Assuming, of course, that the black wizard, Rebiri Nazakri, did not make good his threat to destroy the Domdur. Safe here in the tower of the Imperial Palace it was hard to believe that the mad Olnamian posed a real threat, but all the imperial family had heard the reports from the east, the accounts that made the Nazakri sound almost unbeatable. The smile vanished, and Zolous looked at Granzer.
Zolous knew his brother-in-law was not stupid. Granzer had used his wife's position to help him secure his own post, but he had administered the Empire well enough; he would have held a Council seat even if Darisei had refused him, albeit probably not the presidency. Furthermore, Granzer was a strong-willed man when he wanted to be – in thirty years of marriage he had never allowed Darisei to dominate him, and he had, on occasion, even dared to oppose the Empress herself. Zolous was not sure he could have opposed his mother in similar circumstances. Still, Granzer was only human, and had had no divine assistance for many years now; he could make mistakes, could misjudge situations. Zolous sincerely hoped that Granzer was not misjudging how serious a threat Rebiri Nazakri posed. Placing one's confidence in the gods was all very well, and a very traditional strategy among the Domdur, but the gods had not exactly been cooperative of late.
The Nazakri wasn't the only problem the gods had declined to solve for the Domdur. There was the matter of the succession. For a thousand years, whenever an Emperor or Empress had died, the Domdur had asked which member of the imperial family should take the throne – in fact, usually the question was posed some time in advance, when the monarch fell ill or went to war or otherwise made death seem like a reasonable possibility – and the oracles had told them. Usually, the gods had chosen the Emperor's oldest son, but not always. Daughters, Beretris being the obvious example, had been given the divine blessing; so had younger children, siblings, even nephews or nieces, bypassing more obvious choices.
Beretris had been in perfect health in 1092, when the oracles last spoke. No one had thought to ask who would be her heir.
Her health was no longer good; her digestive problems were obviously serious and growing gradually worse, and the doctors could not agree on the exact cause. The possibility that she might die at any time was very real. The time to name an heir had come.
And no one knew who should do it.
The traditional route would have been for a representative of the imperial family to convene a special session of the Imperial Council and ask them to identify the heir, whereupon the Council would ask the Archpriest to determine the will of the gods. The Archpriest would have consulted the oracles and brought back their answer.
Now, though, Apiris had no one to consult, and nobody wanted Apiris to make the final decision. Instead Beretris, after a particularly bad night, had informed her children and their spouses that she considered Graubris her successor.
Darisei had stewed over that for a triad or two, and had then called her siblings together and announced that she didn't believe the Empress had the right to name her own heir – the Imperial Council should make the choice.
Clearly, she had expected her husband, the president of that Council, to back her up and to push for her own selection. Granzer had not openly rejected the idea – he wasn't stupid, as Zolous had already reminded himself, and had no desire to destroy his own domestic felicity. He had not supported it, either, however; he had instead suggested that the imperial family had best work things out amongst themselves, so as to present a united front to the other Councillors.
Graubris and Zolous had agreed with that; Graubris had then suggested that perhaps they ought to defer to their mother's far greater experience in these matters.
That had started the argument.
It seemed to be winding down, though. Darisei had found herself without much support, even from Granzer. She didn't like that, but she couldn't do much about it.
So Graubris would take the throne someday, if the gods did not choose otherwise, and one of Zolous' own children – probably Vali, his older son – would come after Graubris. Darisei would never wear the crown – but her husband was the true power in the Imperial government, all the same, and Zolous thought that was fair enough.
That, he thought, was one matter settled without divine intervention.
Now, if only they could settle the others – Rebiri Nazakri and his rebellion being the most serious.
Zolous sighed. What a shame, he thought, that the gods hadn't named an Imperial champion before they fell silent. Then the Domdur would know who should lead the campaign against the Olnamians. Furthermore, Zolous would not have had to worry about his younger son, Bagar, who was out there with the Company of Champions, on his way into battle.
Zolous didn't think Bagar was the divine champion; the lad was a fine young man, strong and handsome, good with a sword and comfortable on horseback, but the chosen champion? Somehow, listening to the old stories, Zolous had always pictured the champions as a bit farther out of the ordinary run of humanity than Bagar.
But the boy was old enough to make his own mistakes.
Zolous just hoped Bagar would survive his mistakes.
He wondered where the boy was at that moment.
#
Prince Bagar looked over Drievabor as the Company of Champions rode toward it, and was not impressed. There was no great hilltop fortress here, no soaring walls and massive gates, no domes or towers or palaces. The Gogror Highway did pass through an archway that had once been a gate in the city wall, but the rest of the wall was long gone – it had been in the way of the spreading warehouses and markets and granaries, and once the plains beyond the river fell, centuries ago, it had scarcely been needed.
Drievabor itself, discounting the granaries and other artifacts of the grain merchants' trade, was not particularly large; it would have been considered not much more than a couple of neighborhoods in Seidabar's Outer City. Most of the buildings were of brown or yellow brick, a story or two in height, simple and straightforward and relatively unadorned. The three exceptions, rising in a cluster at the far side of town, were the official residence of the Lords of Drieva, the city's temple, and a guard tower at the foot of the great bridge where the highway crossed the Grebiguata.
