Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  Right now, he was missing a key player in this particular game: Vida. He ought to have been here, but it was almost time for Council to go into session and he was still not present in the chambers.

  Kune spotted a clerk in the secretariat hall adjoining Council Hall. The munshis were scribes tasked with keeping records of every Council session, decision, vote, argument, legislation, writ, account, and what have you. The shelves against the far walls groaned under the weight of scrolls, but the real meat was to be had from the munshis themselves: there was always anecdotal information that was more valuable than the written records. Kune hated scribes because their work involved words and language, which made them almost as bad as poets and painters, or musicians and dancers. He loathed art and its makers, considering them the most despicable form of human life. But despite his personal hatred, he had begun cultivating the munshis.

  He spotted one of these scribes at work, seated cross-legged on a mat on the floor, writing with a quill pen. He was one of hundreds in the large hall, all hard at work. Kune imagined a company of chariots riding through the hall, crushing and smashing all these useless writers to pieces. The thought made him smile, and he flashed the smile at the clerk as he approached. The clerk, a slight, balding young man with a potbelly and thin, emaciated limbs, peered up at him. He nodded as Kune came close enough for his eyes to focus.

  “What news, clerk?”

  The scribe spread his ink-stained hands in a helpless gesture, then launched into a tiresome explanation of the current legislation on wheat harvest tithes in the southeastern kingdoms. Kune pretended to listen, nodding and smiling while thinking of how easily the clerk’s bald head could be smashed by an elephant’s foot.

  He had once seen a man executed in that manner. The elephant was traditionally the symbolic beast of the Burnt Empire, considered the keeper of wisdom. When a monarch heard a particularly troubling case in court and was unsure of the party’s guilt or innocence, they could call for the Elephant’s Justice. This simply meant having the accused kneel down and place their head upon a stone slab, and letting the royal elephant decide their fate. If the accused was innocent, the elephant would do nothing. If guilty, the elephant would bring its foot down on the person’s head, crushing their skull. Kune loved the concept: he saw it as a brilliant way to dispense justice to anyone who vexed you, while making it seem as if the verdict was declared by the wise elephant. He was biding his time to propose introducing the method in Hastinaga as well. What a shrewd way to get rid of people: let the elephant decide. Right now, he wished he had an elephant handy to shut the clerk up.

  Finally losing patience, he cut off the scribe in midsentence, saying curtly, “Councilman Vida was not in session today.”

  The clerk frowned at him, peering in that irritating nearsighted way that all scribes had. “Councilman Vida is always present.” He looked down at the scroll he had been transcribing. “His attendance record is perfect. Out of two hundred and forty-eight sessions last year—”

  “I’m not asking about last year,” Kune said, straining to keep his smile intact and his temper in check. “I’m asking about now. Today. It is customary for councilpersons to inform the secretariat if they are called away on urgent business, is it not?”

  “Yes, but Councilman Vida has never sought leave before. He was present for every single one of the two hundred and forty-eight sessions last year.”

  Kune continued smiling at the clerk. “Could you check for me?” He added, with a show of teeth, “Please.”

  The clerk started to shake his head, then saw something in Kune’s smile that changed his mind. He nodded and left his mat to go over to one of the other scribes in the far corner of the hall. The other scribes continued working, the hall filled with the sound of rustling scrolls, scratching quills, and the little sounds that scribes made, coughing, clearing their throats, breathing noisily, scratching. Kune was starting to imagine burning down the entire hall when the clerk finally returned, walking slowly enough for even a lame horse to overtake.

  “It appears that Councilman Vida has sought a leave of absence from Council,” he admitted. “This is highly unusual. Quite unlike him. Now, according to the scribe who keeps the attendance rolls—”

  Kune gritted his teeth and said, “Did he give a reason? For the leave of absence?”

  The clerk blinked. “Why? I do believe he may have.” He scratched the sparse hair on the side of his head, dislodging flakes of dandruff. “What was it the scribe of attendance said? Ah, yes, something about going to the forest to visit his brother.”

  Kune clutched the man’s thin arm hard. “Are you sure?”

  The scribe’s face twisted. “Lord Kune, my arm.”

  Kune squeezed harder. “He went to visit his brother in the forest? His brother Shvate?”

  “I . . . believe so. My arm . . . that hurts.”

  Kune released him. He patted the clerk’s arm, smiling again. “My apologies. Well done.” He took a small cloth bag of coin and dropped it on the clerk’s writing board. “Thank you for your time.”

  He left the hall, swearing under his breath.

  2

  Kune found Geldry in her chambers, being tended to by five maids at once. One was working on her hair, two on her hands, two on her feet. A trio of Geldran musicians were playing in the antechamber as Kune passed through it. They paused to greet him, and he nodded in passing. Geldry was lying back, looking up at the ceiling and she saw him upside down as he entered.

  “Brother?” she asked, reading his mood at once.

  Kune looked at the quintet of maids busy buffing, polishing, painting, clipping, cleaning. “We should talk.”

  Geldry sighed. “Can it wait awhile . . .” She saw his expression. “I suppose not. All of you, out. Wait outside till I summon you back in. And tell the musicians to stop playing.”

