Prince Granzer's seat was in full sunlight, while most of the council sat in shadow; that added to the impression that he was something more than a mere mortal. Duzon supposed that the council chamber's designers had done that intentionally, trying to emphasize the President's importance. Duzon still suspected that Granzer's family connections were at least as much the cause of the Matuan's nervousness as facing the Council. Most people, Matuan or Domdur or otherwise, seemed to be superstitious about the imperial family and terrified of dealing with its members, as if any one of them might use their supposed divine favor to call the wrath of the gods down on those presumptuous enough to address their betters.
That was foolish, though; it was the sixteen members of the Imperial Council who really ruled the Empire, and the gods hadn't visibly favored the Empress or her family since the oracles fell silent. Duzon knew that, even if this poor stranger didn't. The Council's authority was why Duzon had wangled an invitation to watch the Council in session. He had even, to the astonishment of his friends, passed up a possible tryst with the beauteous Lady Vozua to be here.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Lady Vozua's company, either; ordinarily, he'd be delighted to spend some time with her, and the more privately the better. He remembered the green velvet gown she had worn when last he had seen her, and the way she had smiled at him...
But an observer's place at a council session might well be harder to come by than a night with Seidabar's loveliest, and Duzon had made his choice. He was here, beneath the famous gold-coffered dome with its sixteen clerestory windows, and Lady Vozua would have to survive the evening without him.
Most of his contemporaries wouldn't have made that choice. Most of them didn't care about council sessions; they weren't concerned with matters of state, preferring to leave that to those anointed by the gods or the Empress.
Duzon, however, was determined not to be just another handsome young courtier, whiling away the years with intrigue and gossip in hopes of finding a tolerable bride higher in the imperial hierarchy than himself. He wanted to do something, to make something of his life. He wanted to be useful, to serve the Empire, to somehow improve the lot of the people beneath the Hundred Moons. He didn't have the temperament to be a priest, and advancement was slow in the army these days, but there had to be some way he could become more than he was. He'd hoped that he might find some way to serve the Council, something special he could do, and so he'd arranged to be one of the handful of observers allowed into the council chamber.
He hadn't known just what the session would be like, though, and hadn't expected to see Lord Gornir, the Minister of the Provinces, present a Matuan official in full ceremonial garb and foot-long waxed mustache. Duzon was fascinated by the easterner; he thought some of the Councillors were, too. He noticed that Lady Dalbisha, that formidable old harridan seated half in shadow and half in sun at the Prince's left, had even put the ancient carved cane she carried everywhere down on the table, rather than continuing to fiddle with it as she usually did.
Duzon thought he could smell the Matuan's mustache wax – though perhaps that was just the lingering scent of the varnish on the painted wooden walls.
He wished that Granzer would get on with it, and put an end to this pitiful fellow's agony of suspense – not to mention his own curiosity about why this man was here. The formal introductions had been made, the herald had returned to his station by the door, and it was time to get down to business.
As if on cue, Prince Granzer spoke without rising. “All right,” he said wearily, “tell us whatever it is you came to tell us.”
The Matuan dropped his hat, snatched it up again, glanced down as if afraid he had scratched the finish on the hardwood floor, then looked at Lord Gornir with outright terror. “I thought... I mean, I am here at the Council's invitation, your Highness,” he said.
“You are here at Lord Gornir's insistence,” the prince corrected him. “I assume he wanted you to tell us something.”
Duzon saw Lady Dalbisha frown and reach for her cane.
The Matuan glanced at Lord Gornir. His mouth came open, but no sound emerged.
At last Lord Gornir came to his rescue. He let the front legs of his chair fall to the ground with a thump, then leaned forward across the table.
