by Steven Brust
“My friends, we have made great progress, and our future seems, if not assured, then at least extremely favorable. We have our armies, and more than this, caravans now regularly travel to two coasts. And we have reintroduced the posts. But then, you may ask, what is your role? For what reason have I caused to be assembled representatives of the Great Houses? Well, this is an astute question, and, moreover, one that deserves an answer. If you will do me the honor to continue giving me your attention, as you have so graciously done till now, well, I will explain.”
Various reactions from those to whom he spoke indicated that such an explanation would be welcome, wherefore he continued, saying, “It is time to prepare for the transition. That is, hitherto we have been a conquering army; soon we will be an Empire. In order to go from one to the other certain things are needed. That is, in the first place, there must be an Imperial Palace; for this, of course, we turn to Lord Cenaaft of the House of the Vallista. Next, we require something to take the place of the Imperial Orb—that is, a means of communication, and, if possible, a way to give the Empire control of the Sea of Amorphia. This, naturally, will be the province of the Marquis of Mistyvale of the House of the Athyra. There will be the matter of creating laws, for which we will turn to the House of the Iorich, represented here by Lord Newell. And so on. In other words, my friends, I say to you that it is time we got down to business.
“That concludes what I have to say. Should any of you have any questions, well, I would consider it an honor to attempt to answer them, which answers I will give to best of my ability.”
For a moment no one spoke; rather as if, they having consumed a large meal, a veritable feast of information, some amount of time was required in order to permit the mechanisms of digestion to work sufficiently to permit the resources to become available for use. Then the Marquis of Mistyvale rose. Mistyvale was an old wizard of imposing stature, if somewhat stooped now from age. He still carried his now-useless wizard’s staff, a length of hickory that, when resting upon the floor, stood taller than the Marquis. His hair had gone entirely grey, and his face was more full of wrinkles than an almshouse is full of beggars, and his voice, when he spoke, was barely over a whisper. He said, “There are matters, Lord Kâna, of which you should perhaps be aware.”
“Well then, Marquis, I hope you will condescend to inform me of them.”
“If you wish, Duke, I will tell you.”
“I wish for nothing else in the world, and, moreover, I should not be surprised if everyone else in the room was anxious to hear anything you should do us the honor to tell us.”
“In that case,” whispered Mistyvale, “I will tell you at once.”
“We ask for nothing better.”
“It is simply this: It is impossible to create the Orb, or anything like it.”
“How,” said Kâna. “Impossible?”
“Yes,” whispered the Marquis.
“And yet, it was done once.”
“That is true.”
“Well, then?”
“In the first place, we know of no deposit of trellenstone sufficient for the purpose, and nothing else will do. And, in the second, of all of the secrets that the Orb contained, it never held the secret of its own making, and as Zerika the First never told anyone, that secret is now lost to us.”
“Well,” said Kâna, “these are certainly problems. Yet—”
“My lord,” said the Lyorn, the Count of Flowerpot Hill and Environs.
Kâna broke off, and said, “Yes, Count?”
The Count, whose name was Ritsak, was a thin, frail man of around fifteen hundred years, with an unhealthy-looking pale complexion and a strong, booming voice, which voice he used to good effect, saying, “I have a question.”
“Ask it, Count. And I promise that, if it is within my power, I will answer it.”
“I will ask, then.”
“I await you.”
“You speak of an Empire, my lord.”
“Well, and if I do?”
“An Empire necessarily requires an Emperor.”
“Yes, that is but natural.”
“Well then, who is to be this Emperor?”
Kana shrugged. “The last reign was that of the Phoenix.” “Well, and?”
“That of the Dragon must necessarily follow.”
“Ah. It will be, then, a Dragonlord?”
“Yes. No doubt one who has proven his fitness to be Heir.”
“In that case, my lord—”
“Yes? In that case?”
“My House cannot condone such a thing.”
