Sorrowing Vengeance

by David C. Smith

  The crowd whispered, and it breathed.

  “Executioner, the throne orders you to execute the prisoner.”

  Heavy bootsteps.

  Solok heard the sound of the axe-man’s clothes as the weapon was lifted. He swallowed thickly, his throat struggling against the coarse wood. He stared into the wooden box and closed his eyes.

  A roar exploded from the mob, loud and angry voices, followed by shrieks and more screams. Horses galloped. Men and women were yelling. People were pushing against themselves.

  Solok realized that something had gone wrong. He opened his eyes, started to move his head and heard someone on the platform say that—

  * * * *

  Rhia had gone alone to Oru Square; Adred had no desire to fight the crowds for the privilege of seeing men he respected beheaded. Rhia had taken care to rub black oil and kohol into her hair—she did this whenever she went out, for her own red hair was much too conspicuous—and she had dressed as she did whenever she went into the streets. She had a long skirt that she had slit up one side, baring her right leg to the thigh; this provided her quick access to the dagger that she kept belted to that leg. She wore a cotton tunic and a leather vest, and over this her heavy coat. If anyone should surprise her or threaten her, Rhia could jump aside—the coat would fly open—and she could have her hand on that dagger within a heartbeat.

  Adred had dressed and was sitting at a table by the window. He had lit only one lamp, and this was before him. He had gone without any breakfast or lunch (he was too nervous to eat), but he was sipping a cup of hot tea and reading revolutionary tracts that they typically kept out of sight, hidden under a rug.

  He was surprised when Rhia came through the door only shortly after she had gone. The hood of her coat was hardly touched by the wet snow. “What is it?” He pushed the papers aside, stood up, and went to her.

  She was trembling, and not from the cold. Adred helped her remove her coat.

  “Rhia?”

  “They—they’ve executed Solok. But the rest of them—they had to take them back to the prison. There were more of them, Adred! I didn’t even get to the square! People were running down the streets everywhere! We tried to stop the executions!”

  “Suloskai?”

  “Yes!” Fire lit her eyes as Rhia bared her teeth in a smile. “They were too late to save Solok. But, Adred, they ran right into the square with weapons! Some of them had horses! One of them almost killed Uthis with an arrow! He was up on the balcony and the arrow flew right past him! It almost got him in the heart!”

  Adred moved away from her and sat on the bed. “Do you know what this means?”

  “Yes, yes! Yes!” Rhia answered. “We’re fighting back, Adred! We’re fighting back!”

  “We’re not organized well enough to fight back,” he told her. “We’re fighting back, Rhia, but— It’ll mean another Sulos. That’s all it will mean.”

  “Not this time, Adred! Not now!” She walked jauntily to the fireplace, lifted the small kettle of tea from the hot brick shelf, and poured herself a cupful. “We’re going to win! The harder they push us—the more they fight us…the harder we fight back!”

  He shook his head wearily; convinced, he promised her in a dull voice, “We can’t reduce it to this level, Rhia. We can’t. It’s got to be more than this. We’ve got to become organized, and not just have the streets…run with blood.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  And still more royal blood. Sotos, the court physician, was becoming disgusted at having his bandages habitually stained with the royal red. He undid the last of the wrappings and yanked the linen a little where it clung to the stitches in Elad’s side.

  The king grunted, watching him.

  Sotos dropped the bandage into a box and asked his young pupil to come ahead with the water bowl. He ordered a woman servant hovering over Elad on the other side of the bed, “Move that light nearer. The oil lamp! Let’s see what we have here.”

  Elad made a face and winced as the physician’s long fingers poked and pulled around the wound.

  “You’re very fortunate,” the old man remarked. He had said it every time he checked Elad’s condition and redressed his wounds, three times a day for the past three weeks. “Very fortunate. Amu, bring the bowl here.”

  The young fellow leaned close; Sotos dipped a fresh cloth into the warm water, then dabbed along Elad’s side to clean away seeping blood.

