Berhl, behind the group of councilors, frowned at Mar's impromptu decision, then gave a slight shrug. Mar knew that the ex-fugleman would pound the Guard into shape, promote the capable, jettison the untrainable, and impose proper military discipline on the rest.
"Trader Lhyt, you will prepare accounts and inventory lists of all metal and wood working concerns in Khalar and its environs."
Whatever else the trader was, he was a highly intelligent man. With his commercial connections and administrative acumen, he was the obvious choice to manage the reorganization of Khalar's manufactories and smelters for the effort against the Brotherhood.
"Yes, Great Emperor."
Lhyt's response was respectful and sincere, at least on the surface. It was clear that he had already adapted to the change in Khalar's political structure and fully intended to utilize it to his own benefit. What he said next indicated that he had already begun to anticipate the consequences of that change.
"I will of course begin the task immediately. May it please the Great Emperor, I would like to mention that any levy of material of more than ten per cent would impose an onerous burden on the smaller factors and jobbers."
"At this time, there will be no levy of finished goods or raw materials," Mar told him. "All imperial requisitions will be purchased from the Imperial Treasury."
Lhyt looked pleased.
"At cost."
The trader's smile slipped but did not disappear. "That goes without saying, Great Emperor."
Mar shifted his attention back to Priestess Seoralye. Aside from the traditional and practically enshrined corruption of the Khalarii'n religious establishment, he had no reason to find fault with the former dancer. Under her generally perceived to be benign leadership, the Temple of Miyra ministered indiscriminately to all in its Thirdday rituals, but also made sincere efforts to feed the hungry, care for the sick, and provide pensions for retired harlots.
"I will expect full ecclesiastical sanction at the coronation," Mar told her.
Seoralye rose to make something resembling a curtsey, revealing all too much overly abundant cleavage in the process.
"We have already -- that is to say, we had hoped that that would be your desire, Great Emperor. We have held a lottery to choose the primary officiating ecclesiarch and the winner was the Prime Curate of the Temple of N'm. He will perform the actual lowering of the crown, with the concurring presence, of course, of a large fraction of the upper priests and chief advocates of the main temples."
N'm was one of the ones that Mar knew. "N'm is the God of Seafood?"
"I believe the official designation is Patron of the Bounty of the Waters, Great Emperor."
"Right. In any event, that's acceptable."
"There was the question of the crown, Great Emperor. May I presume that the Viceroy's circlet will not be suitable?
Mar thought a moment. "I'll have one made that we'll use."
"The blessings of the Forty-Nine will embrace your choice, Great Emperor."
Mar looked at them all again, sitting immobile on their chairs awaiting his next word, and knew by some whisper out of the ether that they all would obey the commands that he had given them and that none of them, at least for now, would plot rebellion. Then he looked around at the Mhajhkaeirii and in the same wise knew that they would all face death at his command.
Half a man he might be, but he had to admit that he was also, truly, finally, and perhaps permanently an emperor and a king.
He told Eishtren to relax his shot, then swung his head back to the Privy Council and said with a wide, predatory smile, "Now that we have that out of the way, we need to discuss overdue retroactive taxes and licensing fees on merchant transactions, inventories, and property, as well as the associated penalties and interests."
The Imperial Treasury that he had created just moments ago would have to be filled, and he could think of no more satisfying a way to do so than to openly and legally steal it.
ELEVEN
The 1644th year of the Glorious Empire of the North
Portico of the Emperor's Library
(Thirteenthday, Waning, 1st Autumnmoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)
"Great Emperor, I have just been informed that we have apprehended the felon formerly known as the Viceroy." Erskh made the announcement with feigned confidence and manufactured pride, plastering a broad smile on his face.
For his purposes, a live Viceroy skulking in the hinterlands would have been vastly more useful than a dead one in Khalar. While the fugitive remained free, it would have been a simple matter to cast all blame for any misfeasance that may have occurred during the former regime onto his defenseless head -- but with the Mhajhkaeirii now directly controlling the Guard, Erskh had not dared overlook the unfortunate man's inopportune capture.
