The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “You do well to back away, dear Corelius,” said Safarius. “You thoughtfully seek to protect the barbarian. He might injure himself by dashing himself against the bars to reach you.”

  “My thought exactly,” said Corelius.

  “You!” cried Ortog, suddenly pointing through the bars at Safarius. “You spoke above. You are first here! I would know you! Remove your mask!”

  “Do you expect him to do so?” asked Abrogastes, scornfully, from across the corridor. “You have always been an unthinking, impatient fool.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ortog, “I am more patient than you know. Perhaps I have learned to think.”

  “You might have petitioned, or negotiated, severance from the Drisriaks, to found a tribe, but your temper was short and your blood hot.”

  “I do as I wish,” said Ortog. “I am of the Alemanni. I am of steel and blood. I am the son of Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper.”

  “And so,” said Safarius, “father and son are blood enemies.”

  “The Far-Grasper tried to kill his traitorous, renegade son on Tenguthaxichai,” said Corelius, amused, “but his stroke was faulty.”

  “It seems,” said Safarius, “it would not be good to put these two in the same cell.”

  The jailers laughed, but the bodyguards were silent, observing, standing, with arms folded. They did not dismiss or underestimate men such as Abrogastes and Ortog. They had met such men on the sand. In the arena one learns quickly, or one does not learn at all.

  “We shall leave you now,” said Safarius. “I am sure you have much to talk about, stories to tell, memories to share, and such.”

  “Put us together,” said Abrogastes, in a terrible voice.

  “Perhaps later,” said Safarius. “We wish to keep both of you alive, at least for a time.”

  Safarius made a sign to the others, and then he and they left the corridor, closed the corridor gate, and began to climb the steps.

  “They could kill us,” said Ortog, “what have they to gain other­wise.”

  “A great deal,” said Abrogastes. “Through me they hope not only to hold the Drisriaks, and perhaps the Alemanni as a whole, at bay, but to enlist them for their own purposes.”

  “And if they kill you, the Drisriaks, and doubtless the other tribes of the Alemanni, and their allies, would seek blood vengeance.”

  “Hardly,” said Abrogastes. “The killing would be secret. They would not know who to blame, who to hunt.”

  “Telnarians, Otungs,” said Ortog. “An Otung sits upon the throne.”

  “It would be a pointless, mindless rampage,” said Abrogastes.

  “Such things are often satisfying,” said Ortog.

  “Unfortunately,” said Abrogastes.

  “I see little need for them to preserve my life,” said Ortog. “The Ortungs are muchly decimated, scattered, their ships few.”

  “The schismatic Ortungs are of the Alemanni,” said Abrogastes. “Even a few are dangerous.”

  “Perhaps I am wiser than you in some things,” said Ortog.

  “Enlighten me,” said Abrogastes.

  “They think a threat to the father might make the son more pliable,” said Ortog, “and a threat to the son might induce the father to be more accommodating.”

  “How little they know of the Alemanni,” said Abrogastes.

  “Perhaps they know more of the Alemanni than the Alemanni,” said Ortog.

  “Do not forget,” said Abrogastes, “I sought to slay you on Tenguthaxichai.”

  “I remember you failed to do so,” said Ortog.

  “The stroke missed its mark,” said Abrogastes, angrily.

  “Imprecision seldom characterizes the blade of the Far-Grasper,” said Ortog. “His steel is commonly inerrant.”

  “Would that I had a blade now, and you were within its compass,” said Abrogastes.

  “Surely the galaxy is wide enough for both Drisriaks and Ortungs,” said Ortog.

  “No galaxy is so large,” said Abrogastes.

  “Let your pride not be stunned that a son should so resemble his father,” said Ortog. “Be shamed rather that he should not do so.”

  “Renegade, traitor!” cried Abrogastes.

  “It was not my intention to steal a throne,” said Ortog. “It was my intention to create another.”

  Ortog went to the bars, and set his considerable strength against them, trying to spread them, to bend them, to pull them from the concrete.

  “This cage could hold a torodont,” said Abrogastes.