  “You’re going to feel this for a long time,” Sotos warned his king. “Don’t plan on any horseback riding until the middle of spring, at least.”

  “Spring!”

  “You heard me. And that means the queen, too. Yes! You’ve got to give these muscles time to repair. Your other two wounds will heal quickly. Flesh cuts. But this.… You’re lucky he didn’t get you in the heart or lung. Just missed your right lung as it is. He knew what he was doing.”

  “Did he?”

  “Speaking from a medical perspective, of course,” Sotos replied dryly. “All right.” He motioned to Amu. “Put some salve on this and let’s see what you’ve learned about wrapping. Get started.” The physician stepped away and threw his hands behind his back. “Did you walk some this afternoon, your crown?”

  “Yes.”

  “From the looks of that wound, you were trying to race ten laps around the arena! Listen to me! If you’d just stayed in this bed this week and rested, you’d be walking now! The more strain you put on this, getting up and pacing back and forth and throwing things around— I know all about your temper tantrums! The more strain you put on this, the longer it’s going to take to mend. You stay in this bed for two complete days. When you get up to urinate, walk slowly and lean on a servant. You understand me? The more strain you put on—”

  “—the longer it’ll take to mend, yes, yes, yes! Tell Amu here not to wrap it so tightly. Tell him that kings have to breathe in and out like everyone else.”

  Sotos frowned a smile and nodded to his pupil to be more considerate. When Amu was done, he helped Elad lean forward while Sotos and the woman servant rearranged the cushions behind the king’s shoulders and head.

  “All right, now, lie back. That’s it.”

  “Are you about done?”

  “For the time being. As long as you listen to your doctor. Your crown.…”

  Amu packed up Sotos’s instruments and closed the box full of used bandages. Elad ordered the servant woman to bring him a fresh decanter of wine. She carried out the old tray as she left.

  “Is Abgarthis waiting outside?” Elad asked Sotos.

  “Yes. Shall I ask him to step in?”

  “Please.”

  “The…imbur is waiting to see you, as well.”

  Elad mouthed an obscenity. “Ogodis can sit out there all night.”

  Sotos waved Amu on and followed him to the chamber door.

  “Thank you, Sotos,” Elad called to him from across the room.

  “Certainly, certainly.”

  They went out, and within a moment, a Khamar reopened the door to admit Lord Abgarthis. The old adviser waited until the guard had closed the heavy door before pulling up a chair to Elad’s wide bed. The servant woman returned with wine and goblets; she poured a cup for the king, but Abgarthis declined. Once she, too, had exited:

  “What news of the day?” Elad asked.

  Abgarthis informed him, “Council spent the afternoon yelling at one another. Some of them want to make war upon the Salukadians; others want to make war on the rebels in the empire. This discussion, such as it was, will continue to be pursued tomor­row. They intend to have some measures ready to present you when you are well enough to take the dais again.”

  Elad grunted noncommittally and sipped his wine.

  “There was a mild protest at the temple today. Some of the priests, congregants…a few aristocrats. They deplore your decision to give Erusabad to the easterners—”

  “I didn’t give Erusabad to anyone!”

  “—and they are upset about the desecra
tion of the temple there.”

  Elad frowned. “I’m upset about that, too. I had no idea the ghen intended to do it. I suppose he’s still in agreement about the pilgrimage rights? As if there’s anything now for pilgrims to visit.”

  Abgarthis answered him, “Well, the Salukadians claim to have relocated the priests and their possessions and artifacts.”

  “And Lord Thomo?”

  “A rider came today with a dispatch sent from Hilum; Thomo’s flagship was taking on fresh water and supplies there ten nights ago. Nothing untoward has occurred.”

  “And no word from Nutatharis?”

  His minister grinned sadly. “The king of Emaria seems deaf to your inquiries—or at least unable to read Athadian.”

  “He is protecting Cyrodian. The fool. He’s got a viper in his nest.” Elad set aside his wine and rubbed his forehead with stiff fingers. “No word of Orain? Galvus?”

