Mobius

by Garon Whited

  “I was wondering if you could give me some legal advice.”

  “Your fortunes are favored, for I am well-versed in the law due to my employment.”

  “I hoped so. I don’t want to try and stay awake while reading that much legalese. Here’s the deal. I know I’m in a vendetta with Sarcana. Under normal circumstances, there would be troops maneuvering in the field, minimally impacting Sarashda. What happens if someone does something in the city? Say, I surround the Sarcana estate and demand their surrender? I get the whole city-versus-city thing, but on the smaller scale, how does it affect House-versus-House?”

  “A dubious point under the law,” he acknowledged. “In most cases, such actions fall under the vendetta defense. Some actions are considered perhaps not ‘illegal’ so much as improper. Most of these are what strategists call ‘off the board.’ When moving one’s pieces in the game of vendetta, one moves military pieces on the field. One does not poke the other player in the eye while he is considering his move. Therefore, oh… say, kidnapping the son of the manzhani is frowned upon, although it must be proved before the complaining House may expect to demand reparations under the law. Assassination, hostage-taking, all the personal scale actions are in the same category. It is somewhat grey, however, since capturing someone on the field of battle is not only accepted but encouraged.”

  “If they can prove I did it in an underhanded or non-military manner, they can get help from the city?”

  “From the Empire, technically, but it amounts to the same thing. Finances, materiel, personnel—or the Empire may demand similar damages from you. If you kidnap the manzhani of House Sarcana, the Empire may demand him back, along with a substantial fine. If you assassinate him, you may be subject to similar treatment. You see what I mean?”

  “I think so. But, attacking the estate?”

  “Since it is a strategic move, not a small-scale one, I believe it would be a move ‘on the board,’ so to speak, and subject to reprisal only from House Sarcana,” he assured me. “However, be warned! You are accountable for disruptions or destruction of those things which are not of House Sarcana. If your forces burn down a nearby business, you will be required to pay the damages.”

  “And if it’s a business owned by House Sarcana?”

  “Then it is a valid target. But the building next door to it, owned by another House, must not be harmed.”

  “Duly noted. If I want to hit something Sarcana owns, I have to be precise.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Thank you, Hazir. You’ve given me much to think about.”

  “I am at your service.”

  We signed off and I thought about it. From his explanation, I didn’t see any reason not to hit the Sarcana treasury and their money supply. If they were being backed by the Temple, though, they might not need their own money for the duration of the vendetta. Of course, this would help indicate whether or not the Temple was backing them…

  I wrote some notes and wondered how to deliver them. Hazir could deliver them, but getting them to him… I finally decided to use his mirror as a gate. It’s already an enchanted object and he knows I have portal-making devices. I called him back, explained, and handed the mail to Hazir. Despite his startlement at gate-based delivery, he promised to drop them off with some of the warriors I hired. Those could spread the word among the rest.

  With that moving, I went on to draw up some assault plans for a dozen buildings.

  Leisel called while I had the sand table circling a high-end brothel. Technically, it’s a house of pleasure, not strictly a sex-worker establishment. It’s kind of a combination of restaurant, bathhouse, massage parlor, and social club, with the menu including a happy ending dessert. It reminded me of Bajah’s House of Ten Thousand Pleasures in many ways. I was not surprised to find it was one of Sarcana’s better money-makers. Nor was it at all surprising to find it had quite a number of security personnel. The notes from the scry-spies indicated the money courier traveled in a carriage with four mounted warriors riding escort. Since the interior of the building was shielded from routine scrying, I was trying to decide whether to hit the building or the courier when the mirror chimed.

  “Yo.”

  “Busy?” Leisel asked.

  “Yes and no. It’ll wait.”

  “The triskarte is becoming insistent about speaking with you. It is difficult to put them off longer.”

  “Have they had the full tour?” I sighed.

  “No, only the villages. They tell me they don’t care to see more of them. They want to speak to you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Terauda. It’s a mining village, so there wasn’t much to see. They’re having lunch before heading back.”