  “But perhaps not a Drisriak,” said Ortog, “—nor an Ortung.”

  “You are not only a renegade and traitor,” said Abrogastes, “but a fool.”

  “I may not be as much a fool as you think,” said Ortog.

  “You were unwary,” said Abrogastes. “You did not think. You permitted yourself to be led into a trap.”

  “And how are you here?” asked Ortog.

  “I was betrayed by trusted allies, whom I had no reason to suspect, proven allies who had served me well.”

  “Telnarians,” said Ortog. “Men who are unfamiliar with winter trails, who do not know the smoke of the halls, who have not shared horns of bror. Telnarians who betrayed Telnaria. He who betrays his own hall will not hesitate to betray the hall of another.”

  “One casts the stones,” said Abrogastes. “One abides the outcome.”

  “I, too, once cast stones,” said Ortog.

  “And lost,” said Abrogastes.

  “Stones once cast may be cast again,” said Ortog.

  “How is it that you are in Telnar?” asked Abrogastes.

  “I sought you,” said Ortog.

  “To slay me, that you might revenge the decimation of the Ortungs,” said Abrogastes.

  “Perhaps,” said Ortog.

  “And now you are cooped like a wing-clipped varda,” said Abrogastes.

  “Where are we?” asked Ortog.

  “I do not know,” said Abrogastes.

  “Others will know,” said Ortog.

  “Surely,” said Abrogastes, “our captors.”

  “And others, now, as well,” said Ortog.

  At that moment, from the stairs, outside the corridor gate, there was a hideous sound of panting, of clawed feet, of growling, and snarling.

  “Keep your hands inside the bars,” said Abrogastes. “They will tear off a hand, or arm.”

  “War dogs,” said Ortog.

  The corridor gate was opened by a jailer and two large beasts, each the size of a small horse, thrust themselves into the corridor.

  The two dogs turned instantly to Ortog and, hissing and squealing, eyes bright with hate, fangs wet with saliva, snapped at the bars. Then, frustrated, each, with a long, massive, clawed forelimb, reached through the bars and wildly raked the air between themselves and Ortog. Ortog retreated farther within the cell, and both beasts turned away, snarling, and lay down in the corridor.

  “They are starved. They are trained. They are mistreated. They are taught hate. They can tear a man to pieces,” said Abrogastes.

  “Pleasant fellows,” said Ortog.

  “Here they are used as guards,” said Abrogastes.

  “They failed to threaten you,” said Ortog.

  The two beasts sprang up, snarling.

  There was the crack of a whip.

  “Back, back, down, down!” said a jailer, in the portal, whip in hand.

  The two beasts backed away and crouched down, snarling.

  Behind the jailer came two more jailers, each bearing a wooden platter of food and a shallow bowl of wine. These platters were put on the floor and thrust by a foot through the rectangular aperture at the bottom of the cell door.

  “Feast well,” said the jailer with a whip, and then the three jailers withdrew, closin
g and locking the corridor gate.

  “Do not eat,” said Abrogastes.

  “Poison?” asked Ortog. “Drugs?”

  “No,” said Abrogastes.

  “I do not understand,” said Ortog.

  “Wait,” said Abrogastes.

  The sound of the footsteps on the stairs faded.

  One of the beasts rose up and rubbed itself against the bars of the cage of Abrogastes. The other rose up to a sitting position, regarding him.

  “It would be wise to do as I do,” said Abrogastes. He then cast most of the contents of his platter to the floor of the corridor where they were snatched up by the dogs. Ortog watched, wonderingly, and then imitated his father’s action. Abrogastes then, through the bars, held out a piece of meat to each of the beasts, which took it gently. “Do not attempt this yet,” he said, across the corridor. “They do not yet know you. They might tear your hand off.”

  “You enlist unusual allies,” said Ortog.

  “Into whose heart treason is unlikely to enter,” said Abrogastes.

  “I would I had a weapon,” said Ortog.

  “In your cell, as in mine,” said Abrogastes, “there is a simple iron cot, on which reposes a thin mattress. This mattress is supported on springs, narrow strips of metal. Over time you can work one or more of these strips loose.”