  Abgarthis shook his head. “We will hear from them, I’m sure. I don’t think they are in any danger. I don’t seem to sense their being in any danger. Is that odd?”

  “No. I feel the same thing. What else, Abgarthis?”

  “The customary tributes and sentiments for you to get well from everyone in the empire. From the sound of them, you would think that all of Athadia is holding its breath until you make an official appearance well and whole.” The adviser did not mean this to sound cynical, only honest.

  “Yes, well, I hardly think that all of Athadia—” He caught Abgarthis’s expression. “There is something else?”

  “Rather grave news.”

  “What has happened?” But immediately, before Abgarthis could answer: “More revolutionary trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where? Not here in the capital?”

  “In Bessara.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “You remember the reports that Uthis was sending you a few weeks ago—before the wedding—about the surveillance he was keeping on certain suspect individuals in the city? Yes. He unleashed his troops upon a demonstration shortly before your marriage. Many of the rebels were wounded, and a number of them sought shelter in the house of a certain Lord Solok. A rebel sympathizer—and a member of one of the oldest families in the empire.”

  Elad nodded. “Continue.”

  “The patrol surrounded the house, and there was violence as they proceeded to make arrests. Solok himself allegedly killed a young lieutenant; he and approximately thirty others were ordered executed. The executions were to take place three days ago. Lord Solok was indeed beheaded, but before the others could be brought to the block, more rebels—these Suloskai, they’re calling themselves—”

  Elad winced.

  “—rode into the square where the executions were being held and attacked Uthis’s soldiers. Tried to assassinate him, as well. Some of the people were hurt, more rebels died, but Uthis lost a good number of soldiers. He made a great deal more arrests.” Abgarthis paused; his king said nothing, and so the adviser continued: “They are learning, these rebels. Bessara has become the center of their activity, and they appear to be growing bolder.”

  Still Elad remained silent. He sipped a few swallows of wine, drained the goblet, and handed it to Abgarthis. “Please, if you would.…”

  The minister refilled the cup and handed it back.

  “I thought,” he told King Elad, “that I had better alert you to this before some of your members of Council brought it to your attention.”

  Elad grunted and laid his head back on his pillow.

  Abgarthis leaned forward. “Are you all right?”

  “Do you know what it is, Abgarthis, to be given the opportunity to truly look at things from a new perspective?”

  His adviser seemed puzzled by this comment. “I’m not certain I understand.”

  “I have been lying here for three weeks. Hour upon hour goes by, and no one interrupts me. After the first day, I became bored and extremely restless; once I knew I would live, there was nothing to do unless I could leave this bed. I didn’t feel like reading—and especially not this nonsense that Council litters their chamber with every day. I drank tea to help me sleep, then woke up to flood it out. Salia came in—perhaps twice a day—but we’re yet strangers to one another. It’s humorous, really. Here we are, man and wife, king and queen, and the first blood to happen upon our sheets isn’t virgin’s blood, is it? And all of this blood makes me think. So I have lain here, I have stared at these high walls, my mind and imagination have wan­dered…and I have had nightmares, Abgarthis. Sometimes I feel as if I’m suffocating; other times, in my dreams, I am free of this palace, I am out in the woods somewhere.…”

  He stopped and looked at Abgarthis. The old man was attentive.

  “Yes. So. Last night, I was especially restless. I was having more bad dreams, and Salia was sleeping in the other room back there. The palace was all sleeping, yet I needed to talk to someone.”

  “You should have sent a servant to me. I would have come.”

  “I know you would have. But I sent one of the guards over to the south wing and had him rouse Sianus. You know him.”

  The Chief of the Royal Library. Abgarthis was interested. “You wished to speak with him?”

  “He, more than anyone in this empire, is most familiar with our history, our culture—you would agree.”

  “Yes, it’s true.” Abgarthis was most intrigued by this reflective change of attitude in his young king.