The young, commonly dressed, meanly outfitted, legless, one-armed, magician (never sorcerer, for the use of that term in reference to the Emperor had caused Vice-Captain Berhl to draw steel on one of Erskh's underlings and only an abject apology had convinced him to sheath his blade unbloodied) floated nearer, trailed by the dread-inspiring mystical giants, the Gaaelfharenii, and the marines and ruffians -- some whispered that the latter were brigands -- that were never far from the new ruler of Khalar. That description was the extent of Erskh's knowledge of Emperor Mar I.
The Commandant had made no attempts of any kind to learn of the Emperor's history, personal or magical, of his connection to Khalar, or of the circumstances that had resulted in the loss of his limbs. He had even gone so far as to avoid any conversation that might inadvertently reveal particulars of the emperor's existence. Only in total ignorance, he had reasoned, especially of that final event, lay safety during these perilous times.
The emperor's hard gaze washed over Erskh and once again he felt as if the magician were looking inside of him. It was also still disconcerting to see him move about with nothing to hold him up, almost like a phantom.
"Produce him, Commandant."
"Pardon, Great Emperor," Erskh hedged, "but would an execution not detract from the auspiciousness of the ceremony? Perhaps--"
"That would be now, Commandant."
"Of course, Great Emperor." Erskh saluted and retired to his former station amidst the non-ecclesiastical dignitaries and there gave a curt order to Captain Naelsyen, who in turn spoke to the waiting guardsman. The runner departed back into the Library, weaving through the assembled colorfully robed corps of the earthly representatives of the Forty-Nine. With the Plaza of the Empire filled to overcapacity with the hordes from the Lower City, the only way to reach the portico now was through the building itself.
While his neighboring patriarchs, bureaucrats, and self-appointed functionaries chatted or fussed with their official attire, Erskh cast his eyes over the sea of boisterous, dancing, singing, and often drunk rabble, barely contained from flooding up the stairs to the portico by a six deep line of the Emperor's Own backed up by both Mhajhkaeirii'n marines and Khalarii'n legionnaires. Just as they would on high festival days, some of the spectators had come early and brought chairs, tables, and lunch, congregating in family and neighborhood groups.
The Emperor had proclaimed a general holiday, sending criers to publish it from every street corner, and had even gone so far as to release bondsmen from their duties for the three days of the celebration. The entire city had shut down for the coronation and as far as Erskh knew no lawful work was being done anywhere. Mar the First had also proclaimed a fortnight forgiveness from all rents, payments, fees, interests, taxes, overages, and surcharges, and had absolved a full five years from the term of every bondsman and bondswoman in the city, effectively manumitting a goodly number. For the moment at least, the Emperor was the most popular man in the city.
Most of the merchants and factors had taken the attitude that they must grin and bear the costs, having faith that commerce, and therefore their profits, must continue regardless of who ruled Khalar. The priests of the temples all acted as if the fa
ll of the Viceroy and the rise of the Emperor were the inviolate collective will of the Forty-Nine and therefore perfectly acceptable. All of the not forcibly retired officers and many of the armsmen of the Imperial Army seemed to have thrown their wholehearted support to the Emperor, and there was already talk of raising new legions to reclaim the glory of the Empire.
With the specter of execution whispering constantly in his ear, Erskh simply wanted to continue to live, and do so, if at all possible, in moderate comfort and peace.
He had cheerfully relinquished all of his practical authority to Vice-Commander Berhl, who could bark a command like the best veteran fugleman, and already -- it was hard to believe that it was just one day since the Emperor's summons of the Privy Council -- the guardsmen were standing straighter, walking taller, accepting orders with better grace, and rapidly shedding all vestiges of the mendacity and cruelty that had characterized the Viceroy's Personal Guard under Erskh's supervision.
Additionally, to forestall the possibility that the Emperor should deem him no longer necessary, Erskh had also gathered his scribes, aides, informants, and spies and worked them through the night to produce a written report of the state of Khalar and her citizenry, both low and high. He had presented the folio to the Emperor that very morning and was happily commanded to continue to supply the reports on a daily basis.
