Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  Which meant conferences like this one. Someone had to oversee these overseers and ensure that nobody amongst them or farther down the line was attempting to get rich at the empire’s expense. Or worse.

  And because Vrath was the prince regent of the empire, this onerous responsibility was his burden. Dowager Empress Jilana was an important symbol of the late emperor Sha’ant’s rule, especially since Vrath had sworn a life vow to never himself sit on the Burning Throne. Her presence authorized every court session as law, even if she didn’t speak a word, as was often the case. The actual burden of governance fell on Vrath’s broad shoulders.

  After decades of enduring such sessions, he had come to accept it as his lot. It didn’t make these conferences any easier, or less tedious. But it helped him restrain himself from reacting to every irritating debate over irrelevant matters of protocol. Like the present debate over whether a feather-hatted emissary of a foreign kingdom with a title that had no correspondent in the Burnt Empire should be met by a minister, a secretary, a clerk, an ambassador, or even, as one bright spark suggested, a courtesan.

  This last was presumably suggested as a way of eliminating any possibility of giving offense and providing a warm friendly welcome at the same time. Did these idiots even remember that he was a sworn celibate? Could they be deliberately dragging out the discussion because he was a celibate? He dismissed the thought at once. Fools they might be, but not foolish enough to risk angering him.

  Vrath was listening to this bizarre and quite pointless debate with the growing suspicion that his ministers were deliberately prolonging the discussion because of its greater entertainment value rather than because it genuinely merited such a long discussion, when he felt the change.

  It began as a rippling in the air. The scent of lotuses. The cool breath of the glacier that birthed her.

  The far wall of the sabha hall, fifty times the height of a man, shimmered and dissolved like vapor.

  Like a tidal wave, Jeel burst through the high wall and into the great chamber.

  The great river roared into the heart of Hastinaga, raging torrentially across the throne room, washing over the royal dais and disappearing behind it. The Burning Throne, simmering with its usual banked red glow when a Krushan liege was not seated upon it, hissed and gave off a cloud of steam that was instantly suppressed by the rushing torrent.

  The ministers, the guards, the assorted palace staff and servers, all remained unaffected, as if they noticed nothing amiss. This was a sight meant only for Vrath, not intended for mere mortal eyes.

  As Vrath watched, the cascading water sculpted itself into the shape of a mortal woman. The shape coalesced into a liquid statue. The statue of living water glistened and gleamed wetly in the afternoon sunshine as it stepped on the royal dais.

  Jeel, clad in a garment of shimmering translucent white, touched the back of the Burning Throne with fingertips formed of water. Droplets coalesced on the glistening stone and remained there, a divine blessing.

  Vrath went at once to her, bending to touch his mother’s feet. “Mother.”

  “Vrath. I have grave news for you.”

  Jilana

  1

  Vrath and Jilana met shortly before midnight.

  They were the only ones present, by mutual decision. Vrath shut the doors to the throne room behind himself, securing it to ensure that nobody entered, even at this late hour. The torches burned low in their sconces. The rows of empty chairs, the dais with empty thrones, the deserted hall with row upon row of polished pillars, all served as reminders that they were completely, unquestionably, alone. Whatever decision was made tonight, it would have to be made by the two of them and none else. There was no question of bringing this before the Council, the ministers, or even discussing it in open court.

  “Do we know who the conspirators are?” Jilana asked, seating herself not on her throne but upon the nearest convenient seat. Vrath continued to pace restlessly along the length of the approach to the throne dais.

  “Belgarion, the One King of the united Mountain Kingdoms, hosted them at his palace in Darkfortress. Those in attendance were Anga, king of Anga; Vanga, king of Vanga; Kaurwa of Kanunga; Sumhasana of Sumha; Pundraki of Pundar; Vindva, prince of Keyara; Vriddha, king of Virdhh; Karta Mara; Ripunjaya of Avant; Drashya of Dirda; Druhyu of Druhyu; Shastra of Longriders; Ushanas of Ushati.” He paused and looked at her with an unusual show of emotion. “And Baal.”

