Legend

by Robert J. Crane

  “Well,” Longwell said as the sound of the tower’s breaking faded, “that was dramatic. Just what I’ve come to expect from Lord Davidon.”

  Aisling stared in quiet awe. “You know, every once in a while, he even impresses me. This is definitely one of those times.”

  “All right, I’ll be the one to ask it,” Terian said. “Isabelle gives you advice on how to storm this realm, about what you’d be facing. How quickly did you come up with this plan? Was it instant? Did you even listen to her for two seconds before rejecting her ideas as—”

  “I listened,” Cyrus said, drawing Praelior with a smooth motion. “I listened for as long as it took me to realize there was a tower of ice, and that I didn’t give a good damn about getting to the top.” He looked sideways at the Sovereign of Saekaj and Sovar. “All I cared about was getting the top of the tower to me.”

  Terian’s grin of response was interrupted by the sound of block shifting and breaking at the top of the tower, fallen some hundred feet away. Something was moving in those depths, and Cyrus could hear it. He tapped his sword against his greaves twice as he listened to the movement in the ruin.

  “If I’m not much mistaken,” he said, “that’ll be Aurous. Probably absent all his followers, since I doubt they could survive that …” he pointed Praelior vaguely to the tower, “whatever you want to call it.”

  “Sanct-uary-ification,” Mendicant offered.

  “All hell?” Longwell asked.

  “Bad choices,” Zarnn said with a quiet rumble, reminiscent of Fortin.

  Cyrus thought it over for a moment as white fingers clawed their way free of the tower and a long, ivory arm encrusted with ice, followed. “I think I’ll call it … justice,” he decided. “They destroy our places of power …” He brought Praelior up as the ruin of the tower was peeled back a little at a time, and the God of Winter slowly began to emerge from the ruin of his home. “We destroy theirs.”

  32.

  Alaric

  I awoke feeling as though there were a nest of bees in my ears, flying around in my head, tickling the inside of my skull and buzzing to and fro. This time, when I opened my eyes, the room was bright, the torches burning high, and Chavoron was standing above me, waiting expectantly, hands once more folded behind his back, his long blue tunic falling to the floor.

  “How long have I been asleep this time?” I asked. Though he looked the same, my mind was so weary and clouded I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d said years.

  “About three months,” Chavoron said. “You are fully healed, and I wish you to take a walk with me.”

  I stirred in the bed, finding my legs feeling a little feeble as I moved them. “I … can try. But I’m not feeling my strongest.”

  “Well, then let us see that you regain your strength,” he said, and his fingers twinkled with light.

  I felt a rush of invigoration, my heart pounding and my weariness subsiding. I rolled my legs to the side of the bed and sat up, all sense of lightheadedness and buzzing gone. “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “There is a spell,” he said, with a shrug, “a simple enough incantation, one that gets the blood moving a little faster. Do you like it?”

  I dropped over the side of the bed and my bare feet met the cool, stone floor. “I like being out of bed.” I felt experimentally for my eye patch. It was still there, along with the darkness in that eye. “It’s been a few months.” I looked down at my body. I’d seen people who had ailed in beds for months before; they always had a terrible look to them, flesh pale as death, limbs emaciated from malnourishment, their muscles atrophied into nothingness.

  But not me. My skin was still tanned from my time in the sun on the march and in the camp yard. My muscles were still firm from my weeks of training with Rin. In fact, with the exception of my missing eye—which felt more or less fine—I seemed to be in the exact same shape I’d been in when I’d stepped into the Coliseum before the battle with the Butcher.

  “Follow me,” Chavoron said, strolling away, hands still clasped behind him. He had a manner about him like a calm, patient teacher. Not like the teachers I’d had, certainly. They’d all been fearful I would get them killed. Nor like Rin, either, who had had little in the way of patience.

  Chavoron was more like Jena, now that I thought about it. She’d exhibited a calm patience when she was teaching me, one that I’d found appealing and annoying at the same time. I had grown used to asserting my will over my instructors early in my time at Enrant Monge. No one wants to piss off a prince, after all.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, trailing behind Chavoron. For the first time I realized that my doublet and all my other clothes, the ones I’d been wearing since Enrant Monge, were gone. I was clad in a cream-white silken tunic not unlike the one Chavoron wore, and wore trousers made of a similar material. They were so smooth against my skin I didn’t even notice them until I got out of bed. The accumulated dirt and blood that had covered my fingernails and hands was gone as well, and my skin was free of scabs and bruises for the first time in months.

  “Outside,” Chavoron said simply, and I followed him past a few guards. He opened a door ahead and sunlight came flooding in.

  I squinted my one eye against it, following him out into the light of day. The city of Sennshann was sprawled before me in all its glory; I had apparently been close to the heart of it all this while, for I could see the tall buildings stretching up just across the street. My gaze followed them up into the sky, obstructing my view of what lay beyond. I turned around and found the building that I’d been in was one of the shorter on this block, with tunnel exits and entries at the corner of the streets. Carriages and wagons rolled up and down in a smooth flow. A crowd buzzed past me: blue men and women in fine clothing, human servants following in their wake with bowed heads

  I saw a man half my height following a green-clad woman. He had a scruffy beard that fell to below his waist, filthy and braided. She paused to say something to him and he nodded; I understood none of the exchange, but he hurried to keep up with her on his shorter legs.