  They filed out quickly. A moment later, the doors shut and the music ceased.

  Kune paced back and forth. “Vida has gone to the forest to see Shvate.”

  “Is that so?” Geldry asked. She sat up slowly, pausing to sip at a goblet of wine. She was wearing only a robe and nothing underneath. It fell open as she sat up, but she didn’t bother to close the folds.

  Kune strode to and fro, agitated. “I wasn’t counting on that happening. It wasn’t in my plans.”

  Geldry shrugged. “These things happen. Change your plans.”

  “I can’t.” He stopped and looked at her accusingly. “You know the kind of people we’re dealing with. These are not people you simply send a message to at the last minute and change the plan.”

  “Why not? We’re paying them well enough. Speaking of which, the butcher’s bill is mounting day by day. Add to that the fortune you’ve been losing in chaupat in the Upper City, and the other fortune you’ve been throwing around in the Senate and the Council, and it’s a king’s ransom.”

  “Even if it was an emperor’s ransom, it would be worth it. This is the Burnt Empire we’re talking about, not some little fiefdom in Aranya.” The word “Aranya” meant wilderness but was also the collective name given to the forest kingdoms in the remote South.

  “The Burnt Empire is ours. What I don’t understand is why we need to spend so much when we already have it. Adri will be crowned in two days.” She saw his face change and waved her hand. “I know you’ve explained this to me before, but you know I can never understand all your plots and schemes. How do you even plan a hundred or two hundred moves ahead? I just don’t get it.”

  Kune sighed. “This is about control. About being able to make things happen the way we want them to happen, when we want them.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  He looked around the bedchamber. It was filled with the usual piles of new attire, boxes and boxes of jewelry, footwear, accessories, and other accoutrements. “I see you are celebrating the end of your confinement.”

  “I spent almost two years carrying that . . . thing . . . in my body,” she s
aid, shivering as she remembered. She patted her flat belly proudly. “I deserve to pamper myself.”

  “Yes, you do, sister, but refrain from calling your children ‘things.’ Krushan who overhear you won’t appreciate their future kings and queen being referred to as objects.”

  She gestured at the empty chamber. “Nobody here but you and me, brother.”

  “Has Adri been in to see you yet?”

  “No, and I don’t care if never comes.” Her voice and face took on a snarl. “After he shared the bed of that common woman, I wouldn’t touch him even if he begged.”

  “Again, speak with care. You’re talking about the crown prince, about to be sworn in as king of Hastinaga.”

  “You mean emperor of Hastinaga.”

  “Hastinaga is the kingdom that controls the Burnt Empire. The king of Hastinaga is the emperor of the Burnt Empire.”

  “Or queen,” she said thoughtfully.

  He looked at her.

  She smiled craftily, and Kune returned it in kind.

  “Or queen,” he agreed.

  “Adri has been keeping to himself of late,” she said, still thoughtful. “He has been drinking, not taking care of his health, eating erratically. He is grieving, confused, has lost the will to live. If he were to fall off his verandah one night while inebriated, or choke on his food . . .” She looked at her brother again, her eyes shining. “It would seem only inevitable. Kings have died of lesser mishaps before.”

  Kune shook his head slowly. “Not while they have elder brothers who still have some legitimate claim to the throne.”

  She pouted. “I thought that was all settled. Shvate abdicated, all parties concur.”

  “Even so, as long as he remains alive, there are loyalists who may argue that he still has a claim. After all, his abdication was not forced upon him, it was voluntary.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “What is given voluntarily can be taken back.”

  She winced. “You mean . . . ? But I thought . . . He won’t actually come back and claim the throne, will he? Do you really think he might?”

  “I don’t think he would, but he has a wife. Two wives in fact.” He smiled at her by twitching only one cheek. “And some wives are more ambitious than their husbands.”

  She made a face. “Karni and Mayla.”

  “Both princesses, highborn, both strong warrior queens in their own rights. And now, both mothers.”

  “Ah,” she said, understanding.

  “Exactly. Where a wife may accept her husband forgoing his birthright and inheritance, a mother may see it as depriving her children of their birthright and inheritance.”

  Geldry rose, walking across the room to pick up a row of gold bangles. Her robe opened wide, revealing her naked body. It was as slender and sleek as it had been before she was pregnant, Kune noted. “So you think they may persuade Shvate to come back and reclaim the throne for the sake of the children?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  She tried on a large, heavy bangle decorated with green gemstones, sliding it up and down her slender forearm to admire it. “I see your point. But with your plan, that won’t happen. Because your people will take care of Shvate, Karni, Mayla, the children—all of them in one quick blow.” She made a neck-slicing gesture.

  He glanced around. “Caution, sister. Even walls have ears.”

  “You took care that the attack will never be traced back to you, to us,” she said. “Did you not?”

  “Was the attack on Riverdell ever linked with us?” he asked.

  She looked at him, smiled, and shrugged. “Why would it be? We had nothing to do with it. Those were mercenaries seeking to abduct a royal hostage for ransom, that’s all.”

