Captain Flandry: Defender of the Terran Empire

by Poul Anderson

  "Forget titles when we're by ourselves." The young male was drunk, his cheeks flushed. Greenish wine of Scotha lay puddled near his goblet. "Yes, to the deathrealm with titles. We're friends, Dominic, good friends, not so? We've swapped many a yarn, many a song and jest. And when you straightened out those money matters for me—They could've brought disgrace on my name, you know."

  "It was nothing . . . Torric. I've a head for figures, and of course a Terran education helps." Flandry regarded the coins. "I feel guilty at taking even this much from you. You do need more wealth than is yours, to maintain your proper station."

  "Well, plenty waits in the Empire. I'm promised a whole planetary system to rule over."

  Flandry pretended surprise. "A single system? No more, for a son of King Penda? Why, I understand males of less rank expect far larger fiefs."

  "Cerdic's doing." Torric gulped from his cup, set it down with a clang, and glowered at the night in a window. "He's persuaded Father . . . any prince but him, who had any real power, might be too tempted to grasp after more . . . for only he is to have any claim to the supreme overlordship."

  "That isn't traditional, is it? I've heard that in olden times a new king was elected, from among the sons of the royal house, by the assembly of nobles."

  As a matter of fact, that system had led to a number of civil wars. Finally it was decided that a successor should be chosen while his father still reigned. Primogeniture was usual but not legally required. Penda had practically forced the parliament to name Cerdic, with the obvious aim of establishing the precedent that the first son would always be the next king. That would be a long step toward absolute monarchy.

  Torric wove his head about. He was no political sophisticate. "Thus 'twas. They wanted whoever was best."

  "Is Cerdic, then?"

  "He'll tell you so. Hour after hour."

  "I gather you don't agree. These are dangerous times. Isn't it your duty to work for the welfare of Scothania? And who embodies that welfare more than the king?"

  The prince blinked. He had forgotten, or he had never noticed, how much about himself he had let slip in the course of weeks. "Can you hear my thinking, Dominic? I wonder 'bout you—" He shook himself. "But no. I mustn't. I can't."

  Flandry raised forefingers to brows. He had developed the gesture as his version of the Scothanian touching of the horns, to express surprise. "Helpless, Torric? I didn't await such words from you—you, royal warrior, descended from Saagur the Mighty, and on your mother's side from—" He let his voice trail off. The other had grown up knowing that his mother, Penda's second queen, had been higher born than the first.

  "Now, now wait." Hands fumbled with goblet. "You've been such a practical devil till now. Gone crazy, ha?"

  "No, I trust not. I am simply reminding you that Cerdic's power, like that of any chieftain, rests on his supporters. The grandest of those is his father, of course. But King Penda—I mean no disrespect—the great lord will not live many more years. Cerdic is not widely liked. Someone with a lawful claim to the throne, who had spent those years quietly preparing, gathering allegiances of his own and winning them away from Cerdic—"

  For a moment, shock cleared the eyes that looked into his. "Would you make a brotherslayer of me?"

  "Oh, absolutely not," Flandry said. He had studied how to sound reassuring in Scothan ears. "Only an event of a kind that Terran history is full of. And for the higher good of the Race. No, I daresay Cerdic could be honorably retired to govern a planetary system. Or you, being generous, might grant him two."

  "But—your sneaking ways—I, I know nothing about 'em," Torric stammered. "Don't want to . . . I suppose you mean to dish—disaffect his faction, promise more'n he gives. . . . What's that word? Not Frithian; Ilrian." Queen Gunli was from Ilria. "Laionas, yes, laionas." Bribery. "I couldn't do that. Don't even want to hear about it."

  "You wouldn't need to," Flandry replied softly. "You could leave the details to your friends. What's a male for, if he never helps a friend?"

  * * *

  Earl Morgaar, who held the conquered world Zanthudia in fief, was a noble of more influence than his title suggested. ("Earl" was a rough translation into Anglic.) He was also notoriously avaricious.