  “Fine,” I grumped. My pleasant mood evaporated like snowflakes on a summer sidewalk. “Who’s your second in command?”

  “Velina. She should be at the keep.”

  “I’ll have her form up the troops and we’ll welcome them with some pomp. Then we can meet in… how about the northern outbuilding? Nobody’s using it, yet, right?”

  “It’s a big, empty hall.”

  “It’ll do. Call me when you come into sight of the village.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I put my work aside and sent for a lot of masonry. The neat thing about my rock-manipulating spells is the way you can stick a block on another block and it actually does stick. I paid special attention to shaving, cleaned myself and my armor, and wished I had time for a haircut.

  Time to build the Lego Throne.

  The tower’s outbuildings—no, I really need to call it a keep. It’s got a main, central tower, but there are other structures, a paved courtyard, and a curtain wall surrounding everything. It’s not simply a tower anymore.

  So, the keep’s outbuildings were intended as extra space for a variety of purposes. We hadn’t yet got around to using all of them, what with so many other buildings springing up all over the central village, thanks to the sawmill. We used them mostly as a messhall, barracks, and storage—not counting the long, wooden barn we threw up in a hurry. We simply didn’t need the fourth of the stone outbuildings yet. Handy to have it, though, since it made a pretty decent throne room. We laid down a couple of courses at one end of the rectangular space, raising it, and built a squarish, Lincoln-esque sort of throne on it. I sat on it and it held me. I pronounced it good.

  It wasn’t as comfortable as a dragon’s snout, but it was big enough for me in full armor. I even remembered to leave some openings in the back and sides in case I wanted to sit on it while wearing swords. It really needed some padding, but it would do.

  While people laid down stones for the building’s architectural spell to grab, I discussed with Velina some of the possible maneuvers for my personal guard. I didn’t want a lot of confusion at my hand gestures, but I did want to have options if it came to a choice between being conciliatory or intimidating. It all depended on the priests. Velina grabbed the local warriors and started on them, working with spit and polish. While they worked to be visually impressive, I had the room to myself.

  Lighting is always important. Since light spells are relatively simple, I wanted to control the lighting like a stage director. It’s one thing to have a spotlight on stage, illuminating one specific circle. It’s another thing to have the stage illuminated, but with highlights where the audience is supposed to look. I’m not sure I can explain it. It’s a visual thing.

  The wall behind the throne glowed. It wasn’t terribly bright, but it reminded me of the light reflecting off a sidewalk on a summer day. It didn’t illuminate the whole room all that well, but it meant even with the doors shut the room was merely dim, not pitch-black. Up close, on the throne, I could have read a newspaper. I added some other illumination spells in the ceiling, both for ambient lighting and for spotlighting. A bit of stonework manipulation raised the room’s floor a trifle, just along the side walls, leaving a broad, sunken pathway from the main doors to the foot of the throne.
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br />   I considered filling the slightly-recessed aisle with mist, so people walking along it couldn’t see the floor, but it was too complicated to do in a hurry. Besides, I wasn’t sure how this was going to go. There is such a thing as being too dramatic.

  Leisel called. I notified Velina to get everyone inside as I went out to look. Sure enough, Leisel and a bunch of strangers approached. She rode, as did the carriage’s escorts. I didn’t see anyone in solid colors, but the warriors accompanying the carriage all wore white tabards with a circle symbol. Or was it an eleven-sided figure, almost circular? It was hard to tell in the breeze. The carriage had a pennon flying, composed of three ribbons—yellow and two shades of blue.

  I waved to Leisel and went back inside to wait. A line of warriors—all female—stood along each of the side walls, armored up and ready. They outnumbered the carriage escort at least four to one.

  You may have missed it, but I don’t particularly enjoy talking to priests.

  I sat on the blocky throne, threaded both scabbards through holes in the back, and laid Firebrand across the arms. I steepled my fingers and waited. After a time, my ears detected a bit of argument outside—mostly stolid insistence meeting frustrated annoyance, followed by eventual exasperated agreement. The doors opened and Leisel entered, followed by four priests in white, yellow, sky-blue, and purple-blue robes. Outside, their escorts waited impatiently. The doors closed behind them, making the room dim for a moment.