  Jilana sucked in a deep breath. “But the Bahlikas are—”

  “Blood kin to me, yes,” he said. “Nevertheless, they were present as well.”

  “Ushanas of Ushati was killed. That eliminates him from the list.”

  “Yes, but his successors, whichever of his sons or daughters it is, will very likely fall into line. The execution of their father and king is a powerful motivator.”

  Jilana shook her head slowly. “The audacity of these kingdoms. How dare they even contemplate going up against the might of Hastinaga?”

  “Contemplation is one thing. I don’t care if they contemplate open rebellion or worse from now till the end of time. It is forming an actual alliance against us that rankles. This cannot be allowed to stand, Mother. If word gets out that some of our most powerful kingdoms have allied against us, who knows how many others will join with them. At least a dozen that I can name. And several dozen more smaller kingdoms will rush to join in as well, if only to ensure that they back the winning side.”

  Jilana frowned. “Are you not overstating the danger? Strong as this alliance seems, these kingdoms you named could not possibly field a host to match our own Krushan armies. Besides, we have many allies that we know we can count on if such a situation arises. Together, we will easily outnumber the forces of this alliance.”

  “So you would think,” he said, “but you are forgetting one more conspirator. The ringleader himself: Jarsun of Reygistan. It was he who summoned these fence-sitters to Darkfortress. His own Reygistani forces are almost two-thirds of our own. Combined with those of the alliance, that would give them an armed force twice the size of our army, and even more than the combined forces of our allies.”

  Jilana clutched the solid band of gold that ringed her throat, as if feeling the metal noose tighten. “That is a formidable alliance. I cannot deny that. But even so, we can still prevail in an open battle. Hastinaga will always prevail with you leading our armies, Vrath. No force can withstand you in battle. However strong their armies may be, whatever their numbers, they lack our secret weapon: you. You yourself are an army unto yourself. You balance all ledgers and tip the odds in our favor.”

  Vrath shook his head sadly. “I am flattered by your faith in me, Mother. But even I cannot be in a dozen places at once.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have studied Jarsun of Reygistan’s battle strategy for years. He does not engage in pitched battles except on rare occasions—usually when his numbers far outreach those of his enemy and victory is certain. Instead, he divides and conquers. He has not summoned an open council to appeal to these kingdoms. He has summoned them in private, and used force and intimidation—even murder—to press his will upon them. He means to use each one’s individual strength against us. He will fight a war of attrition, attacking us on all sides at once, over and over again, until the garment that is the Burnt Empire is shredded with holes and rips. Only then, when he sees the opportunity, will he throw all his forces against us in battle, and finish what his allies began.”

  Jilana sat without speaking for several moments, absorbing Vrath’s words. “Then we will fight him on those terms. We will divide and defend. We will use our allies to counteract his allies, fighting them one-on-one, on as many fronts as he chooses to open. Better yet, we shall go on the offensive and attack him as well. We shall rip the fabric of his own empire to shreds. And when we see fit, we shall attack Reygistan openly, crushing it without mercy. We are not merely another of the thousand and eight kingdoms. We are Hastinaga. We have overcome ty
rants and despots, invasions and uprisings by the hundreds. We shall overcome these challenges as well. We shall prevail.”

  “Your strategy is shrewd, your spirit indomitable,” Vrath said. “But I still fear it will not be sufficient, Mother. There is a risk to being the aggressor. Jarsun will use our own allies against us as proxies. He will not show his own hand until much later in the game. By pitting us against our allies, he makes it difficult for us to retaliate or to take the aggressive stance. Each enemy we crush is an ally lost, and it demoralizes our other allies as well. Already, I am given information that there are rumors spreading across the empire.”

  “Rumors of this rebel alliance?”

  “No. Rumors of our wrongdoings. Of atrocities committed in the name of Hastinaga. Of tyranny and oppression in Hastinaga. Of slavery. Abuse. Genocide. Assassinations by our hand.”