“How, your House cannot condone rebuilding the Empire?”
“Not in this way.”
“But then, Count, have you a reason?”
“I nearly think I do.”
“And what reason is that?”
“It is because we have no reason to believe the Cycle has turned; and if it has not, it is still the Reign of the Phoenix.”
“Bah! The Cycle has been broken.”
“Well, and if it has, then there is no reason for the natural successor to the Phoenix, that is, the Dragon, to claim the throne.”
“In that case, Count, we will claim the Throne not according to the Cycle, but according to the arguments more usual with the House of the Dragon, those being the arguments of blood and conquest”
Ritsak, with no hesitation, replied, “An Empire formed upon that basis is an Empire where steel and terror take the place of wisdom and law, and it will be an Empire without the House of the Lyorn.”
Kana cast a quick glance at his cousin, who returned a look that said, as clearly as if she had spoken aloud, “We need this man.”
We hope we have delineated Kâna’s character well enough to show that he had certain virtues; yet it is undeniable that the ability to make quick decisions, to respond to sudden change in circumstances with an improvised idea, was not one of his particular skills. Faced, then, with a situation requiring such action, all he could think of to do was, to put it in terms military, mount a delaying action. He said, therefore, “I believe, my dear Count, that I can convince you to see matters in a different light.”
The Lyorn looked doubtful, and said, “You think so?”
“I am certain of it. But it will take a certain amount of conversation, and so, if you will permit me, I will continue with other matters, and you and I together will find a time for our discussion.”
“Very well,” said Ritsak. “To this, I agree.”
Kâna bowed his thanks and said, “Let us, then, return to the subject of conversation my lord Mistyvale did us the honor to speak upon, that being the creation of an Orb.”
The Count bowed his agreement.
“Then,” said Kâna, “let me ask this. Is it not possible, with all the knowledge of the House of the Athyra, to find a way to permit the Emperor communication with his subjects?”
Mistyvale frowned, and was silent for a long moment, then at last he said, “If that is all you wish, it may be possible.”
“All we wish?” said Kâna. “The Gods! We wish for a great deal more than that! Yet, it is a beginning.”
“Oh,” remarked the agèd Princess Sennya. “And yet, for my part, I wonder at what goes beyond the beginning.”
“How, you wonder?”
“Yes, exactly, I wonder.”
“Come, Your Highness, for so I will call you, even though the Cycle has been broken. Tell us what you mean. Speak plainly.”
“Well, you perceive that I am a Dzur, therefore I am unable to speak other than plainly.”
“And that is good.”
“I will tell you then.”
“You perceive that we are all listening.”
“Then this is what I wish to say: What will you do, Kâna, if some of the Houses refuse your Empire?”
“What will I do?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“That is a frank question, and I will be equally frank in my answer.”
“I ask for nothing less.�
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This was, in fact, a question that Kâna had anticipated—in fact, more than anticipating it, he had expected it—and so he and his cousin had spent some time in discussion concerning how to answer it. Should the reader be curious as to results of this discussion, be assured we will explain at once, and, in the simplest possible way: that is, we will permit the reader to hear how he answered the question the Princess Sennya did him the honor to ask, and thus the reader will be able to deduce the results of the discussion without the historian taking the time to make an explanation that, with the results of the conversation clearly laid before the reader, is easily seen to be not only useless, but unnecessary.
Kana, then, answered the Dzurlord by saying, “Your Highness, we are building an Empire, and hope to rebuild the Cycle. Should we be opposed by any force, we must of necessity give battle, hoping that the caprices of chance and the intervention of the gods, as well as our own skill and force of arms, will be sufficient to the task. Yet, with this clearly understood, we do not propose to force anyone to join us. Indeed, it is our belief that, soon enough, it will be clear to everyone that there is no reason to oppose us, but, on the contrary, every reason to join with us as soon as possible.”
