“He has become a man,” said Iaachus.
“How could one be other,” asked Julian, “once having tasted the mastery?”
“I no longer hear the crowds outside,” said Iaachus.
“When I left the empress mother,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “she was shaking, beside herself with fury.”
“She is cruel and vicious, but old, and frail,” said Iaachus. “I fear for her. I shall have her sedated.”
“Do you think your consideration will win you a pardon?” asked Julian.
“No,” said the Arbiter of Protocol.
“Perhaps an easier death?” said Julian.
“You do not know the empress mother,” said Iaachus.
“We have gone far, too far,” said Julian. “There is no turning back.”
“Clearly,” said Iaachus.
“Rurik should report shortly,” said Julian.
The Rurik instanced was Rurik, fierce, bearded Rurik, the Tenth Consul of Larial VII, of the Larial Farnichi. He maintained a small, private army in an enclave close to Telnar, somewhat northeast of the city. The two anomalies here, the presence on Telnaria of so august a personage as the Tenth Consul of Larial VII, surprisingly neither received nor acknowledged publicly, and the existence of troops independent of the imperial military so close to the capital might be accounted for in virtue of certain recent events. Two mighty merchant families, the Larial Calasalii and the Larial Farnichi, both maintaining private armies, had opposed one another for generations, on several worlds, struggling to control trade routes, competing for markets and raw materials, attempting to form monopolies, waylaying caravans, seizing shipments, confiscating ferries and shuttles, burning trade posts, and such. This trade war, one of the worst in the galaxy, could not indefinitely escape the notice of the empire which, beleaguered by appeals and complaints, must needs eventually stir, or, at least, seem to stir. Imperial proposals as to the partition of districts, markets, and territories having failed, and commands pertaining to the cessation of hostilities having been ignored, the empire, itself limited in its resources, lapsed into a watchful, benign inertness. Restricted by the logistics of war, by the scarcities of materiel, and threatened by invasions from without and insurrections from within, the empire was unwilling to invest ships, men, and materiel to cope with two private forces, those of the Larial Calasalii and the Larial Farnichi, both formidable in their own right. It was at this point that representatives of the Larial Farnichi, well aware of the severe costs of the trade war, and the harm it must inevitably impose on rational mercantile interests, approached the empire, not as a stubborn adversary, but as a congenial, prospective ally. In short, the empire, unwilling to do battle singly with two desperate, dangerous armies, took the side of the Larial Farnichi, with the result that the combined, overwhelming forces of the empire and the Larial Farnichi brought the trade war to a rapid close, much to the detriment of the Larial Calasalii. It was rumored that a considerable amount of gold, variously and judiciously distributed, may have done much to lubricate the gears which, turning, produced this change of policy. In any event, the empire ceased to be a neutral mediator and engaged itself as a committed partisan. The forces of the Larial Calasalii, soon defeated and surrendered, were disbanded, and their goods and properties, their buildings, ships, and such, were seized as spoils of war, shortly thereafter being divided between the Larial Farnichi and the empire. Some weeks later, by means of a secret vote of the senate, the Larial Calasalii was outlawed. Its surviving members were seized and impounded. This took place in a series of coordinated, early-morning raids. The men were consigned, on the whole, to labor gangs. The women were enslaved, and made available to the Larial Farnichi. They kept those they wished, whom they might find of some interest, and the others were remanded to hundreds of markets on a variety of worlds. This disposition of the females of the enemy is common in both civilized and barbarian worlds. Conquerors enjoy owning the women of the enemy, as other forms of booty. Women, as is well known, make excellent slave beasts. It was also rumored that more had been involved in the aforementioned series of incidents than the exchange of large quantities of gold. Supposedly secret arrangements had been emplaced. How, otherwise, could it be explained that the Tenth Consul of Larial VII, Rurik, of the Larial Farnichi, his presence never officially acknowledged, should maintain a villa and enclave, one quartering troops, so near the capital?
At that moment, a servitor appeared in the threshold of the throne room, at the end of the long, scarlet carpet leading toward the dais.