  “Surely such a thing is no weapon,” said Ortog.

  “A pillow, a stylus, a splinter of wood, a rock can be a weapon,” said Abrogastes. “A pillow can suffocate, a stylus can pierce, a splinter of wood can stab, a rock can crush.”

  “And your strip of metal?” asked Ortog.

  “It can snap out an eye,” said Abrogastes. “It can form a garrote, it can cut a throat.”

  “I shall arm myself,” said Ortog.

  “And seem unarmed,” said Abrogastes.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Welcome back to Telnar, noble Ingeld, revered prince of the Drisriaks,” said Sidonicus, the words like drops of oil, exarch of Telnar, from the draped throne in his private audience chamber.

  Other than Ingeld, four individuals were present, Fulvius, high ministrant in Telnar, his purple only somewhat less so than that of his superior, Sidonicus; Timon Safarius Rhodius, of the Telnar Rhodii, primarius of the senate of Telnaria; and blond Corelius, once an officer of Phidias, captain of the Narcona, and later a member of the high command of the defensive batteries of Telnar, which were unaccountably silent during a surprise raid in which the two princesses, Viviana and Alacida, were abducted, to be later betrothed to Ingeld and Hrothgar, two sons of Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, called the Far-Grasper.

  “You have met my esteemed colleague, Ministrant Fulvius, on Tenguthaxichai, I believe,” said Sidonicus.

  “In the matter of the Otung medallion and chain,” said Ingeld.

  “You may not know my dear friend, Timon Safarius Rhodius,” said Sidonicus.”

  “We have not met,” said Ingeld.

  “He is primarius of the senate,” said Sidonicus.

  “A most exalted and noble post,” said Ingeld.

  Safarius bowed, appreciatively.

  “I understand a coup failed,” said Ingeld.

  “I was not present at the time,” said Safarius.

  “Lastly,” said Sidonicus, “may I introduce my young friend and colleague, of less than noble family, but of extraordinary merit, Corelius.”

  “I am honored,” said Ingeld, scarcely glancing at Corelius.

  “He collaborated in the plot wherewith your noble father became my guest,” said Sidonicus, “and devised a further scheme by means of which your noble brother, Ortog, was induced to accept my hospitality.”

  “Ortog is detained?” said Ingeld.

  “I understand he was your father’s favorite,” said Sidonicus.

  “He is your guest?” asked Ingeld.

  “With your father,” said Sidonicus.

  “I knew not the whereabouts of the traitorous Ortog,” said Ingeld. “He has not yet been executed?”

  “Not as yet,” said Sidonicus. “For the moment we deem him, like your father, more valuable alive.”

  “I trust the moment, in neither case, will be overly prolonged,” said Ingeld.

  “As a result of my plan, noble prince,” said Corelius, “in which I played a major role, the star of your future blazes more brightly in the sky of power.”

  “You were doubtless well paid,” said Ingeld.

  “He was given his life,” said Fulvius.

  “Why do you sit upon a throne while a prince stands?” asked Ingeld.

  “I am a prince of the temple,” said Sidonicus, startled.

  “I do not think the humble Floon, on whose teachings you grow fat, sat upon a throne,” said Ingeld.

  “He was not the exarch of Telnar,” said Sidonicus.

  “How can one be a prince,” asked Ingeld, “when he has no swords?”

  “One need only make use of others, who carry swords,” said Sidonicus.

  “I thought that Floon rejected the sword,” said Ingeld.

  “Not at all,” said Sidonicus.

  “You have a text for that?” asked Ingeld.

  “New texts are discovered, from time to time,” said Sidonicus.

  “When necessary?” asked Ingeld.

  “If you like,” said Sidonicus.

  “The matter is obscure,” said Fulvius. “Texts seem to conflict.”

  “Merely seem to conflict,” said Sidonicus.

  “Of course,” said Fulvius.

  “Get out of the throne,” said Ingeld.

  “Blasphemy!” said Fulvius.

  “Now,” said Ingeld.