  In a private place he maintained for his visits to Iuthagaar, he told Flandry: "Terran, your suggestion about farming out my tax-gathering has more than doubled my revenues . . . until lately. Now the natives are seething. They murder my folk, they hide their goods, a number have taken up arms as guerrillas. What do they do about that in the Empire?"

  "Surely, sir, you could crush them," the man replied.

  "Aye, at vast effort and cost. And the dead pay no taxes. Ken you no better way, before my whole domain is in chaos?"

  "Several, sir." Flandry sketched a few—puppet native committees, propaganda shifting the blame onto scapegoats, splashy displays of governmental concern for a select few underdogs. . . . He did not add that these methods work only when skillfully administered.

  "It is well," said the earl at last. His gaze probed at the man's smiling face. "You've made yourself valuable to many a lord, have you not? Like Nartheof; he's waxing mighty since he took that Imperial arsenal. And others, myself among them." He rubbed his horns. "Yet it seems much of this gain is at the expense of rival Scothani, rather than the Empire. I still wonder about Nornagast's death."

  "History shows that the prospect of enormous gain always stirs up internal strife, sir," Flandry answered. "Often a strong, virtuous warrior has had to seize dominance, so that he could reunite his people against their common enemy. Think how the early Terran Emperors ended the civil wars, once they had power."

  "Um-m-m—yes. It was a maxim of the forebears that wealth corrupts. Have I not seen its truth in our own royal court?"

  "Sir," Flandry said, "we being alone, and I being a decadent human, permit me to recall that Frithia has seen many changes of dynasty in the past."

  "What?" Morgaar sat bolt upright. "Do you imply—No! My oath is to the king!"

  "Of course, of course," the man said quickly. "I was just thinking that not everyone is as virtuous as you. You yourself spoke of those who are not. I fear that good King Penda is more trustful than is wise. Evil could well take him unawares. Enthroned, it would soon destroy that uprightness which is the fountainhead of Scothanian strength."

  Morgaar leaned forward. His voice dropped. "Do you imply it could become necessary to forestall—"

  "Well, for the good of Scothania—"

  They were discussing details within an hour. Flandry suggested that Prince Kortan was probably approachable—but one should be leery of Prince Torric, who had ambitions of his own—

  Winter solstice was the occasion of religious ceremonies followed by feasting and merriment. Town and castle blazed with light, shouted with music and drunken laughter. Warriors and nobles swirled their finest robes about them and boasted of the havoc they would wreak in the Empire. On the dark side, the number of alcoholic quarrels leading to bloodshed was unusually high this year among the upper classes.

  There were dark corners in buildings, too. Flandry stood in an alcove before a window and looked over a dazzle of city lights to the mountains that reared on the horizon, white beneath a hurtling moon. Winter-frosty stars seemed so near that he could reach out and pluck them from the sky. Cold breathed from the glass pane. The sounds of revelry came to him as if across a chasm.

  A light footfall sounded beneath them, Flandry turned and saw Gunli the queen. Her form was shadowed, but moonlight came in to bring forth her countenance in elfin wise. She might have been a lovely girl of Terra, save for the little horns and—well—

  She looks human, almost, but she isn't. I've been able to play on these people because they're trying to play a game that my race invented. They and we will never truly understand each other's inwardness. Flandry's lips quirked. They do share a quaint belief often found in our history, that the female of the species has no talent for politics. I've a notion Gunli
could enlighten them about that, after she's enlightened herself. In that respect, as well as in the delectable flesh, she's human enough for all practical purposes.

  The cynicism faded before an indefinable sadness. Damn it, he liked Gunli. They two had shared speech, songs, memories, even mirth now and then, throughout the past months; she was honest and warm-hearted and—well, no matter.

  "Why are you here alone, Dominic?" she asked. Her tone was quiet. Her eyes glimmered huge in the shifty moonlight.

  "It would be imprudent for me to stay at the party," he answered wryly. "I'd cause too many fights. Half the company hate my guts, and don't care much for the rest of me."

  She smiled. "And the other half can't do without you." She tossed her head, her equivalent of a shrug. The dark hair sheened. "Urh-hai, I've come in search of solitude myself. Those savages pluck too hard on my nerves. At home—" She came to stand beside him and stared outward. He saw a glitter of tears. Scothans also wept.