Thus, Erskh had believed that his place in the new regime was secured, but with this unexpected turn of events, a doubt had formed. Could the doomed former Viceroy somehow manage to implicate Erskh as an accomplice in his crimes?
In only a few moments, four guardsmen and a Mhajhkaeirii'n Marine ceannaire returned with the disgraced and bedraggled Ghreghten. The former viceroy, abandoned by his guards and servants, had fled his palace moments before its seizure by the Mhajhkaeirii. Where he had gone and what he had been doing for the last several days was unknown to Erskh and would remain so, if he at all could avoid finding out.
From the looks of the man, though, it was clear that he had been hiding under a manure pile. Always when Erskh had seen him previously a neat, well-accoutered if archaically dressed representative of Imperial Glory, Ghreghten now had straw in his long, unbound dark hair, black and green grime smeared on his clothes, which were not his own tailored, fine cloth garments but the cheap trousers and sleeveless tunic of a bondsman, and a nose cringingly pungent sour reek that followed him about. Instead of his normal exquisite boots, his feet were bare, scratched, and filthy. Normally fanatically clean shaven, he how had several days' growth of reddish beard. His hawk nose, the distinguishing feature of his otherwise unimpressive face and a persistent family heirloom, had been smashed and the resultant blood left to dry on his face.
However, the most striking feature of Ghreghten's new appearance was the shackles on his wrists and ankles and the broad iron collar with linking chain about his neck.
Much as he tried not to, Erskh found himself imagining what it would feel like to have that cold metal ring around his own neck. He also began to picture the various, terrible and no doubt magical punishments that the Emperor would exact on the hapless Ghreghten XI. Hopefully, the former ruler of Khalar would expire before he could mention that he had routinely delegated to Erskh all important decisions concerning the daily operation of the city.
The Commandant watched with some trepidation as the guardsmen dragged Ghreghten before the emperor, who now stood in the broad, sunlit opening between the central pair of the front row of supporting columns, in clear view of the throngs of spectators in the Plaza. All of he other high ranked celebrants beneath the shadowy portico observed with an intensity equal to Erskh's, standing silent and expectant.
The chief Gaaelfharenii, Captain Mhiskva, moved forward into the light to face the prisoner. Erskh realized just then that the Emperor had been informed of Ghreghten's capture long before he had announced the news, and was suddenly very glad that he had not been tempted to try to conceal the fact. It was also clear that the Emperor had decided to make a public spectacle of the poor fool's trial and execution.
"Ghreghten of Khalar," the giant said, his voice booming out to silence the rumbling mummer of the crowd, "once styled Viceroy, you stand before the justice of His Imperial Highness, Mar, Lord of the Great Waste, Prince of the Monolith Expanse, King of the Mhajhkaeirii, and Restored Emperor of the Glorious Empire. You are accused of the crime of malfeasance and treason. Have you any plea to make?"
Ghreghten coughed to clear his throat, then asked in his unimpressively soft voice, "Could you, that is, I mean to say, I beg mercy that my death not be exceedingly painful."
The Emperor had a dark expression on his face. He floated near to confront Ghreghten. When he spoke, his words were also cast to carry to the crowd. "Under your rule, Khalar was oppressive, corrupt, and dishonorable. In another time and place, you would be rent in twain by horses and your body left for the crows."
A great cheer went up from the people in the Plaza, a raw animal sound that howled in expectation of the death of one of the despised nobles.
Ghreghten, compelled to wait for the roar to subside before speaking, replied in a manner that revealed that he had entirely no feel for the theatre of the moment. "If it is all the same, I would rather not."
Though he had again spoken softly, the acoustics of the portico amplified and projected Ghreghten's response across the Plaza, igniting a storm of rambunctious protests and vulgar denunciations. The emperor was giving Khalar a show, and the people were enjoying it whole-heartedly.
