The Unwilling Warlord loe-3

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  He stopped, suddenly unsure what he was saying and whether he should be saying it.

  Annara threw a look at Agor, then turned back to Sterren and said, “All right, Sterren. I don’t suppose it will do any harm to tell you. I’ve had dreams, dreams where wizards tell me things. Some of them may be ordinary dreams, but I think at least some must have been sent. I don’t always remember them when I wake up; there are tricks to remembering your dreams, and I’m not very good at it. All the same, I think I have an idea what the Guild is doing.”

  “Ah,” Sterren said. “What are they doing?”

  “Nothing. At least, nothing yet. They’re watching the situation, using scrying spells and prophecies, and that’s all. Oh, and it seems that reports of the events here are somehow not spreading very well, particularly not to warlocks, and those warlocks who do hear about the new power source are being discouraged or diverted in various subtle ways.”

  Sterren nodded. “You know, I had begun to wonder why not a single other warlock had turned up.”

  “Remember, Vond’s invitations have all emphasized his own supremacy, and warlocks are not prone to play the sycophant. Even without my guildmates interfering, I suspect he would be attracting few converts.”

  “True enough,” Sterren acknowledged. He sat for a moment, munching cashews and considering this news.

  “So,” he said at last, “is the Guild contemplating any more drastic action?”

  “No,” Annara said, after a moment’s hesitation. “At least, not that they’ve told me about. The general noninterference policy seems to be holding good.”

  Sterren nodded, and as he did a thought occurred to him. He asked Agor, “What do the gods think about all this?”

  The theurgist shrugged. “Like the wizards, they don’t interfere,” he said. “Not since the Great War.”

  Sterren accepted that. “One more question,” he said, “and I’ll go.” He looked at the two magicians closely. “For yourselves,” he asked, “do you want Vond removed?”

  Annara and Agor looked at each other.

  Agor shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” Annara said, “I really don’t.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Five minutes after he left Annara’s room Sterren peered around a drapery into Vond’s audience chamber. The warlock spotted him immediately.

  “Ah, Chancellor Sterren!” he called, “Come in! Come in!”

  Sterren obeyed, looking curiously about as he did. He had seen the audience chamber before, of course, the rich red draperies down either side, the ornately patterned marble floor, the luxurious red carpet down the center. Twenty-foot-high windows behind the dais let sunlight pour in from the palace’s central courtyard; stained-glass medallions set in the windows painted colors on the floor, and the cut-glass bevels that edged the medallions ringed the colors with sprays of rainbows. Golden banners hung from the vaulted white marble ceiling; most were plain and unadorned, but three bore battle flags sewn onto them, representing Semma, Ophkar, and Ksinallion.

  Three broad steps, alternating black and white marble, led up to the black marble dais, and above its center Vond floated comfortably in mid-air; he had not yet bothered with a throne.

  That much was familiar. What was new to Sterren was the group of young women who stood at the foot of the dais.

  He counted twelve of them, all young and all uncommonly attractive. Their garb varied from simple peasant homespun to the rich velvets and silks of the conquered nobility; their expressions varied from uncertainty to bold defiance. None of them were so much as whispering; the only sound was the rustle of their clothing.

  “What’s going on?” Sterren asked, breaking the silence.

  “I’m choosing a harem,” Vond replied.

  Startled, Sterren took another look at the women. “I’ve had my eye out for the last sixnight or so,” the warlock explained, “and I’d noticed these young ladies as promising prospects, so when I had a moment, I brought them here to look over.” He smiled wolfishly.

  “Do they know what’s going on?” Sterren asked, seeing confusion and fear on several faces.

  Vond shrugged. “I told them, but I don’t know if they understood.”

  “May I speak with them?” Sterren asked.

  “Be my guest,” Vond said with a wave.

  “Ladies,” Sterren said, in Semmat, “I am Sterren, Ninth Warlord of Semma.” He did not know a Semmat equivalent for “chancellor,” if one existed at all, and he was not yet comfortable with the title in any case. “Do you know why you are here?”

  His reply was a babble of voices; he raised his hands for silence.

  It took a moment, but the women quieted. Sterren pointed to one. “You; who are you?”

  The chosen one looked back at him blankly. “Ksinal-Uoni,” she said, with an odd accent.

  Sterren picked another. “Do you speak Semmat?”

  This one nodded.

  “Who are you?” Sterren asked.

  “Kyrina the Fair,” she replied, “Daughter to Kardig Trak’s son and Rulura of the Green Eyes.”

  Sterren could easily understand how she got her epithet. She wore a simple green tunic and a brown peasant’s skirt, but even so, she was easily more beautiful than the most elaborately attired noblewoman Sterren had ever seen in Semma.

  “You live near here?” he asked. “In the village,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of Semma Castle.

  “Do you know why you are here?”

  She shook her head, which sent a ripple through her long, gleaming black hair and wafted perfume in Sterren’s direction. “No, my lord.”

  “How did you come here?”