“Lords!” he called, lifting his hand.
But a large, brusque figure thrust him aside and strode toward the dais. He moved quickly and with assurance. He still bore a side arm, the guards not daring to deprive him of the article in question.
The carpet was fifty maxipaces in length, supposedly commemorative of the first fifty worlds of the Telnarian Empire.
The figure advanced toward the dais.
The two leaves of the door to the throne room, large, black, polished, and intricately carved, were tied back with golden cords, and flanked by high, scarlet curtains. Behind these curtains were also two leaves, not of wood, but of thick steel, supposedly capable of withstanding the blast of a Telnarian rifle at close range.
The large figure halted, at the foot of the dais, before the throne.
“The square has been cleared,” he announced.
“As far as the entrance to Palace Street?” inquired Iaachus.
“Farther,” said Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII.
“I would know more,” said Julian, he of the Aureliani.
“Matters proceed apace,” said Rurik.
“The princesses?” inquired Iaachus.
“They withdrew, in consternation,” said Rurik. It might be mentioned, as the reader has doubtless already suspected, that the Tenth Consul of Larial VII was a party to the coup to which attention was earlier drawn. Indeed, it is not unlikely that it was in anticipation of some such employment that he and his men had been brought to Telnar. The reader may recall that certain unverified conjectures had been entertained to the effect that more than gold, perhaps private arrangements or understandings, might have been involved in the empire’s recent intervention in a certain trade war.
Having been assured by Rurik that matters were proceeding apace, this seems an opportune moment to attend to such matters, supposedly proceeding apace, and, perhaps more importantly, the context within which they were taking place, the context in terms of which they appear intelligible and plausible, if not warranted and excusable.
I trust the reader will forgive this interlude, which seems inevitable.
The jewel of power is a gem much coveted.
That is not difficult to understand.
What treasure can compare with the treasure of power; even gold is of little moment, except for the power it can buy.
Let us briefly think on this matter.
Consider the Telnarian Empire, with its thousands of worlds, and abundances of rational species. It is vast, complex, and unwieldy; it is strong and weak, loved and hated, rich and poor, luxurious and impoverished. On some worlds, the sight of the silver standards inspires terror. On other worlds, innocent species inspect claiming stones whose significance they do not understand. The enemies of the empire are not merely barbarians without and the discontented within, not merely the scarcity of resources and the inefficiency of ponderous bureaucracies, but the unmanageable immensities of space and time themselves, militating against effective governance. Yet, despite such considerations, the institution of the empire, spanning galaxies, maintained largely by the routines of an almost autonomous civil service, endures. In all this vastness, it seems that the tiny dot of Telnaria would be scarcely noticed. Nonetheless, it was on just such a dot, on just such a speck, millennia ago, that the silver standards were first raised. It is in her name that ships were launc
hed and worlds claimed. It is to her emperors, coming and going, prosperous and ill-fated, that allegiance is pledged. And it is to her coffers, ultimately, that the scanned and selected wealth of galaxies will find its way. All is traced back to Telnaria; is she not the origin, might, and meaning; the symbol and fact, the sword and staff, the hope and law, the terror and comfort, the threat and consolation, the burden and safeguard, the protector and despoiler, the empire itself?
Her capital is Telnar.
And now, on the royal dais, platform of imperial power, there reposes a single throne.
Men would kill to seize it; who would dare to claim it?
The jewel of power is a gem much coveted, surely; but, too, it is a gem dangerous to possess.
The most obvious danger to the empire, if not the greatest, are the barbarian nations. Prominent amongst these are the peoples referred to in the imperial records as the Aatii. Their leader is Abrogastes, called the Far-Grasper.