  "Don't cry, Gunli," he murmured. "This is the night when the sun turns, remember. A new year offers new hope."

  "I can't forget the old years," she said with sudden bitterness.

  Understanding touched him. He asked, softer yet: "You had somebody else once, didn't you?"

  "Aye. A young knight. But he was of low degree, so they married me off to Penda, who is old and harsh. Later Jomana was killed in a raid of Cerdic's." She turned her head to regard him. "Jomana isn't what hurts, Dominic. He was dear to me, but wounds heal if we survive them. I am thinking of the other young males, and their sweethearts, wives, daughters, mothers—"

  "War is what they want."

  "But not what the females want. Not to wait and wait and wait for the ships to come back, never knowing whether only his sword will return. Not to rock a baby and know that a few years hence he will be a corpse on the shores of some alien planet. Not to—" She broke off and straightened her slim shoulders. "Let me not whimper. Naught can I do about it."

  "You are very brave as well as beautiful, Gunli," said Flandry. "Your kind has changed fate erenow." And he sang, low, a stave he had made in the Scothan bardic form:

  "So I see you standing,

  sorrowful in darkness.

  But the moonlight's broken

  by your eyes, tear-shining—

  moonlight in the maiden's

  magic net of tresses.

  Gods gave many gifts, but,

  Gunli, yours was greatest."

  All at once she was in his arms.

  * * *

  Sviffash of Sithafar was in a glacial rage. He paced between the stone walls of the secret chamber, tail lashing his bowed legs, fanged jaws biting off each accented Frithian word.

  "Like a craieex they treat me," he hissed. "I, primary one of a planet and an intelligent species, must bow to the dirty barbarian Penda. Our ships have the worst assignments in the fleet, our crews the last chances at loot. Scothani on our world swagger about among us as if we were subjugated primitives, not civilized allies. It is unendurable!"

  Flandry preserved deferential silence. He had carefully nursed along the herpetoid's resentment ever since he identified it, on an occasion when Sviffash had come to Iuthagaar for conference. But he wanted the nonhuman to think everything was his own idea.

  "By the Dark Lord, were it possible, I think I'd take us over to the Imperial side!" burst from the scaly countenance. "Do you say they treat their subjects decently?"

  "Yes, as you can verify by sending a commission of inquiry that the Scothans need not know about. We've learned that race prejudice is counterproductive. Besides, if only because the sheer number of peoples requires it, by and large we leave them their autonomy, except in certain matters of defense, commerce, and the like where we must have uniformity. That's to everyone's benefit. Actually, being located well outside the border, I expect Sithafar would be offered alliance rather than client status." If the Policy Board feels it's worthwhile offering them anything, Flandry's mind added. I trust they'll have the wit not to make that clear until afterward.

  "My subordinates would gladly follow," said Sviffash. "They would rather sack and occupy Scothanian than Terran worlds. But they fear Penda's revenge."

  "Several other leaderships feel likewise. Once a revolt began and bid fair to succeed, still more would join in. It's a matter of getting them together. You could arrange that, my lord, after I've told you who they are."

  Lidless black eyes glistened in a stare. "You've been busy, Terran, have you not? Like a spinner-legs weaving its web. Say on." Pause. "You realize, things must be so planned that, if you are caught at your work, I will be able to disown you, convincingly."

  "Of course, my lord. I have a scheme prepared in detail for your scrutiny."

  A tongue flickered forth and back again. "If we can—if we can—s-s-s, I myself will direct the first missile against Scotha!"

  "No, my lord," Flandry said. "Scotha must be spared."

  "Why?"

  "Because you see, my lord, we'll have Scothan allies. They'll cooperate only on that condition. Some of the power-seeking nobles . . . and an Ilrian nationalist movement, desiring independence from Frithia . . . which, I may tell you, has the secret help of the queen herself. . . ."