  She glanced at Vond and at the other women, clearly not eager to act as spokeswoman. Nobody volunteered to take her place, and after an instant’s further hesitation she explained, “Perhaps an hour ago, something like a great wind, yet not a wind, snatched me up and brought me here. I found myself in a great hall, where I could move freely, but where all the doors but one were closed and barred, and the one open door was guarded by men who would not let me leave. Another woman was there, as well, and then these others were swept in, as I was, one by one; and when we were all there, the guards led us here, using their spears to keep us together.”

  Sterren nodded his understanding.

  “This is the Great Vond,” he said, gesturing toward the warlock. “You all probably guessed that.”

  Several women nodded.

  “You all know he now rules this land?”

  Seven women, by Sterren’s count, nodded. He guessed the other five spoke no Semmat.

  “You know he is a warlock, a magician?”

  More nods.

  “He is also a man. He has brought you twelve here to choose women to...” Sterren paused, wishing he knew more Semmat; he could think of a hundred delicate ways to phrase this in Ethsharitic. “To warm his bed,” he said at last.

  That elicited not nods, but startlement, anger, fear, and at least one crimson blush.

  Vond was watching all this, and, Sterren saw worriedly, looking bored.

  “Sterren,” he said, “I take it you’ve just explained why I brought them here.”

  Sterren nodded.

  “Tell them,” Vond said, “that any who wish to leave are free to go, but that those who stay, and who please me, will be richly rewarded.”

  Hesitantly, Sterren translated this speech into Semmat as best he could.

  The seven who understood looked at one another, clearly considering the offer. Kyrina looked at the warlock carefully for a long moment, then turned and strode for the exit.

  Vond waved a hand, and the great double doors swung wide to let her pass.

  Another woman, a noblewoman this time, hesitantly followed her.

  One of the five who did not understand Semmat seemed to catch on, and literally ran out the door.

  Others followed, each after her own fashion, until five remained, three of whom spoke Semmat. The five e
yed each other warily.

  Sterren watched them, puzzled. Why had these five stayed? None of them was starving; in fact, two of the five were dressed very well indeed. They should not be so desperate as to choose slavery; and surely concubinage, in this case, was a form of slavery.

  Perhaps, he thought, they didn’t trust Vond to keep his word and feared he would take revenge upon them if they left. Certainly, all five looked somewhat nervous.

  Or perhaps they didn’t see it the way he did. They might see sharing Vond’s bed as a route to power and wealth. If that was it, Sterren was sure they were wrong.

  Or perhaps it was just curiosity or a sexual interest in the warlock. Sterren hadn’t really given the matter much thought, but he supposed Vond was attractive enough, and there were always stories about magicians. For himself, Sterren could see no reason a knowledge of arcane skills should imply a knowledge of erotic skills, but there were always stories.

  Most likely, he thought, it was a combination of all of these that kept the five of them in the audience chamber. He found that unappealing and decided he did not care to watch any further. He started to turn away.

  “Sterren,” Vond said, “I need you to translate!”

  He had forgotten that. He turned back, reluctantly. “Couldn’t one of your servants do that?”

  “You’re here; they aren’t. Besides, you speak Ethsharitic better than any of them.”

  Sterren had to admit that this was true.

  “Let’s start with their names,” the warlock said, waving a hand at the women.

  Sterren did the best he could, given that only three of the women spoke Semmat; a fourth spoke Ophkaritic, the fifth Ksinallionese. One of the Semman women knew a few words of Ksinallionese, and the Ksinallionese spoke Ophkaritic, so that nobody was totally cut off.

  And of course, gestures and facial expressions conveyed plenty of information as well.

  After half an hour or so, Vond chose the Ksinallionese to take a stroll with him and become better acquainted, and Sterren escaped with a sigh of relief, while one of the palace servants, summoned by Vond’s magic, escorted the other four to the apartments they were henceforth to share.

  Sterren made his way out the citadel’s main gate and looked down Vond’s artificial hill at the surrounding countryside. The land had turned green with spring, and the peasants were out in the fields, tending their crops. The sky was a radiant crystal blue, with a handful of soft white clouds sailing like white-robed wizards across it.

  A party of a dozen or so men was marching up the road toward the gate. Four of them were Vond’s red-tunicked palace guards, and the rest were in rags.

  Sterren saw to his horror that the ragged ones were in chains. Most of them looked resigned, but two or three looked terrified.

  “Hai,” he called, “What going on?”

  The foremost guard saw him, acknowledged his presence with a bow, and called back one word.

  Sterren did not catch it; the guard’s accent distorted his Ethsharitic beyond easy comprehension.

  “What?” Sterren called back.

  “Slaves!” the soldiers repeated. “We bring slaves!”

  “What for?” Sterren asked, as he and the guard approached each other.

  The guard spread his hands in the Ksinallionese equivalent of a shrug. “The Great Vond ordered,” he said.

  “Where did these people come from?” Sterren persisted.

  The guard hesitated; clearly, his Ethsharitic was not very good. “We go to Akalla, buy them, bring them back,” he explained slowly.

  Sterren stopped and stepped aside as the party marched up past him. He watched them go without interfering.

