NOT ACCEPT YOUR LIES, NOR DO WE PERMIT SUCH ATROCITY AGAINST OUR PEOPLE; BE WARNED WE WILL EXACT PAYMENT FROM YOU FOR THE LIFE OF THE SIN-DUCHESS AND ALL OTHERS YOU HAVE SENSELESSLY MURDERED.

  WE ARE NOT OUR BROTHER, VUHLEM; WE ARE WELL AWARE WHAT YOU ARE; WE DEMAND FROM YOU TRUE ADHERENCE TO YOUR OATH AS DUKE OF HOLMADDAN; YOU WILL OBEY US, THOUGH NOT AS YOU “OBEYED” OUR BROTHER. YOU KNOW THE PENALTY FOR DISOBEDIENCE.

  GIVE OVER AT ONCE YOUR TRIAD, AND ALL DEALINGS IN THE OUTLAND DRUG ZERO; SWEAR TO US IN HONESTY AND WITH FULL TRUE INTENT—AND WE SHALL CONSIDER WHETHER TO PERMIT YOU TO REMAIN IN POWER UNTIL

  YOUR ELDEST CHILD IS OF AGE TO ASSUME THE DUCAL THRONE.

  REFUSE ANY OF THESE DEMANDS—AND DO NOT DOUBT THEM TO BE EXACTLY THAT, VUHLEM—AND WE SHALL TAKE YOUR THRONE AND YOUR LIFE. AFRONSAN, SHESSERAN XV, EMPEROR OF RHADAZ

  Vuhlem crumbled the message sent by wire to Sikkre and forwarded to his palace by horse messenger, and swore furiously. The servant who had delivered it somehow maintained an expressionless face as his master tossed the wad of paper into his fire; he turned and fled as the Duke glared at him and shouted, “Out. Out!”

  Vuhlem paced the length of his floor, waited until the discreet “click” told him the pasty-faced wretch was gone, then swore again. “How dare that man? How dare Shesseran? He’s—he did this on purpose! To entrap me!” Well, little did the onetime Emperor and would-have-been friend know, Vuhlem had matters well in hand; Afronsan’s wire was all bluster. By the time the new would-be Emperor managed to gain control of his vast land and feeble resources, Vuhlem would have long since taken his own steps. He stopped pacing, tossed back his head, and laughed. “Fool! Idiot and fool! Both together, both of you! I said all along the line was weak, this merely proves it!” He turned to stare into the fire; the coals had burned low but there was still a small, bright spot that had been a would-be command from the so-called Emperor. “Dare to think you can best me, Afronsan. Dare to think it.” He spun away on one heel, began pacing again as he considered his options.

  Many of these: His to choose from. That message—ignore it, best policy all around. Shesseran would not know how to deal with an ignored command; Afronsan had still to placate the old man’s council, which was just as weak as the old man himself. It would take time for him to choose his own men, set his policy….Yes, ignore the message. By the time the weakling Afronsan realized exactly what the northernmost of his dukes intended, it would be much too late.

  For the rest, he’d better seal a new bargain between himself and the Lasanachi; they were useful, their longboats better than anything Rhadaz had, and faster—and several of those who plied the southern waters were also well armed with the foreign projectile weapons.

  Unfortunate that fool Casimaffi had been arrested; well, it hadn’t been unexpected, really, and there were others Vuhlem could contact, on his own or via the Lasanachi, who could supply him with the same liquors and the same weaponry. The French nobleman maintained his control over the trade in Zero and over his island; it would do, for now.

  It could make him truly furious if he thought about the boy. But there was no point to it: Wudron’s heir was no doubt already back in his mother’s arms, and the gods only knew, what Wudron intended. With any good fortune, the message that had accompanied the boy held his attention: “What was yours, and then mine, and is now yours once more—that could become mine again, at the least stirring of fortune. Be cautious, brother, where you bestow
your loyalty and your confidences.” Wudron would understand what he meant; he’d have a care for his only son, and dare speak no word against Vuhlem.

  As for the sin-Duchess—well, only one such as Afronsan would create civil war over her! “He’d take my throne, give it to my eldest child? A daughter? He’s madder than old Shesseran!” The sin-Duchess had an easier death than she’d deserved. Still…

  Vuhlem cast a wary eye upward, licked his lips, and went to feed the fire. The Triad—they had been too eager to please him—or perhaps simply too eager. “I wanted merely to frighten them, not so many deaths. I knew the old man wouldn’t accept so many caravaners and that dratted female both; one, yes, a few of the other, yes, perhaps! All of them, though!”

  But how did one rid oneself of a Triad? Jadek’s—They had become it, according to his own Triad. His Triad claimed not to understand what that meant, really; Vuhlem didn’t care, it was nothing to do with him, after all: the True Way, or some such nonsense only a truly ancient Triad could know and accept. His was far from that level; one of it had been Dahmec’s father’s Shaper, another the Shaper serving Jubelo’s uncle, and the third—well, the creature had come from somewhere, who cared where? Still, together, it was strong and arrogant all at once. Since the hour it had torn through that building—it had changed, not for the better. When he’d ordered It to go away, or at least to return to his hunting lodge, it—they—had laughed at him, the three-part voice making his very bones ache.