“If it please the Council,” he announced, “I have brought this man, whose name I cannot pronounce correctly but it's something like Shin Tsai, here to confirm the reports from Govya and Olnamia that most of you have refused to take seriously – for which I do not greatly fault you, since I, myself, failed until recently to appreciate their serious nature. You all know that there have been disturbances in the east for the past three years, that after decades of peace Matua, Govya, and Olnamia have been plagued by assassinations, vandalism, and random terror; most of you seem to think this is normal unrest, perhaps brought about by the silence of the oracles, and will pass. I have finally become convinced that it's more than that, and have brought this man here in hopes of convincing the rest of you. Shin Tsai, by virtue of his office as a magistrate and criminal investigator for the province of Matua, is an eyewitness to some of the atrocities committed by these Olnamian rebels; he'll answer whatever questions you put to him about them.”
Prince Granzer waved a hand. “Does anyone have questions for our guest?”
“You call them rebels, Lord Gornir?” Lord Kadan, the Commissioner of the Army, immediately asked.
“I do,” Gornir replied.
“And you, whatever your name is,” Kadan demanded, rising and turning to face the easterner, “do you call them rebels? Do you think they're seriously defying the Empire, or are they just bandits and hooligans?”
“My name is Hsin Tsa'i, my lord,” the Matuan said. “And yes, they are rebels. Their leaders are Olnami...” Duzon noticed that he pronounced it as the Olnami themselves did, with the accent on the first syllable, rather than using the Domdur “Olnamian,” accented on the second syllable. “...and they have sworn to drive the Domdur from Olnami forever. They have boasted that they will destroy Seidabar itself, and free all the world of Domdur dominion.”
Lord Kadan smiled crookedly, leaning forward across the table. The gold clasp on his robe caught a ray of sunlight from the clerestory windows and gleamed brilliantly as he spoke. “You've seen Seidabar, and they haven't,” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial. “Think they can destroy it?”
Hsin Tsa'i spread his hands. “I merely report their boast, my lord.” Duzon noticed that he seemed to have gained considerable confidence now that he was actually speaking, rather than waiting.
And of course, it was Lord Kadan who was questioning him, not Prince Granzer, and while Lord Kadan might command all the armies beneath the Hundred Moons, he was no kin to the Domdur empress. Duzon's smile twisted. For himself, he'd much prefer to face Prince Granzer than some of the other Councillors.
“And I merely ask your opinion, magistrate,” Kadan said, with only a hint of sarcasm discernible. He straightened, taking that clasp out of the direct sun, and it seemed as if he were fading back into the shadows. “Do you think this rabble could destroy Seidabar?”
The Matuan magistrate hesitated, and Duzon sympathized; no one wanted to tell a superior an unpleasant truth, and the peoples of Matua and Greya were notoriously polite, but the man obviously didn't want to lie.
Duzon thought the hesitation itself should have been answer enough for Lord Kadan, but the Commissioner of the Army continued to glare at the Matuan, awaiting an answer, and at last the little magistrate said, “I do not know, my lord. Surely, a fortress such as this can withstand any attack by ordinary men, but the rebels use black magic. Their leader, the Olnami warlord Rebiri Nazakri, is said to be the mightiest black magician of our age, perhaps of all time. How am I to know what this sorcerer is capable of?”
Lord Kadan sat back down in his chair and threw a glance at the Archpriest Apiris, then looked back at the Matuan. “You believe in black magic?” he said.
“I hav
e seen black magic, my lord,” the Matuan replied. He'd definitely found his nerve, Duzon thought. Duzon found himself liking the little easterner.
“The gods, so we are told, forbade black magic centuries ago,” Kadan pointed out.
“The gods, my lord, can change their minds. Did not the gods forbid magic to any save their priests? Yet Vrai Burrai and his disciples are here in this very city, teaching their discoveries at the Imperial College of the New Magic. Did not the gods give us oracles, to direct us when we were in doubt? Yet the oracles no longer speak in any voices save their own human tongues.”
Kadan frowned. “What is this black magic you have seen, then?”
The Matuan shuddered and cast a glance behind him, at the securely-closed council chamber door and the half-dozen observers the Council had allowed in this session, Duzon among them.