  Jilana clutched her choker tighter. “I do not follow. These are all untrue. What purpose does it serve anyone to spread such vile lies?”

  Vrath looked at her without answering.

  “Ah,” she said, “I see. Jarsun is the one fomenting these rumors.”

  “He is building an image of us as tyrants. He wants the kingdoms to believe that we are cruel and oppressive, that even our own people want to be free of our tyranny. He paints himself as a liberator of slaves, a friend of the oppressed, benefactor of the disenfranchised. He seeks to turn our own people against us over time, so that he and his allies will be seen to have just cause and we to be in the wrong. He is waging a war of the mind and spirit, as well as of the body.”

  “We will fight him on that front as well,” Jilana replied, undaunted. “Two can play at that game. We can spread word of his actual atrocities and tyranny. Tales of his cruelties to his own people, his family, his homeland. We will bring him down off his high pedestal.”

  Vrath nodded approvingly. “These are all sound strategies, Mother. But they are not endgames. Jarsun does not play for the love of war. He plays to win. He will not stop until he has achieved his endgame.”

  “And what is his endgame?”

  “To split Hastinaga into pieces, back to the thousand and eight kingdoms that we united and now call the Burnt Empire. He does not seek to defeat us in open battle, or even to wipe us out to the last Krushan. He merely wishes to destroy our empire. To take away our ability to hold the original coalition of kingdoms, now grown to one thousand and eight, that consider themselves as a single great empire.”

  “But what will he gain—” Jilana began, then stopped. “Of course. That will leave Reygistan, his own empire, as the largest empire in the subcontinent.”

  “Indeed. And once he achieves that, he can incorporate all his allies, present and future, into the Reygistan Empire, and rule the civilized world undisputed. He means to destroy Hastinaga not by facing us and defeating us in open battle. But to outdo us by building the larger empire. Once he achieves that, the very fear of his size and power will make kingdoms bow before him and concede his superiority.”

  “As they do now to Hastinaga, without even so much as a debate or a fight,” she said. “He is an evil genius. A demon not to be trifled with. Yet we cannot simply stand by and let him win the day by any means. One way or another, we must prevail. The future of the civilized world is in our hands. Hastinaga stands for Krushan law, for law and order, for truth and justice. While Reygistan stands for slavery, oppression, tyranny, genocide, chaos, and anarchy. It is the antithesis of Krushan law, the apotheosis of evil to our way of thinking. The good people, the little people, the kingdoms too small or too foolish to stand up to him, even those allies who have allowed themselves to be seduced by his lies and promises, his intimidation and threats—all of them need our help. We are the only hope humanity has against this demon tyrant. We must stand against him. We must defeat him. We must find a way.”

  “I believe there is a way,” Vrath said. “But it will not please you.”

  “Speak, son of Jeel.”

  When Vrath did, Jilana blanched.

  “But to do such a thing,” she said, “to thrust such responsibility upon their shoulders . . .”

  “The war of the mind is always greater than the war of the body,” Vrath said. “If Jarsun stands against them, everyone will renounce him as an immoral tyrant. No matter the outcome upon the field of battle, we will win the battle of the mind and heart. It will give us the upper hand, and that is all we need.”

  “But we will win the literal battle as well, of course,” she said, still pale from the shock of his proposal. “Upon the literal field of battle.”

  He hesitated a moment. “I will do everything in my power to ensure a victory on all fronts.”

  She did not like his answer. She did not like his suggestion. But he was right. Desperate times called for desperate measures. This whole problem had been caused by the perception of their own weakness. The vacuum left by Sha’ant’s demise had barely been filled by her sons Gada and Virya when both had been taken from the world too soon, much too soon. One of them, Gada, had in fact fallen in single combat against Jarsun himself. That had been a terrible blow against the Krushan dynasty.

  The only way to silence all detractors and doubters was to deal a strong, decisive blow, and the only way to do that was through a military victory so great that nobody could doubt the power of Hastinaga.