  At least they had been slaves already, and not innocent peasants Vond had had enslaved.

  In fact, he supposed that it was perfectly reasonable for Vond to keep slaves, but Sterren found it a little hard to accept. For most of his life he had been far more likely to deal with slavers as merchandise than as a customer. He had never quite been reduced to sleeping on the city streets, which would have made him fair game for the slavers, and he had never been caught stealing, which could also put cuffs on a person, but those had always been closer than the sort of wealth that would include buying anyone.

  He had known a few slaves, either before or after their enslavement. He had never exchanged more than a few polite words with a slave-owner, except Vond. Or, he suddenly realized, perhaps King Phenvel; some of his castle servants might well be owned, rather than hired. He watched the slaves march into the palace. Vond was buying slaves and acquiring a harem. Was this necessarily tyranny? After all, he bought his slaves on the market, and his chosen concubines were there voluntarily.

  No, Sterren decided, it wasn’t tyranny, but it wasn’t a good sign, either.

  CHAPTER 33

  Vond conquered Thanoria on the sixteenth of Green-growth, 5221. He took a sixnight or so to consolidate his conquest this time, taking care of details he had been rather haphazard about in dealing with Semma, Ksinallion, and Ophkar. He arranged for taxes to be paid into his imperial treasury, appointed provincial officials from the former royal government, selected candidates for his harem, and so forth.

  That done, he conquered Skaia on the twenty-fourth.

  Enmurinon went next, on the third of Longdays, followed by Akalla of the Diamond on the fourteenth. He took special care there, due to the presence of the port, and inquired after recent arrivals, hoping for word of immigrating warlocks.

  He was disappointed by the replies he received, and on the nineteenth he returned to his palace in a foul temper.

  He concentrated on other affairs for several days after that, building roads, tenements, and market halls, getting acquainted with his new concubines, and dealing with his subjects.

  Rather to his surprise, he found that he did not enjoy actually ruling his empire. Settling disputes, administering justice, appointing officials, and the other traditional duties of royalty were dull and time-consuming, and provided no opportunity for him to display his magic.

  Sterren had been expecting this realization. He had long ago concluded that kings were no happier than anybody else. Furthermore, he had noticed that for some time now, Vond had only seemed really comfortable and alert when using huge amounts of magic, as if warlockry were an addictive drug. When the warlock finally confessed his disappointment, late one night in a quiet torchlit arcade overlooking the palace courtyard, Sterren simply nodded and agreed, without comment. “You don’t seem surprised,” Vond said, irritably.

  “I’m not,” Sterren said. “I never thought ruling looked like much fun.”

  The warlock settled more deeply into the sling chair he sat upon. “It isn’t,” he growled, “but it should be.”

  “Why?” Sterren asked.

  “Because I want it to be,” Vond snapped.

  Sterren made no reply.

  After a moment of disgruntled silence, Vond said, “I just won’t do it any more.”

  “Won’t do what?”

  “I won’t deal with all these petty details, who owns what, how to punish this thief or reward that soldier, where to put the roads, how to collect the taxes, how much coin to mint, I won’t do it.”

  “Someone has to,” Sterren pointed out, “or your empire will fall apart.”

  “I don’t have to. You do. You’re my chancellor, aren’t you? I just decided what that means, it’s your job to take care of anything I don’t want to be bothered with.” Vond smiled an unusually unpleasant smile. “I’ll announce it in the morning; you’ll be in charge of the administration of the empire. I’ll take care of what I’m good at, building and conquest.”

  Sterren had hoped and feared this might happen. After all, he was the only person Vond trusted. To all the native inhabitants of his empire, the warlock was something of a monster, alien and inhumanly powerful, conquering entire kingdoms in a single day; none of them could speak to him without fear, and he dealt with them, in general, with contempt. Besides, very
few were really fluent in Ethsharitic, and Vond had not yet bothered to learn any other tongues. Warlockry, unlike witchcraft, did nothing at all to enhance his linguistic abilities. Warlockry was a purely physical sort of magic; it could not teach.

  The other magicians were less contemptible than the ordinary citizens, but still did not provide very good company for the new emperor. From the start, both Annara and Ederd had held back visibly, refusing to speak openly with Vond, and he had noticed this reticence. Agor’s Ethsharitic was an impediment, and his eccentric behavior, cultivated since childhood to add to an aura of mystery, was another.

  That left Sterren as Vond’s only friend, the only person he could talk with as one human to another, and despite Vond’s denials, Sterren was quite sure that the warlock was miserably lonely.

  He had expected other warlocks to come and join him, and was growing ever more confused and dismayed at their failure to materialize. This drove him, more and more, to talk away long hours with Sterren.

  Sterren was no warlock; he was unnaturally lucky with dice, but otherwise could barely stir a cat’s whisker with his magic. Still, he had known Vond when Vond was powerless, he knew something about how warlockry functioned, and he was not cowed by the imperial might. That made him an invaluable companion.

  And Sterren had guessed that it might in time make him Vond’s partner in empire, as well.