  Flandry's stare was as bleak as his voice: "It will do you less than no good to kill me, Duke Asdagaar. Credit me with brains. I have made my preparations. If I die or disappear, the evidence goes straight to the king and, by broadcast, the people."

  The Scothan's hands clenched white about the arms of his chair. Impotent fury chattered: "You devil! You slime-worm!"

  Flandry wagged a finger. "Tut-tut. You are poorly advised to call names, my dear Asdagaar. A parricide, a betrayer, a breaker of oaths, a blasphemer—Be sure that I have proof. Some of it is in writing. More consists of the names of scattered witnesses and accomplices, each of whom knows a little of the entirety about you. A male without honor can await nothing but a nasty death."

  "How did you learn?" Hopelessness crept into the duke's tone; he began to tremble.

  "In various ways," Flandry said. "I've been in my business a fair number of years, after all. For instance, I cultivated the acquaintance of your slaves and servants. You high-born forget that the lower classes can see and hear and draw conclusions, and that they talk among themselves. The clues they gave me pointed me onward."

  "Uh, uh, uh." The noise was as of strangling. "What do you want?"

  "Help for certain others," Flandry replied. "You have powerful forces at your disposal. You are the head of your clan, which has always felt more loyal to itself than to the throne—"

  Spring breezes blew soft through the garden and woke rustling in trees. A deep odor of green life was upon it. Somewhere in twilight, a creature not unlike a bird was singing. The ancient promise of summer to come stirred in the blood.

  Flandry told himself he must relax before his nerves snapped across. Matters were out of his hands now, or nearly so; the machinery he had built was in motion. The counsel was of scant use.

  He had grown thin and hollow-eyed. Likewise had Gunli, though on her it heightened the loveliness. More than ever, she made him think of the elves, in myths that she had never heard.

  They had gone their separate ways to meet here in this place where few came. (It was an Ilrian garden, to ease her homesickness a little.) How often had they stolen such brief whiles together? The longer times they had been able to find must be used for scheming.

  Gravel scrunched beneath their feet as they walked. The path was narrow; the hands they did not link brushed hedges that had begun to flower. Flandry tried to keep his speech dry, but heard it as weary: "The spaceship got off this morning. Aethagir should have no trouble reaching Ifri. He'll have more obstacles in his way after he arrives, but he's a clever lad. He'll get my letter to Admiral Walton." A tic wakened in his cheek. "The timing's too bloody close, though. If our task force hits too soon, or too late, well, the menace to the Empire will be ended, but at what a cost!"


  "I've not seen your confidence flag before," Gunli said.

  "It was necessary to put on a good show, my beautiful. But the fact is, I've never juggled an empire before." Flandry drew breath. "The next several weeks will be touch and go. You'd better leave Scotha. Make an excuse; explain you need a rest, which is clear to see. Take it on Alagan or Gamlu or wherever, a safely out-of-the-way planet." He smiled with a corner of his mouth. "What point in a victory where you died? The universe would become drab."

  She looked away from him. Her hand felt cold in his. "I ought to die, I who've betrayed my husband, my king."

  "No, you ought to live, you who've freed your country and saved lives in the millionfold."

  "But the broken oath—" Quite quietly, she started to weep.

  "An oath is just a means to an end: helping people get along with each other."

  "An oath is an oath. Dominic, m-my choice was to stand by Penda—or by you—"

  He comforted her as well as he could. And he reflected that seldom had he felt himself so thoroughgoing a skunk.

  * * *

  The unaided eye could never really see a battle in space. Nothing but flashes among the stars betokened rays, warheads, incandescent vapor clouds, astronomically nearby. Farther off, across distances measured in planetary orbits, the deaths of ships were invisible.

  Instruments sensed more fully, and computers integrated their data to give a running history of the combat. Admiral Thomas Walton, Imperial Terran Navy, laid down the latest printout and smiled in stark satisfaction.

  "We're scrubbing them out of the sky," he said. "We've twice their strength. Besides, it's gotten pretty obvious by now that they were demoralized from the start. I don't know how else to account for their sloppiness."

  "Is it known yet who they are?" wondered Chang, captain of the flagship.