“I have seen a dead man walk and fight, my lord,” he said. “An assassin sent to slay the chief secretary to the governor of Matua was caught in the act and trapped in his victim's office. I was summoned, and arrived as the office door gave way beneath the assassin's battering. I was there when the assassin marched out laughing, covered in the secretary's blood, and I saw him continue to walk away as the guards ran their blades through his chest, as they chopped at his arms and legs. I saw them cut away his right hand, and no blood flowed. I still have that hand, my lord, in a sealed box – I brought it with me to Seidabar, and have it in my chambers even now. Our finest doctors, and the priests of the temple at Qui Yan, agree that the hand was that of a corpse already dead a week when the assassin struck, yet, even after I retrieved and studied it, that hand will sometimes move.”
Duzon shuddered at this description, and even Lord Kadan's sardonic expression had vanished. Lady Dalbisha's hand was clutching her cane so tightly her knuckles were turning white, but she didn't seem to be aware of it; she was staring at Hsin Tsa'i.
Duzon supposed that all of them recognized the resemblance between the Matuan's description and the old legends people still used to frighten children – but this man was no child, and the stories were alleged to be true. Duzon leaned forward intently; this might not be as pleasant as a chat with Lady Vozua, but it was fully as interesting, in its way.
“Anything else?” Kadan demanded.
The Matuan nodded. “I have seen a cloud of red flame move through the city streets at night, and cast forth lines of fire, so that whatever they struck burst into flames as well. As the cloud moved, a voice spoke from it, proclaiming death to the Domdur and all their allies.” He hesitated. “The voice did not speak well, and I dared not stand too near; I cannot quote the exact words, though I am sure of the sense of it.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Kadan regained his composure enough to ask, “A walking corpse and a cloud of fire – do you think that would be enough to threaten Seidabar?”
The Matuan shrugged. “How do I know that Rebiri Nazakri has no other, greater magic?”
“It seems to me,” Lord Orbalir interjected, before Kadan could find anything else to say, “that this is irrelevant. Surely, we don't need black magicians sacking our homes before we recognize a matter that must be dealt with. What have your soldiers been doing, Lord Kadan, while this menace ravages Matua?”
“My soldiers,” Kadan replied coldly, “have been guarding temples and government offices throughout Matua, Greya, Govya, Olnamia, and even Shibir – I've drawn men from garrisons as far away as the Veruet Isles to provide the necessary manpower, as you'd know if you kept track of your own vessels, Orbalir. Even now General Balinus, the commander at Ai Varach and one of the best men I know, is under orders to assemble a force that can find and destroy this so-called Nazakri.”
Duzon smiled to himself. There was no love lost between those two, certainly. The Commissioner of the Army and the Commissioner of the Fleet were supposed to be allies and equals, but Kadan and Orbalir had never seen it that way.
“Is it working?” Lady Mirashan asked.
Kadan turned red, and the Matuan magistrate replied, “No, my lady.”
“We've had problems with desertion,” Kadan admitted. “Whoever's committing these crimes has done a good job of frightening our more superstitious troops.”
“It's more than that,” Lord Gornir said. “Shin Tsai can tell you it is. It's black magic! I'm not faulting Lord Kadan – he did send his men, and gave General Balinus the authority to do whatever needed to be done, but it hasn't been enough. It's as Shin Tsai said – it's black magic, and mere soldiers aren't enough against it.”
That created something of a stir among the councillors – and among the observers.
Lord Duzon found himself wishing he could go to Govya or Matua or Olnamia and see for himself what was happening, rather than relying on these second-hand reports. Maybe there was something he could do to stop this abomination.
But what?
As if echoing Duzon's thoughts, Lord Dabos asked, “What would you have us do, then?”
“What else can we do?” Lord Niniam said.
“Plenty,” Lady Dalbisha muttered. Duzon could hear her clearly, despite the intervening distance.
“You say you've had desertions, Kadan,” Lord Shoule said. “Have they simply deserted, or have they gone over to the enemy? Were these local troops you relied upon? This may not be black magic so much as treason.”