The current occupant of the manor, Bagar knew, was a Lady Karmaran – he had never met her, but he had heard of her. She was said to be quite formidable. He wondered how she could stand living in such a boring little town.
There was one oddity about Drievabor, Bagar noticed, one way in which it was more than an overgrown village: Starting at that archway the highway ahead was paved with dark brick, for as far as he could see. Bagar had seen paved plazas and streets, of course – the area around the Imperial Palace had plenty of them – but they were scarce outside Seidabar, and he had not expected to see one here. He supposed that it had something to do with the bridge across the river.
That bridge, Bagar knew, was where General Balinus intended to stop the rebels. He had never officially been informed of this, but he had heard enough bits of conversation around his father, his uncle Granzer, Captain Duzon, and the other officers to be certain of his facts. Balinus and his superior officer, Lord Kadan, did not want to meet the enemy on the open plain; they were afraid that the wizard's magic would let the rebels somehow slip around the Imperial forces. The only real natural barrier between Govya and Seidabar was the Grebiguata River, and unless the Nazakri intended to detour almost a thousand miles out of his way, the only bridge across the Grebiguata was here at Drievabor.
There were hundreds of small boats, of course – the river was too shallow for real ships, but rafts and flat-bottomed boats abounded. By Imperial decree, all were to be stored on the western side until further notice; any boat found unattended on the eastern side would be confiscated.
The generals seemed to take it for granted that the rebels would not be able to make their own boats; Bagar had not been certain why, but he did notice, as he looked eastward at the town, that there were no forests anywhere in sight – nothing b
ut farms. Olnamians were desert people; they presumably wouldn't know how to make boats from bundles of straw.
That left the bridge.
Bagar turned and looked back up the highway.
The infantry regiments were nowhere in sight; the Company of Champions had long since outdistanced them, even though half the men did not ride well. Still, Bagar knew they were back there, somewhere up the road – six regiments, three thousand men in all, to guard a single bridge.
Surely, that would be plenty. Lord Kadan was gathering a much larger army, back in the Agabdal camps north of Seidabar, but Bagar could not believe he would need it.
He wasn't entirely sure that the six regiments of the vanguard would be needed. After all, even with a wizard prodding them on, would a ragtag bunch of rebels really make it all the way across that vast eastern plain?
Bagar hoped they would. He wanted a chance to show what he could do. He envisioned himself standing on that bridge ahead, sword in hand, battling a dozen Olnamians at once and handily defeating them.
His brother Vali might someday be Emperor, Bagar thought, but he would be the Empire's champion!
Chapter Twenty-Six
The journey north from Biekedau to Seidabar took four and a half days – for the most part remarkably boring days, in Malledd's opinion. Vadeviya wore ordinary traveling clothes, keeping his priest's robe tucked away in his pack, so no one remarked on the peculiarity of a priest and a commoner traveling together; most people seemed to assume that Vadeviya was Malledd's father.
That rather annoyed Malledd; Vadeviya was a big man for a priest, but not so big as Hmar, nor possessed of the same calm self-assurance.
The first leg of the journey was by far the most interesting, as the two men took the River Road downstream to Nuzedy. Malledd watched the boats working their way upstream or drifting back down toward the sea, the colors of their sails proclaiming their ownership and the banners at the mastheads announcing their intended destinations. All those bound upstream, of course, flew the yellow-and-green of Biekedau, while it seemed no two of the downstream craft bore the same flag; Malledd had no idea what ports most of the banners represented, but the sheer variety fascinated him.
He watched the morning sun burn the dew from the grass, and saw the children come out to play along the banks of the river, splashing and shouting.
For the entire twenty-odd miles from Biekedau to Nuzedy they were never out of sight of boats, and buildings, and people. A score of inns were scattered along the River Road, for those who for one reason or another chose not to make the journey in a single day, each with its own dock, and there were other docks as well, serving farmers, fishermen, and even warehouses. Two of the inns even offered ferries.
Always, to their left were low hills, while to their right lay the river, and beyond it the plain, cut into squares and oblongs by farmers' fields, but otherwise featureless.
Nuzedy was visible from miles away; in fact, it scarcely seemed they were fully out of sight of Biekedau when Vadeviya pointed out a speck on the horizon he said was the Nuzedy watchtower.
Malledd had never come so far from home before, had never seen Nuzedy. He watched with interest as the tower became more clearly visible, and the temple dome beneath it.
Nuzedy was larger than Biekedau, and built on both sides of the Vren, its two halves connected by four great bridges; to Malledd it seemed a marvel, with its broad, straight streets and elegant buildings of multicolored stone and brick. Unlike the far older Biekedau, it had never had a city wall – Nuzedy had been founded long after this region had been fully pacified. This lack of a wall left its edges undefined; it seemed to fade away gradually in every direction, so that Malledd was unable to say just when they had entered the town.
Vadeviya led the way across the first of the four bridges, and at first Malledd thought they might continue on toward Seidabar, though the afternoon was well advanced; but then the priest led the way to an inn on the outskirts of Nuzedy.