  “Well, it took him a while—he’s as old as the mountains, you know, and it was the middle of the night—but dutifully he came and sat here—right where you’re sitting. I had some more tea brought in, and some bread and cheese, and we talked. We talked until dawn, Abgarthis.” Elad showed him a gratified expression and eyes unclouded by pain, worry, or bitterness. “We talked of—the empire. The men who have ruled it, the families who have controlled it. Sianus can recite from memory some of the oldest documents of our history, did you know that? And he can sing some of these songs that are five hundred—seven hundred—years old, in their proper dialect. I’d ask him a question about some of the most obscure things, and he would answer me! All the battles, the scholars and leaders, the expansions, the laws.… We talked of the days of the villages, Abgarthis, when this city was nothing more than a series of huts, and the whole landscape was filled with thousands of villages and towns. Long before there was any real business, long before any bureaucracy or banks, before…kings wandered these halls looking for things to do.” He smiled. “Long before we had all of these aristocrats causing trouble, and rebels, and more people in our cities than we know what to do with.”

  Abgarthis remained silent.

  “And I began to wonder, to actually question, why I am king. Not that I shouldn’t be; not that we shouldn’t have a king, no matter what these rebels think. But…I believe I have had an attack of conscience. The gods test me, Abgarthis; and they test me to test the empire, they test our history, they test every great person and every small person who calls himself an Athadian. And I have failed the gods, haven’t I? Who was the man who slew the Oracle at Mount Teplis? Who was the man who did that? Was it me? That is an impossible crime! You have never upbraided me for it, Abgarthis. Why? Tell me—why?”

  Abgarthis paled. “Do you truly wish to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will think it a ridiculous answer.”

  “Tell me, please.”

  “I assumed it to have been the result of some accident; but when I learned the truth, I had to resolve your action by believing that it must somehow have been necessary for you to have killed her. For you to murder that woman must portend something immense. I had always hoped that…Cyrodian actually did the deed.”

  “He did not; I slew her. And that act has haunted me. Her words have haunted me. I deserve my nightmares and my fears. But as I lay here, thinking about that, it occurred to me that as our empire has passed from barbarism into sophistication—enlightenment—I, too, have passe
d from barbar­ism to enlightenment. I have killed; I have taken life. I ordered the execution of hundreds of my citizens last year because they broke the law in profound ways. Yet…people are murdered every day, and nearly every man who has ruled this nation has been at least indirectly a murderer, as well. Some in war, some in contests, some—by accident. But I am no longer that man who murdered the Oracle. And if I am not the sort of man who can do that, but have actually done it, then what of that man who tried to assassinate me?” He faced Abgarthis boldly, with pride in his eyes.

  “Yes?” his minister urged him.

  “Is it not possible that he was slaying his own Oracle?”

  Abgarthis smiled strangely. “Enlightenment, indeed.”

  “I am a good man,” Elad declared, defending himself. “Good men can be the cause of evil—I realize that now. I have been confused, caught in webs. It occurred to me—as I questioned why I am king— Our empire has existed for so long, we are so large, we are many lands in one. And here lies one man in command of all of it. In command of this empire! Doesn’t that strike you as profound?”

  Abgarthis nodded. “Yes. You are king of the world.”

  “These businesses…this council of aristocrats and mer­chants— Do you know what Count Adred told me, the night he and I had that long talk? He’s a revolutionary, you know. Did you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s joined them. The more I considered that, the more it alarmed me—and made me wonder. I promised him that I would look into the matter of reforms. But he told me that Orain and Galvus believe in this revolution, as well. What can it be, this revolution, if such people are attracted to it? Do you know what he told me that night? He told me that he believed in the best that is in us. It sounds so simple, almost…ineffectual. But it isn’t, Abgarthis. Can you imagine the strength in that, the courage? Look at us! Look at the world! Our world is a dismal, bloody, screaming place; it is clogged, it is tired, it is always angry. We grasp and steal, we rape and plunder, we—kill one another. And here is Count Adred, as harmed in his own way as a man can ever be, and still he persists in believing in the best that is in us.