  The overhead spotlights started clicking on, shining straight down on the aisle, each lighting up as they passed under it, fading out as they moved beyond. Leisel swept the room with her eyes, taking in everything. Three out of four priests either watched the floor or tried to appraise me.

  “Leisel,” I said. “Good to have you back.” My voice carried in the stone chamber. They continued to approach, Leisel heading directly for me while the priests moved somewhat hesitantly. They didn’t like the lighting or being in a sealed box with me and a bunch of my warriors. Good. The one in white was the most interesting of the group. He was the youngest, possibly a trainee or postulant, and seemed to have a distant air about him, as though drunk or high. He walked in a straight line, though, albeit with the dark-blue-robed priest’s hand on his elbow.

  “Mazhani,” Leisel addressed me, “these are the—”

  “The gods have not given favor to this enterprise,” the yellow robe interrupted. “Do not address him so. He is not the founder of a great House. He rules a wilderness. He is a warrior with pretensions until the gods grant him their favor. If they ever do.”

  Leisel said nothing. She didn’t look behind her at the still-approaching priests. I nodded at her to continue, smiling to myself. On the etiquette front, they opened the offensive, not me. I was prepared to be polite, but they didn’t give me a chance. Too bad.

  “Sir, these are the priests of the triskarte of the Temple of Sarashda, come to evaluate—”

  “Your introduction is complete,” interrupted the yellow robe, again. “We will speak for ourselves about the will of the gods.”

  Leisel’s jaw muscles jumped, but she held her tongue. She caught my eye and shook her head ever so slightly.

  She’s thinking the three colorful robes are the priests, Firebrand informed me, but the white robe is something different.

  Really? What is he, then?

  A sacrifice? Either I’m not understanding her or she doesn’t understand it too well. See if they’ll sacrifice him to you, Boss.

  I’m not really in the mood for sacrifices. Ask me again if my altar ego ever shows up.

  Spoilsport.

  I beckoned her forward, whispered to her for a moment, and she moved to sit on the step beside the throne. The priests, standing in a circle of light, frowned at her informality, then looked around and frowned at the lack of chairs. The young man in the white robe stood mute, gaze distant, smiling slightly.

  “Very well,” I told them. “State your business.”

  They exchanged looks. Clearly, they wanted to do so, but to appear to obey annoyed them.

  “House Sarcana holds the sole approach to this valley,” yellow-robe told me. He was the tallest of them and wore his narrow beard in a stiff point. It jiggled as he spoke. “You are besieged. You have inadequate crops to sustain your people and no hope of breaking Sarcana’s forces. We have come to witness your surrender and declare the end of the vendetta.”

  “The vendetta between who?” I asked.

  “Sarcana and you.”

  “Forgive me, gentle priests, for my religious training is not as yours. Perhaps you could explain to me what House it is Sarcana has vendetta with?”

  Yellow-robe chewed his words a bit, beard dancing, before answering.

  “Sarcana has chosen to acknowledge you as an enemy who must be punished.”

  “In my ignorance, perhaps I have erred,” I said, oozing all the smarm at my command. “Is the decree of vendetta given by the mahrani of the city?”

  “Only the Temple may grant the vendetta!”

  “Surely, you mean only the gods may grant a vendetta?”

  “The Temple is the voice of the gods.”

  “And the Temple granted the petition by Sarcana to declare vendetta against me,” I reasoned. “Hence, the Temple—speaking for the gods—has acknowledged me and mine as a House, and therefore I am Mazhani of it. The gods would not have granted Sarcana’s request if it was not a valid request, would they? After all, the gods are infallible and the priests ever-faithful in interpreting their will.”

  The three priests huddled amongst themselves, excluding the white-robe. My ears are good. I distinctly heard the comment about “it’s not as though the so-called House will be around for long,” and the agreement of the other two.