“I am not as young as I once was,” he explained apologetically. “I'm afraid I need a meal and a night's rest.”
Malledd didn't comment, but he thought stopping was quite reasonable. He was not tired himself, but he was a strong man, and could hardly remember ever feeling tired. He looked about the inn with interest; it was much larger than Bardetta's, far more spacious, with more ornate and expensive furnishings, but otherwise not very different.
It was odd to think that for the first time in his life he was on the other side of the Vren. The bridge had made the crossing so simple, with no need for a ferry, or a ford, or to swim, that he felt almost cheated.
For the remainder of the day and evening he strolled casually about the inn and its surroundings, listening to the people of Nuzedy and the travelers, studying their elegant clothing, their elaborate hairstyles, their fine manners, all far more sophisticated than anything he saw in Grozerodz. He heard men talking about women, women talking about men, and everyone talking about business, friends, family, the weather – and the war, though it did not dominate the conversation as much as he had expected.
He did not intrude on any of these conversations; he did not speak to anyone but Vadeviya and, a bit reluctantly, the staff of the inn. He was uncomfortably aware of his village accent.
His conversation with the old priest was entirely about the inn and their journey; no mention was made of why they were going to Seidabar.
The next morning they ate a hasty breakfast and left while the sun was still behind the buildings across the street from the inn. Vadeviya paid the bill – of necessity, since Malledd had brought only a viert and a half, which would scarcely have covered it. The prices in Nuzedy seemed outrageously high, but the locals seemed untroubled by them, calmly passing around more money in a single transaction than Malledd ordinarily saw in a season. Most of the people of Grozerodz never handled large coins at all, and even the smiths saw them only rarely; Malledd had left three vierts with Anva, in case of emergency, and that, combined with the one and a half in his pocket, represented his entire fortune.
They left Nuzedy by the Seidabar Road, a highway wide enough for four wagons, most of its length flanked on either side by hedges; the height of the hedges, and their appearance, varied according to the whim and industry of the farmers maintaining them. The road ran perfectly straight; now that they were across the river the countryside was flat and featureless, with nothing to force the highway from the shortest possible line between Nuzedy and Seidabar.
And the view in all directions, once they had left Nuzedy, was completely without interest. The farmhouses they passed were much like any other farmhouses in the region; simply leaving the hills for the plain had not altered the local architecture. The hedges quickly grew tedious. Other travelers paid the two men no heed. There were no children at play, no boats to watch, only scattered farmhouses and endless farms and hedges.
Around noon they passed through the village of Vurs – the highway widened into a square where a small fountain provided water for weary travelers or their mounts, and two inns faced each other across the square. Tempting odors drifted from a bakery's open door, but Malledd remembered how little money he carried and steadfastly ignored them – which suddenly became much easier when he and Vadeviya passed downwind of the village's tannery. They walked on without stopping.
At the next village, however, they stopped for the night. That was, as Vadeviya told him and the innkeeper confirmed, Deu Anafa.
The third day was virtually identical with the second – walking the dead-straight Seidabar Road between hedges and fields that extended all the way to the horizon. They passed through the village of Deu Bionda at mid-morning, then stopped for the night in a town Vadeviya called Allas.
The morning of fourth day was the most tedious to date, as there was not even a village to break the monotony, but that afternoon Malledd noticed a certain haziness in the distance ahead of them. Another hour or so and he identified it as smoke, and mentioned it to Vadeviya.
“The forges of Seidabar,” the priest said. Then he stumbled, and Malledd caught him before he fell.
“My apologies,” Vadeviya said as he straightened up. “I'm afraid I'm no longer accustomed to traveling.”
“We can rest, if you like,” Malledd offered, though he was not particularly weary.
The priest shook his head. “No,” he said. “Come on.”
The sun was on the western horizon and the sky's blue deepening around the scattered moons when they finally reached the end of the hedges and saw an inn by the roadside. Far ahead, Malledd could see the final rays of sunlight glittering from towers and a golden dome, half-hidden by the smoke.
“Yes,” Vadeviya said, before Malledd could ask, “that's Seidabar. The dome is the Great Temple, and that tower to the right, with the golden spire, is the Imperial Palace. And they're much larger and farther away than you imagine, so you can forget any idea you might have of reaching the city gates tonight. This inn will suit us just fine.”
Malledd looked at the distant glitter, then at the sunset spreading red across the western sky.
“All right,” he said. “Where are we? What village is this?” He gestured at the inn, and the other buildings along the road ahead.
Vadeviya smiled.
“This place is called Dauzger,” he said, “but it's not exactly a village in the usual sense.” He refused to explain that further, and instead led Malledd into the inn for supper and a bed.
In the morning they set out again, following the Seidabar Road past inns and shops; there were no more hedges, and the few fields they saw were vegetable gardens, rather than vast expanses of grain or grazing land for livestock. Even this early, there were many other travelers along the road.
When they had walked for an hour or so, Malledd asked, “Are we still in Dauzger? I would have thought I'd have heard of a town this size.”
Touched by the Gods Page 22