Sennya frowned, as if she needed to work this out to be certain she was not being threatened. At last she decided that she was not, and gave Kana a brusque nod.
The Dragonlord then said, “We do not, in fact, expect anyone to answer our question now; on the contrary, it is our intention to present the information, and then permit you to take as much time as you require to consider the matter, and to perhaps formulate questions, which we promise to answer to the best of our ability. Therefore, permit me to suggest that we together enjoy a repast my cooks have prepared, after which those of you who live nearby may wish to return to your homes, and the rest of you those rooms to which we showed you when you did us the honor to agree to be our guests, and we will resume our conversation in a week. Has anyone any reason to put forth why this plan should not be adopted?”
In the event, no one had the least objection, and, in fact, many considered it admirable. So agreeable was this idea, in fact, that it was put into action at once, and everyone adjourned to the dining hall, where they were seated at a large circular table that Kâna had had built for the occasion and that permitted everyone to sit according to his House’s position in the Cycle. Here they were given a feast of a whole roasted kethna along with a selection of vegetables and wines calculated to please the wide variety of palates that had been gathered. It was generally conceded by everyone except Kâna that the feast was, indeed, the most successful part of the evening.
Certainly this was the opinion of Princess Sennya, Dzur Heir. She had not been unduly impressed with anything she had heard on this day, and she reflected, as she lay upon the bed in the room Kana had allocated for her use, that had it not been for the meal, the journey would have been useless.
“I wonder,” she said to herself, “if I wish to remain for the meeting next week, or simply return now to Blackbirdriver and to my daughter.”
Her thoughts, having arrived at her daughter, came to rest there, and a warm smile spread across her features. “I have made many errors in my life,” she admitted to herself. “I have been foolish, and self-indulgent, and irresponsible, and even, on one occasion, weak. Yet I still have Ibronka, and, through her, there is a future, for me, and for my land where the Blackbird River rushes through canyon and gorge, white-capped, proud, lovely, and dangerous. Not unlike my daughter herself, come to that. That one could break some hearts if she chose, and I mean that in ways beyond the metaphorical, for her wrist is strong and supple, her eye keen, and she knows nothing of fear, and her mind is as sharp as her blade. Black hair, black eyes, small, yet as fierce as a dzur—as fierce as I was when I was young. Perhaps the gods have forgiven me my lapse, for they have graced me with a daughter to make up for—well, for the one who is lost.
“It must have been a gift of the gods,” she reflected, “for not only had I thought myself too old to have a child, but, when the Plague took my lord Ibron before he could see his daughter, it somehow spared me. I must never fail to give thanks each day to Barlen for this gift, and I must remind myself to permit no more lapses.
“Apropos,” she continued, “what of this Kana? Can he, truly, bring back the Empire? It would be a grand thing indeed for my daughter to be raised with all the benefits of civilization that I enjoyed. And yet—do I trust him? Is he anything more than another power-hungry Dragon warlord? I wish I knew.”
She stared up the ceiling for some few moments, as if there were writing upon it that would tell her what to do. She considered that her duchy was located directly in the path of Kâna’s expansion, and observed, “If I do not support him, I must prepare to oppose him. And, come to that, if I oppose him, I must see to it that my daughter is safe, because she is old enough to wish to give battle, but not yet old enough to fulfill her wish. I should send her away. But then, to where could I send her?”
She sighed, and continued her reflections until, at last, she slept.
Chapter the Fifteenth
How Röaanac Returned Home
And Had to Make Difficult Decisions
As the Princess reflects and sleeps, we hope the reader will permit us to follow Lord Röaanac of the House of the Tiassa, who had said nothing during the gathering, but rather contented himself with thinking his own thoughts, which pursuit he found so satisfying that he continued it during the sixteen-hour journey to his home in the lush Valley of Three Seasons at the feet of Mount Lostway in the Kanefthali Mountains. When he reached the manor, also called Three Seasons, his servant, a Teckla of perhaps a thousand years whose name was Haro, had seen him soon enough not only to alert his family, but also to be waiting outside to hold his stirrup and tend to his horse, all of which earned him a smile and a nod.