  “And they just happened to take the wrong woman, believing that they were abducting you, Queen Geldry,” he added, smiling. “Which was proven when the ransom demand was made, asking that Hastinaga pay a wagonload of gold if we wanted Queen Geldry back safe and sound.”

  “And why in the world would you or I want to have me abducted, risking my life and the life of my unborn children, only to earn a ransom which amounts to a fraction of our wealth?” She batted her eyelashes, mimicking a look of utter innocence.

  “Exactly. So in the same way, whatever happens in the jungle to Shvate and his family, stays in the jungle. It has nothing to do with us, my sister dear.”

  Geldry tried on a succession of bangles, each heavier and more richly decorated with precious stones. “Then the sooner it happens, the sooner we are rid of the threat of Shvate or his wives returning to reclaim the throne.” She swung around, the open folds of the robe flying. “Maybe then we can talk about Adri having his unfortunate mishap?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps not. I think Adri staying alive makes a valuable asset. So long as he lives, no one else can claim the throne.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “No one perhaps. But one never knows with royalty. There’s always a bastard somewhere, often more than one. Even the high and mighty Jilana had an illegitimate son by Shapaar before going on to marry his son Sha’ant later! Did Sha’ant even know about Vessa? Who knows! In any case, so long as Adri is on the throne, your position is secure.”

  “And yours, dear brother,” she said sweetly.

  He smiled. “I live to serve, sweet sister.”

  “So what are you going to do about the Vida problem?” she asked.

  He grinned at her sudden change of subject. “Someone has been paying attention. Yes, Vida is a problem.”

  “Why? Won’t he simply be eliminated along with Shvate and his family—” She deliberately raised her voice, adding, “If anything were to happen to them, Stone God forbid.”

  “That’s just it,” Kune said, “I don’t want him eliminated. He’s knowledgeable, resourceful, and can never be a direct threat to us because as a bastard, he has no legitimate claim to the throne or any position of his own.”

  “He sounds like a pet.”

  “A very intelligent, well-connected pet. The kind you want to keep by your side if you intend to rule for a long, long time.”

  “So you want to keep him alive,” she said, “but the dogs of war have already been unleashed, and now you can’t call them off.”

  “Something like that.” Kune paced to and fro, thinking furiously while his sister continued to try on an assortment of jewelry. “Why did he go out to the hermitage? Why plan this visit just when this is about to happen?”

  “Maybe he went to warn them?”

  Kune stopped pacing and stared at her.

  “Maybe he learned of the attack somehow and went to the forest to let Shvate know.”

  “He took no soldiers with him, no weapons. Only a horse and enough food and water for the journey. I checked with the stables and the gatewatch. He can’t help them. Even a full company of soldiers couldn’t help them now. The dogs of war, as you put it, are just too many and they must be already converging as we speak. By tonight, at best tomorrow, they will be there, and any additional help Vida may want to muster will arrive too late.”

  “What was it you once said about Vida? He’s not a fighter, he’s an advisor? Maybe he hasn’t gone there to offer a military defense; maybe he’s gone just to warn them.”

  Kune frowned. “But how would that help?”

  “Once they knew they were going to be attacked, they could flee the jungle. Escape.”

  “Escape to where?” Kune shook his head. “And Shvate wouldn’t do that. He’s a warrior, and so is Mayla. They would stand and fight to the death rather than show their backs to an enemy.”

  “Even if they’re vastly outnumbered? Even if their children’s lives are at stake?”

  Kune wasn’t convinced. “Even if they tried to escape, there isn’t time. It will take Vida at least a full day and night to reach them. By that time, they will be surrounded. They can try running in any direction for a hundred miles, they won’t get away. This isn’t Riverdell, this is a very l
arge-scale attack. And it was planned by an expert at tactics and strategy.” He tapped his own shoulder to make the point clear.

  Geldry rolled her eyes. “Control your ego, brother. Very well, if Vida knows of the attack, then he must also know that he would arrive too late. So then why is he going?”

  Kune shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know. I can’t make sense of it. That’s why I came to you.”

  She took off the armful of gold bangles, dropping them carelessly into the box with a loud clatter. Several fell on the marble floor, rolling this way and that. “Well, I can’t make sense of it either. Let’s just wait and see. In another day or two, we’ll know. And whatever happens, it will be too late to stop the coronation.”

  Kune was chewing his nails as he paced some more. “I suppose so.”

  A maid called out from outside the door. “Princess Geldry!”

  Geldry frowned. “I left orders that I was not to be disturbed,” she said. “I will have that one whipped—”

  “Enter . . . Crown Prince Adri!” cried the sentries as the doors swung open.

  Adri

  When Geldry and he had shared this same chambers and bed, Adri had known the location of every item of furniture. After he moved into his own chambers, he knew Geldry must have rearranged everything to suit her own convenience. That was only natural. Now, after all that had passed between them, to walk into this chamber again felt strange, uncomfortable, distasteful. But it was he who had left and had cohabited with another, not Geldry, and so he accepted that it was he who should be the one to return and try to make amends.