Over recent generations, due to a variety of causes, the empire has found itself in ever greater jeopardy. Citizenship on many worlds within the empire was once a muchly sought guerdon, an important and valued prize to be earned by years of service, most often in the military, commonly by undertaking the hazardous duties of the limitanei, troops maintaining frontier outposts. Later, as emperors sought popularity, it was awarded universally, throughout the empire, in mere virtue of birth. Accordingly, being free, it was taken for granted, and ignored. Where all are citizens, citizenship is no longer precious. Manual labor came to be looked down upon, as not fit for free men. Too, as resources grew more scarce, arable lands being eroded and mines exhausted, seas being overfished and forests emptied of game, millions, humiliori, flocked to thousands of cities, to be entertained and fed, constituting demanding, dangerous, inflammable crowds. The social and cognitive elite of the empire, the honestori, once cognizant of their station, and accustomed to accepting its presumed duties, administrative and military, the mirror of their privileges, now well-fixed and comfortable, sometimes rich, turned to other matters, not merely horses and dogs, gardens and villas, carriages and yachts, porcelains and statuary, pastries and wines, dice and cards, and such, but business, often the buying and selling of tenements and the lending of money, occupations formerly thought more appropriate for the humiliori. In any event, in view of a combination of circumstances, some of which we have alluded to, the empire grew ever more at risk. Those unwilling to accept the sacrifices of defending the empire mocked patriotism. Cowardice presented itself as a hitherto unrecognized form of courage. Many resolved not to note the darkening of skies, and the impending storms, rising at the borders. Had the empire not always been? Was it not eternal? Surely it would survive, as always in the past. Others, if needed, would undertake the watches, guard the gate, man the walls, and, if needed, stand in the breech. One other factor posing a dreadful threat to the empire might be noted, even in this cursory summary, particularly as it will have some bearing on events shortly to transpire. This factor, for want of a better word, might be referred to as political, or, perhaps indifferently, as religious.
Now, while populations remained oblivious of, or only dimly aware of, the dangers in which the empire stood, this was not universally the case. Some in the empire, and some who were powerful and highly placed, were only too acutely aware of the peril. One of these we have met, Julian of the Aureliani. He had reasoned that if the empire is to survive it must be defended, and if it was not to be defended by its own, it must be defended by others. In the light of this recognition, he was prepared to embark on a controversial and dangerous path, the recruitment of barbarians to deal with barbarians. How better to guard sheep from wolves but by wolves, other wolves, wolves who did not fear wolves, wolves as fierce and terrible as those who looked upon vulnerable docile flocks with hunger and greed? Clearly the risks entailed in so bold a stratagem were considerable. What if the guards themselves should fall upon the flocks? What if wolves should enleague themselves with wolves, forming an irresistible pack, ravaging and feeding, festive with blood, doing slaughter with impunity?
One of the classic strengths of the empire was its capacity to capitalize on, or even abet or generate, hostilities amongst barbarian peoples, that they might concern themselves with seeking one another’s blood, that they might weaken one another, even exhaust themselves in tribal combat, leaving remnants and tatters which an armed, watchful empire need not fear.
Two such nations were the Alemanni, spoken of in imperial records as the Aatii, and the Vandals, or Vandalii. Both of these nations, in many ways, were much alike; both, for example, were originally forest peoples. Indeed, a trace of this origin lingers in the very name of the Vandals, or Vandalii, in which it is not difficult to see a reference to the “Van,” an archaic word for a forested area. The Vandals, then, might be understood as the “folk of the Vanland,” the forest land, or forest country. Indeed, the enmity between the Alemanni and the Vandals, of centuries standing, may have begun in territorial competition. The Alemanni, consisting of eleven tribes, the largest and most dangerous being the Drisriaks, constituted the greatest single threat to the empire. Naturally then it had occurred to Julian to recruit, arm, and train, if possible, Vandals to confront and withstand the Aatii, or Alemanni. The Vandal nation consists of five tribes, the Otungs, Darisi, Haakons, Basungs, and Wolfungs, the largest being the Otungs and the smallest the Wolfungs. A particular individual, of obscure origin, an arena killer and bodyguard, as we have recounted elsewhere, had come to the chieftainship of the Wolfungs. This individual, recruited by Julian, and having received a commission, a captainship, in the imperial auxiliaries, ventured to Tangara, though it was the Killing Time, to enlist Otungs, in the process of which, in bloody selections, honored by so fierce a people, he became the king of the Otungs.