Lord Kadan turned redder.
“That's absurd,” Lord Passeil replied. “Why would any of our soldiers betray us? What would he have to gain? Besides, you heard the magistrate's report – treason won't make corpses walk.”
Mirashan said, “I don't think there's any great question of incompetence or disloyalty here. We're facing rebels armed with black magic – Lord Gornir's friend here says so, and that agrees with my own reports from the east. I have no reason to doubt a word of what this fine man says. Lord Kadan has taken the proper steps, and those have not been enough, but we have not been willing to go further. We preferred to ignore the whole thing – I admit it, I did, too. Well, now Lord Gornir has made it impossible for us to ignore it. We need to do something.”
“What?” Niniam asked.
“We might try negotiating with this Olnamian,” Lord Sulibai suggested. “Surely, we can find some way to appease him. What is it that he wants?”
“Revenge,” Lord Gornir said.
“The destruction of the Domdur,” Hsin Tsa'i added.
“I'll not be a party to yielding to this rebel,” Lord Kadan said angrily. “We'll find a way to defeat him – if not with my soldiers, then with something more.”
“If soldiers aren't enough, we'll have to fight magic with magic,” Gornir suggested. He turned to look at Archpriest Apiris.
Apiris threw up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness, and began, “The temple magicians are hardly – ”
“In the old days,” Lord Graush interrupted, “we'd have sent the gods' champion to find this Olnamian troublemaker and rip his head off.”
Lady Dalbisha nodded agreement.
“In the old days the gods would have sent the champion to fight for us,” Orbalir said, looking significantly at Apiris. “Or at any rate, they'd have advised us what we should do.”
“I'm sure they would have,” Apiris agreed. “Alas, the oracles are silent, and there's nothing we can do about it. If a divine champion has been chosen, I am not aware of it. My predecessors, in their reliance on the oracles, did not bother to keep written records on such matters. If there is some magic that can counter what this messenger has described, I suspect it's more likely to come from the Imperial College of the New Magic than my temple crypts – our magicks are the magicks of knowledge and communication, of light and growth, not of war or destruction.”
At the mention of the New Magic attention fell upon Prince Granzer. Duzon knew that the prince was nominally in charge of Vrai Burrai's rowdy gang of magicians, though Lady Luzla seemed to handle most of the actual administration of the Imperial College.
Apiris seemed
to have successfully distracted everyone's attention away from himself; Duzon wondered why. Wasn't this an opportunity for him to gather power by using his magicians effectively? Even if the magicians couldn't actually do anything, putting them into action, no matter how pointless it might prove to be, was clearly the right move politically.
But it apparently wasn't a move the Archpriest cared to make. From all reports, Apiris seemed determined to have his priests do as little as possible – not just in this matter, or as a councillor, but in everything that lay at all outside the area of traditional religious practice. The entire priesthood seemed paralyzed with indecision.
That puzzled Duzon. Quite aside from the old stories about warrior priests and magician adventurers, Duzon thought he remembered the temple priests being much more active when he was a boy. Part of that might be the glow of childhood, but part of it he believed to be a genuine change in priestly behavior. He supposed that was because of the silence of the oracles; perhaps, with the passage of time, they'd get over it.
It had already been a dozen years, though.
If he'd been archpriest, Duzon thought, he'd have had his magicians hard at work, looking for ways to destroy this rebel leader and his black magic.
“Perhaps we could send a couple of New Magicians out to advise General Balinus,” Prince Granzer said. He glanced at Kadan.
“Glad to have them,” the Commissioner of the Army said. “Glad to have anything that might help. If you find out who the divine champion is, we'd certainly be glad to have him!”
“That's all very well, but what about the old magic?” Lord Shoule demanded.
“We have already instructed the magicians of all the eastern temples to serve General Balinus however possible,” Apiris admitted reluctantly. Duzon shook his head at this display of political ineptitude; Apiris should have been proclaiming proudly that he had already moved against the foe, not trying to hide the fact.
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