  “You would dare sit upon the throne of the exarch?” asked Fulvius.

  “Off the throne, now,” said Ingeld.

  “Surely, if it would please the prince,” said Sidonicus, softly.

  “No!” cried Fulvius.

  “Be easy, sweet brother, close friend, beloved ministrant,” said Sidonicus. “As true Floonians, we are self-effacing and self-­sacrificing. Remember, we reject prestige, power, wealth, and influence. We seek littleness and rejoice in our lack of importance. We imitate the sand in its docility and patience. Like the tree we yield ourselves to the ax. Like the fallen leaf we gladly accept the wind which carries where it wishes.”

  “Humility?” said Fulvius.

  “Most precisely,” said Sidonicus.

  “How I have fallen!” said Fulvius. “My heart cries out with shame!”

  “Petition Karch for forgiveness,” counseled Sidonicus.

  “Forgive me, Karch!” wept Fulvius, looking upward toward the ceiling of the chamber.

  “Stop your blabbering and acting,” said Ingeld. “I have no intention of sitting on, or otherwise desecrating, that pretentious, absurd object. It would sicken me to do so. A throne, indeed! Who deems it that, and with what justification? If it were not of value in my plans, as it impresses the ignorant and foolish, the mindless and gullible, I would topple it. I am proclaimed shrewd, ruthless, and cruel, but I am a child, an amateur, compared to the shrewdness, ruthlessness, and cruelty of frauds and hypocrites, who would rule through artifice and subterfuge, duplicity and deceit.”

  “I think we understand one another well enough,” said Sidonicus.

  “Then we shall sit with one another as equals,” said Ingeld, “and conspire honestly, and plot our crimes and villainies openly, without cant and pretense.”

  “If you wish,” said Sidonicus.

  “Let our ambitions be unsheathed here, though concealed elsewhere,” said Ingeld.

  “It will be as the prince wishes,” said Sidonicus.

  “I have swords at my disposal,” said Ingeld.

  “I need only speak from the pulpit of the temple,” said Si
donicus, “and I can have them at my disposal, as well.”

  “You are naive,” said Ingeld, “to suppose that you can deal with Abrogastes, or Ortog, except on their terms. Honor intervenes. Have you heard of it? It seems you may be ignorant of that trammel. Do not judge them by yourselves. Too, you have not seized them in innocent childhood and contaminated them with contrived gibberish, tying strings of terror on their minds by means of which to manipulate them later as you wish, making them fear not to obey you, not to feed and clothe you, and not to enrich you, lest they be denied a place at the table of Karch, as if there was such a table and as if, if there was, you would know anything about it. If there is a Karch, or Orak, or such, let them appear and handle such matters themselves, or not, if they wish. If they truly wish a hundred pigs sacrificed on the summer solstice, though I assume they do not eat the pigs, they should be fully capable of making that wish known. Surely they do not need sweet, humble ministrants to assist them in the matter, or obese, pompous ministrants either. In short, given honor and a mind free of imposed weights, contrived burdens, and instilled illness, you cannot deal with an Abrogastes or an Ortog as you think; sooner you could deal with the hawk or vi-cat.”

  “How then shall we proceed?” asked Sidonicus.

  “We shall kill both Abrogastes and Ortog,” said Ingeld, “and manage the matter, where the bodies are found, amidst supposedly incriminating evidence, and such, to make it appear that they were murdered by Otungs. This will enflame the Drisriaks, the other tribes of the Alemanni, whom you call the Aatii, and their allied tribes. Meanwhile the temple pretends outrage and publicly deplores this perceived crime. This leads the Aatii, led by me, and the confederated tribes to regard the temple as an ally, one who will endorse the justice of their cause. You will also preach against the Otungs and your spies and provocateurs will ready your faithful in their mad throngs to take to the streets when the signal is given. We and the temple, together, will crush the Otungs. The usurper will be swept from the throne and the Otungs, and the other tribes of the Vandalii, will be crushed, their remnants, if any, scattered, driven as exiles and fugitives to remote worlds.”