Some weeks ago, the aforementioned Abrogastes, cunning Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper, king of the Drisriaks, having suborned certain officers charged with the defense of Telnar, had raided the city and abducted the boy emperor’s sisters, Viviana and Alacida, with the end in view of marrying them, forcibly or otherwise, to two of his sons, Ingeld and Hrothgar, thus establishing, in time, prospective heirs to the throne.
Entering into these dark, intricate, troubled matters, is the ambition of the exarch of Telnar, Sidonicus. One may rule through the sword; but one may also rule through the mind. In the past several years, a new religion, in a number of variations, all claiming to be based on the teachings of a gentle, anarchistic Ogg, or salamanderine, Floon, from the swamp world of Zirus, has been spreading throughout the empire. Sidonicus and those like him, unlike the devout rank and file, clerical and lay, pacifistic and otherworldly, concerned with the welfare of their koos, hoping one day to sit at the table of the god, Karch, taken now to be the only god, are only too well aware of, and keenly interested in, the enormities of power latent in the manipulation and control of belief.
Sidonicus intends to rule the empire, one way or another, either by means of the empire itself or by means of its enemies. If the empire will declare his particular version of the Floonian faith the official religion of the empire and outlaw, persecute, and destroy all other versions and religions, he will supply the empire with millions upon millions of new soldiers, Floonians, no longer repudiating service to the empire, but now willing, and even eager, to die for it. The Floonian faithful, after all, will believe whatever emanates from the high temples, whatever is blessed by, and proclaimed by, the exarchs, on whom Karch has putatively bestowed an inability to err. Let there be new understandings, more profound interpretations. Distinctions need only be drawn, new texts need only be discovered, or invented, and so on. Unfolding revelation is supple. Too, whereas it would be iniquitous to defend an empire willing to tolerate false gods, it would be a sacred duty to defend an empire ruled by Karch himself, his wishes and intentions made clear by his ministrants.
But, as might be supposed, not only would many in the
empire be reluctant to abandon familiar gods and the traditional imperial policy of religious tolerance, which had kept peace amongst thousands of religions for thousands of years, but many, too, would not be eager to be forced to accept, or pretend to accept, what to them seemed a mass of eccentric beliefs from a tiny, distant, despised world, ranging from the implausible to the unintelligible and inconsistent.
Sidonicus, of course, versed as he was in the politics of power, realized that those who held power would not be likely to relinquish it willingly. Therefore, he must seek out those who want power.
He obtained, by means of a renegade Otung, Urta, from a festung on Tangara, the festung of Sim Giadini, the legendary Vandal’s medallion and chain, the holder of which unites and commands the Vandal Nation. This artifact he had delivered to Ingeld, an ambitious son of Abrogastes. By means of it, Ingeld, who could already marshal considerable Alemanni support, could also command, due to the power of the artifact or talisman, Vandals. United, the Alemanni and Vandals, as Sidonicus reasoned, could crush and destroy the empire, or, better, seize it and its wealth. The price, of course, would be the conversion of the barbarian peoples. If Sidonicus could not convert the empire, he could convert the conquerors of the empire, who might then, in turn, by the sword if necessary, see to the conversion of the empire.
This plan was foiled by Julian, who, having seen the medallion and chain, had hundreds, if not more, of duplicates made and scattered throughout the worlds, this putting in doubt the authenticity of any single medallion and chain.
Afterwards, as recounted elsewhere, the authentic medallion and chain was recovered from the holding of Ingeld on Tenguthaxichai, this negating its intended exploitation, the enleaguement of Alemanni and Vandals in a fearsome coalition under Alemanni command. And later, the recovered artifact, identified by its former, long-time custodian, Brother Benjamin, himself, like Floon, a salamanderine, served to unite the Vandals.
The Emperor Page 2