  “What … is that?” I asked, watching him recede into the crowd, lost in an instant behind taller heads.

  “A dwarf,” Chavoron said, standing there waiting for me. He looked over the city with a sweeping view, as though he were taking it all in. “They come from the northern reaches, just south of the mountainous land bridge to your lands.”

  “The … what?”

  “Never mind,” Chavoron said, shaking his head. “Come along.” And with that, he turned to our right and started to cut through the crowd.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, following behind him. He was going against the flow, blue people streaming toward us. They nodded and acknowledged him, some saying a few words as he passed. I trailed behind him by about five feet as we made our way through the masses of people on this side of the street. I’d never quite seen anything like this, not even in the market towns. Not for the first time, I considered what war with the Protanians would look like. This city was enormous; if there were more streets like this, their population would have been enough to wipe us out on sheer numbers alone, even absent magical advantage.

  “There,” he said, raising a long blue finger to point at the tallest building, standing in the distance. It was the one with the round-shaped top, slightly taller than the other mammoth buildings around it.

  “What is that?” I asked, ambling along behind him, keeping pace.

  “That is where the ruling cabinet meet,” he said. “And live, in many cases.”

  I stared at him. “Is that where you live, then?”

  “It is,” he said with a nod. His white-grey hair was turning silver at the temples, I noticed. He had a strong profile, the sort my family tended to put on banners.

  A woman shouted something at him, and Chavoron stopped, looking over at her, arms still clasped behind his back as she came out of the crowd. I knew almost none of their language, but I could understand th
at she was angry. She shouted in his face, wagging a finger at him while he listened politely. She spoke almost at the top of her lungs; blue people passing by looked scandalized but they didn’t stop, streaming around the two of them as she proceeded to yell at him for a solid five minutes. Her face was a deep, deep navy, and she looked around him to shoot me a look of disgust before pointing at me and yelling still louder.

  I stood there, a little flushed myself, listening to her remonstrate him with all the fury she had. After another minute or two, she ran out of steam and seemed to settle, at which point Chavoron put a gentle hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly to her. As I watched, her cheeks lightened bit by bit, the fury spent and perhaps reason taking over again. She started to nod along with what he was saying, until finally she spoke again, much more conciliatory this time. I wondered what they could be talking about and how powerful this woman must be to accost the ruler of this empire on the street and gain his attention without him ordering her struck down. I looked behind me and saw three men in armor, Chavoron’s guards, waiting within a few steps of us. Chavoron could have had her killed at any time.

  With a look of obvious apology still blushing blue across her face, the woman walked on. I turned back around to find Chavoron standing there, watching my reaction. He beckoned me forward and I stepped into his shadow, a pace behind him as he proceeded through the crowd. “You have a question?” he asked, continuing on his path.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t catch her name,” he said. “Merely her complaint. I would have to guess she is from the seventh district originally, by her accent—that’s far south of here, in the tropical forests and swamps, just across the sea from your land.”

  “She … lives in the swamps, you think?”

  Chavoron smiled. “No. She’s from that area, originally. Probably Zanbellish, our city in the region. Now, I would think she lives in the northwest of Sennshann, close to the seaport.”

  I followed behind in awe. “But she must be powerful?”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you didn’t kill her for her insolence.”

  “Insolence is not a crime in the Protanian Empire, Alaric,” Chavoron said with a chuckle. “If it were, we wouldn’t have a single city, let alone an empire.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “She was a citizen,” Chavoron said, taking on the patient aura of teacher again. “A citizen with deep concerns about matters at hand. Matters relating to you, I assume you noticed.” He glanced back and I nodded. “She felt very passionate about the state of things, and she expressed that passion rather loudly. I listened. I understood her concerns; she’s afraid that her whole world will be turned upside down by this notion that humans can use magic.”

  I blinked furiously. “I …”

  “You’re struggling with this,” Chavoron said. “This concept of people being able to express their ire to their leaders. It’s not what you were raised with, this forbearance.”

  “My father was a patient man,” I said, running a smooth palm against my forehead. My palm had not been smooth since I’d left Enrant Monge; it had begun to callous after handling reins for a few days and had grown even rougher as I’d learned to fight in the Coliseum. “But even he would not likely tolerate a screaming peasant.”

  “This is the danger of power unchecked,” Chavoron said, nodding solemnly. “When you become so focused on your political goals and aims that you stop listening to those you govern, you risk losing all contact with reason.” He cleared his throat. “Some of my fellows, the ministers in my cabinet … they have fallen into this trap. They break along a center line, one side pushing for this progress as they view it, the other side trying to hold back the tide somewhat, to keep things the way they are. They shout at each other at the top of their lungs but don’t generally listen. They each mark a certain faction, and between the split of the extreme, yelling voices, stand the people, most of whom they don’t listen to, either. They’re very good at shouting, though.” He looked back at me and smiled.