  I made a small gesture. In the shadows beyond their circle of light, slow movement started.

  “We agree,” said the yellow robe, turning back to me. “Thus, we have come to communicate the demands of House Sarcana for your surrender.”

  “Mazhani,” I prompted.

  “What?” he demanded, beard bristling.

  “Is it not customary to address the head of a House by his title?”

  “You have not yet addressed me as ‘Holy One’,” he pointed out.

  “Very well, Holy One. What were you saying about your mission?”

  “We have come to communicate the demands of House Sarcana for your surrender—Mazhani,” he spat. While yellow-robe and I spoke, the priest in the indigo robe was more attentive to the white-robed young man. He whispered to him briefly, but the white-robe merely smiled dreamily and said nothing. Indigo-robe raised a monocle, worn on a ribbon around his neck, and squinted it into place. I saw the aura of magic on it, but identifying it was out of the question, just at the moment. He looked at me through it and his eyes widened so much the monocle fell. He tried to look casual and replace it, but his hands shook.

  “What are your demands, Holy One?” I asked, calmly.

  “This valley will be claimed by Sarcana. All the people in it will swear their allegiance to the House. Everything in it will belong to Sarcana. Also, specifically, the warrior Renata will be turned over to the House. You will be permitted to live, banished from Sarashda and its environs forever.”

  I found it intensely interesting he fell for my verbal trap. Either he missed it entirely or he tacitly admitted the demands were the demands of the priesthood and the Temple, not Sarcana. He also forgot to address me properly, so I sat silent and waited. From their perspective, with the light above and the glow from behind me, I was a silhouette, unmoving. The speaker finally realized what I was waiting for.

  “Mazhani,” he added, grudgingly.

  “I see. Very well, Holy One. I shall permit you to carry a message to Sarcana, specifically to Naskarl.”

  “The priesthood is not a messenger service!”

  “You have come with messages,” I countered, sharply, “and you will have my reply. You are messengers, whatever else you a
re.”

  “One may not speak to—”

  “I reject your demand for surrender,” I said, pitching my voice loud and stomping over his angry retort. “I have sufficient forces in play to crush this so-called siege like a nut between hammer and anvil—one of your nuts, if you persist in antagonizing me.”

  “How dare—”

  “Silence!” When the echoes died, I had it. “If Naskarl does not withdraw his forces and give up the vendetta, I will strike him like lightning, killing everything in my path, tearing down all Sarcana has built until no stone stands on stone and the earth is salted wherever Sarcana foot has trod.”

  I rose to my feet and my cloak exerted itself to ripple dramatically. There was no breeze, but so what? It knows good theater. I held Firebrand pointed down and to my right, flickering redly against the backdrop of utter blackness.

  “Thank you for your time, Holy One. You may go.”

  “How dare you—” he began again, affronted, but the overhead light went out. No longer isolated in brightness, he could see the rest of the room. Rings of warriors surrounded the little group of priests. Once they registered, I killed the light from the glowing wall and Firebrand went from a flicker to a flame, blood-red, bathing the room in a flood of crimson, throwing strange and twisting shadows everywhere amid the glints and gleams of the steel surrounding the priests. I raised a hand and gestured toward the door. The warriors slowly shuffled aside, forming a dark, narrow aisle lined with shields shining like fresh blood.

  “Thank you for your time, Holy Ones. You may go,” I repeated, emphasizing my permission. The three colored robes looked at the one in white, his robe now the color of blood in the crimson light. He did nothing, merely stood there, which disturbed them greatly.

  “Your insolence will be repaid in this life and all those to follow,” yellow-robe said.

  “Are you feeling well, Holy One? Your memory seems to have failed you.”

  “What?”

  “Mazhani,” I reminded him. “Perhaps you require rest? Shall I have you escorted to a guest chamber until you are feeling better and your memory improves? We would not want you to be put upon the road until you are fully rested—no matter how long it might take. I’m willing to offer my hospitality indefinitely, if need be.”