  And right now, that meant sending her two grandsons into war.

  2

  With the births of Ember’s and Umber’s sons, the return of honor she had anticipated had not come. Shvate’s skin and sensitivity, Adri’s blindness—these things had all but taken both boys out of contention. It was this weakness in the armor of empire that Jarsun had exploited. So long as Hastinaga had heirs who were deemed unsuitable, the restless would continue to consider other options.

  If an albino prince and a blind prince, both barely old enough to sit a throne, could confront and defeat the empire of Reygistan in battle, it would silence all their critics. If they could do so and win back the allies that had been lost to Jarsun through the same use of force, intimidation, and seduction that the Demon-Emperor had used, it would decisively answer the question of Hastinaga’s future. If two boys with such severe physical challenges could achieve a great victory, then imagine what they could do later as grown men—to say nothing of their heirs, and the heirs of their heirs.

  Unlike the game of kings, the game of emperors was not about merely winning a single seat and crown. It was about proving that you were capable of sustaining your position over a hundred, two hundred, a thousand years. Empires were built through fear and power. Today, the world perceived Hastinaga as a fading power because its true future, its heirs, appeared incapable of ruling. Vrath was proposing that they prove once and for all that this was false. That the two princes were not only capable of ruling as ably as any full-bodied man, but of doing so better than most men could. And his plan was to throw them into battle and launch a swift, decisive strike against the heart of tyranny itself.

  It was the boldest, most audacious plan she had ever heard. If they succeeded, they would remove the strongest argument their rivals and detractors had against them. It was a compelling, brilliant tactic.

  “But,” she asked, rising to her feet to face her stepson, “what if we fail?”

  She did not need to spell out her meaning: What if Shvate and Adri prove inadequate to this challenge? What if they are truly weak and inferior to other able-bodied men? What if, being mere boys, they are not ready to take on such a task—which would be an immense challenge even for the bravest of kings or generals? What if Jarsun grabs hold of them, tears them into shreds, and chews up the remains while laughing through bloody teeth?

  “If we lose,” Vrath said, “we will lose knowing that we were doomed to lose anyway.”

  Jilana nodded. Vrath was right: if Shvate and Adri could not face Jarsun and defeat him now, it would likely mean they would not be able to do so in future either. A prince could not wait to grow older and
wiser to face his enemies in battle; he had to fight when the time came to act. “That is true,” she said sadly.

  “And by acting first, we will have the element of surprise. Jarsun will not have anticipated this move. Not now, not when he has barely begun his secret alliance. He is unprepared for war with us. We will have the upper hand. We will strike first, and hard. We will force him to face us in open battle. And his allies will be too shocked and uncertain to know whether to support him or to continue supporting us. Their indecision, his unpreparedness, the shock of facing young Shvate and Adri in battle, of being forced to fight against a blind boy and an albino, these are all factors which are invaluable to us in battle. We only gain these advantages if we strike first and strike now. Either we act now or stay on the defensive.”

  “And yet,” she said, “if we lose . . .” She looked away for a moment. “We lose not only the empire, and the reputation of the Krushan dynasty, but also the future of both. Shvate and Adri are all we have, Vrath. Would you sacrifice them for the sake of victory?”

  “No, Mother,” he replied. “I would prove their ability to lead our empire, our dynasty, to victory. I would silence their critics once and for all. I would ensure that everyone in the civilized world believe beyond the shadow of a doubt that Hastinaga is the greatest empire in the history of humankind.”

  Jilana was silent a long time. She knew now that Vrath had already made his decision. He intended to go through with this. All that remained was for her to agree or to oppose. Yet, even if she opposed him, he might still proceed. He had the authority as prince regent and military commander of the empire. He had every right. But she could still oppose on principle alone. As a dowager empress. As the reigning matriarch of the dynasty. As a grandmother.

  “They are just boys, Vrath,” she said at last, unable to find any other argument to counter his implacable logic. “Just boys.”