  I listened and cocked my head, as though that would help me understand better this absolutely alien concept. “I don’t …” I rubbed my temple. I didn’t have a headache, but I couldn’t see how this worked for the life of me.

  “I know you don’t understand,” he said, still walking. “Listen, this is what you must know … our government is different than yours in that no man is invested with the power or right to rule over others like a god.” He looked back at me seriously. “No kings. No dictators. No governors of force—”

  “Except for over your slaves,” I said, regretting my words immediately.

  Chavoron looked pained. “Exactly,” he said. “You see the hypocrisy, then? We have fairness for those who are our citizens, but …” He gestured at me with one hand. “You, your brethren here …” He nodded to a woman slave passing by, her head low. She had the rough look of a Sylorean, big-boned and bred for the mountains. “Well. That’s part of the push for change as well, a push you’ve just given considerable strength to.” He smiled faintly.

  “Then … you’re in favor of freeing humans?” I asked, my head awhirl, unsure of why I was going to the tallest building in Sennshann, and what I’d be doing when I got there.

  “Of course,” Chavoron said, as though it were obvious. “Our empire has become reliant on slave labor, to the detriment of our individual initiative. The people have become coddled, afraid of the hard work that vaulted us to where we are. The consequences will become obvious soon enough, I expect.”

  Now I felt a headache growing, even as we got closer to the building that was our goal. “Why are you telling me all of this?” I asked, trailing in Chavoron’s wake. He did not look back as I asked.

  “You recall a moment ago I told you that my cabinet—my council—was divided into two factions that are busy screaming at each other and not listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have one segment that is dedicated to the idea of freeing all humans immediately, regardless of cost. They want it done, right now, today, with little regard for the fact that over half the people in the empire disagree with them. Never mind the fact that to do so would mean the immediate end of all order. It would also require us to utterly trample that majority in disagreement, break all our own laws as written … it would be difficult. A worthy aim, the collateral damage would be catastrophic. The empire would collapse, people would starve and die, and the ones who would do the most starving and dying would be the newly free slaves, unfortunately. I expect mobs would also have their way, stampeding through the streets, destroying in protest any—”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, rubbing my head. We were drawing closer to the building in question, only a few hundred feet away and approaching quickly. It loomed there above us, casting its shadow over the street.

  “Because I want you to understand something very important,” Chavoron said, stopping. “There is no act in this world, even the rightest of right acts, that comes without consequence or cost. Even the most absolute good—such as freeing an entire people—has consequences, often unforeseen. When you are pushing for that progress, people are often blind to this trade-off. This is right, they say, damn the cost! Because they are not the ones paying it, or they simply do not see it. It is all trade-offs, however, whether you see it or not, whether you care or not. Some of my people, they argue we are an unjust society, that we deserve to fall if we continue to enslave your people. I can see that argument, but I have a hard time agreeing with it because it would result in the death of more slaves, I expect.” He waved a hand at me. “I am sorry. I have a full head at present, and I am afraid I am emptying it into yours. Come along.” He started back toward the entry to the building.

  “My job is to steer the course,” he said, his voice taking on a slightly fiercer tone. “With half my cabinet against this idea, and half of it aggravated at me for not push
ing it through by force and fury right now. Here I stand, trying to convince the unconvinced, so that when we make this change, it does not mean murder in the streets.” He shrugged. “I suppose I am not only telling you this to unburden myself, but perhaps to seek some absolution for the fact I am not acting quickly, making my will the slashing sword against the chains of your people’s oppression.” He looked sideways at me as he beckoned me to cross the street behind him between a break in the ceaseless rows of carriages and wagons going past. I saw one with a barred slave pen in the back, men in tattered Luukessian garb looking out at the street with dull wonderment.

  I didn’t know how to react to Chavoron’s confession. My head was in a spin. He had enslaved my people, making them lower than the peasants who were the backbone of our working lands. There was no slavery in Luukessia, but there was as good as. Wealthy landowners, barons and earls, commonly entrapped peasants into their debt and forced them work for them all their days. It was just a part of the system. I’d heard those high lords laugh about it, the ease with which they could make the peasants their property, or one step above. It was merely a part of the world as I understood it, and as the prince of Luukessia, I didn’t give a damn as long as it kept the order.

  How was what was happening here with Chavoron any different? Save for apparently he wanted to find a way to loose these people—my people—from their bonds?

  But was that good? Walking across the street with him, I struggled to sift through the thoughts in my head. His people had built an empire more powerful than any I’d ever heard of. Stronger than my kingdom, and far stronger than that of any of the squabbling nobles my ancestors had united under the banner of House Garrick.

  Strength. That was the thing I most respected, especially after being dragged by force from my own land and made to see a different, more impressive one. Strength gave order; I was more convinced of that than ever, having been ground under its wheel for a time.