Mar the First started slowly to rise, lofting his right hand in a righteous fist. "If there are none to speak for this man ..."
The Empress, who, up until this moment, had been sitting on a camp stool in the shade of a column and chatting with another woman, sprang up and advanced into the opening. A quite comely and decidedly fit young woman, the emperor's wife walked to a point near the edge of the platform and then twirled about so that her unbound hair swirled about in a manner that Erskh, self-appointed rake that he was, found quite attractive. Evidently also pleased by her performance, the audience sent up a calamitous hurrah for several minutes, then quieted abruptly to permit her to present her lines.
"Stay your hand, Husband. On this day of your triumph, let there not be justice from the hand of Emperor of the Glorious Empire, but mercy!"
After a short dramatic pause, the emperor bowed, took a pose, and declared, "I bow to your wisdom, Wife. Ghreghten, I grant you freedom and exile. Be gone from Khalar and never return!"
The magician waved his hand in a flamboyant arcane gesture. With a loud crack, olive fire flashed from the riveted clasps on Ghreghten's chains and the shackles and collar fell to the platform.
The crowd clapped and hooted for a full quarter of an hour. Blood they had seen often enough, but clemency was something entirely new.
As he was led away, Erskh heard the somewhat dazed former viceroy ask, "Have you broken my models? I would like to take them with me."
The coronation itself was anticlimactic, but equally entertaining as far as the spectators were concerned.
The chief official, Lhoart, the Prime Curate of the Temple of N'm, was a tall, stocky man with a complexion the color of old walnut who was normally employed as a trot line fisher. Like many of the chief priests of gods with modest followings, he only assumed his spiritual duties on Thirdday, scheduled festival days, and special occasions. His robes of office were an oyster diver's breechclout, bare hairy chest, and short-handled rake. Perhaps in recognition of the gravity of the occasion, he had oiled his shaven skull so that it shown like teak.
As instructed, there were no extraneous frills or embellishments -- no incense burning, flag-waving, frond scattering, or petal dropping -- Lhoart simply slow marched up to the emperor accompanied by an attendant bearing the new imperial crown on a crimson cushion. The attendant, one of the devotees of Oos'ghlsiana (also chosen by lot) and a buxom young woman who wore two strategically placed oak leaves, a brief girdle of fresh fern le
aves that left most of her long legs bare, a garland of white and yellow wildflowers to restrain a mass of ebony curls, and little else, was perhaps the highlight of the ceremony (Erskh certainly believed this to be true) and received significant attention from the male segment of the audience, both in the Plaza and on the portico.
Erskh had taken a look at the crown beforehand, and had found it curiously understated to the point of being mundane, being a plain bronze circlet with thirteen intertwined loops, but no engraving, jewels, precious metals, or filigree.
When he reached the emperor's side, Lhoart paused and, in a low voice that the spectators could not likely hear, mentioned, "Great Emperor, I believe it is customary in these sorts of functions for the receiver of the crown to kneel -- er, that is to say, uh, drift, uh, lower, as it were, in honor of the Forty-Nine."
The Emperor's response was all but inaudible to anyone more than a few paces away, but Erskh was near enough to barely make out what had been said. It sounded like the kind of thing a man would shout in a tavern to ignite a brawl.
In any event, the emperor maintained what must have been his standing height when he had legs, and Lhoart, with a smothered chuckle and no ostentatious arcane gestures or contrived blessings, simply whisked the crown from the cushion and up onto the young man's head.
This brought the most enthusiastic demonstration from the crowd yet. The wave of sound washed over Erskh with near physical force. Struck by a thought, he looked over at Patriarch Hwraldek to see the man's reaction to this outpouring of support.
The merchant had proposed the coronation ceremony to the Privy Council on the basis of asserting some influence over the process of transition of power and thereby repairing in some measure the damage done to the governing authority of the Merchant Houses, the Temples, the Guard, and the bureaucracy. Of course, Erskh had no doubt that the patriarch's primary motivation had been to curry favor with the new ruler of the city.
Key to Magic 04 Emperor Page 8