“Welcome home, my lord,” said Haro.
“It is good to be back, Haro,” said Röaanac.
He took himself into the manor itself and embraced his wife, after which he offered her his arm.
“It is good to see you home again, my lord,” she said.
“It is good to be home, my lady.”
These statements, though required by the formality husband and wife are always owed to each other, were said with sufficient emotion that their truth could not be doubted on either side. They made their way into the manor, which was small, as manors go, having in all fewer than twenty rooms, yet spacious and comfortable, as is typical for the home of a Tiassa. In the hallway, Röaanac was greeted by his only child, a girl of some ninety or ninety-five years called Röaana.
“Ah Röaana, come and embrace your father.”
“Gladly,” said the girl, and did so.
After embracing him, the girl said, “My lord father, I hope all is well, and that your journey proved satisfactory.”
“It went as I thought it would,” said Röaanac with a shrug.
“That is, a Dragon warlord behaving like a thousand other Dragon warlords, only this one has been rather more successful, and thinking to call his domain an Empire, as he has already been doing for some time, now wishes to enlist the other Houses, so that he may become recognized as more than a Dragon warlord.”
“And,” said his wife, who was called Malypon, “will anything come of it?”
“Nothing good, at any rate,” said Röaanac. “The fool even believes he will convince the House of the Lyorn to join in his madness. Still—”
“Yes?” said Malypon. “Still?”
“It occurs to me that some trouble could result.”
“Trouble? How? Do you mean for us?”
“Not for us, my dear, because I long ago agreed to his terms and conditions, and became his vassal.”
“Oh, I am well enough aware of this fact. But then, if not for us, what do you mean?”
“In fact, my lady, I am not certain; it is just a notion that has made its way into my head that this Dragonl
ing could be dangerous.”
“My lord husband, I have known you too long to ignore those notions that work their way into your head. What ought we to do?”
Röaanac frowned. “I am, as yet, uncertain. Let us consider the matter.”
“Very well, let us do so.”
“But not, perhaps, at this instant.”
“Of course, my lord. You’ve just returned from a journey, and, I am certain, stand in need of, first, sustenance, and after that, rest.”
“My lady, you understand me exactly, so that no husband has ever been better pleased.”
“Well, that is only just, because no wife has ever had a better husband. But now, let us see what we can find in the kitchens.”
“Sir and Madam,” said Röaana, “if you will give me leave, I will retire for the evening. I have eaten, and it was only for the pleasure of embracing you, my father, that I have remained awake until now.”
“Of course, child,” said her father. “Come, embrace me once more, and your mother, and then you may retire.”
Röaana made her way up the stairs to her room, where, after starting a fire in her hearth and changing into her night clothes, she took a moment as she often did to step out onto her porch, where, during the day, she had a view of the Coldwater Lake and much of the valley, and, at night, she could see twinkling lights from the village of the same name as the lake. The breeze was chilly on this evening, so she did not remain out-of-doors long, but the time was, nevertheless, sufficient for us to quickly sketch her.
As Tiassa go, she was perhaps slightly short, yet so well proportioned that the sternest critic could have found no fault. As to her face, here, too, she had been gifted by nature with all that a connoisseur of beauty could request. Her eyes were narrow and, if we are permitted, feline beneath brows that, being the same color as her hair, was of such a light brown it was nearly blond; and these eyes, which were her most striking feature, seemed to glitter and sparkle with mischief or delight in the most endearing way. She had the ears of her house—that is, more pointed than those of an Athyra, but less so than those of Dzur. Her nose was straight, her lips full, her chin strong, and she had, moreover, a way of flipping her long hair impatiently behind her back that made her doting father shake his head in pity for those who would likely fall under her spell, should she decide to play the coquette.