The West Is Dying

by David C. Smith

  Elad poured himself more wine.

  Adred told him, “Sire, we have the advantage here because we can help these people. We can show them the way to accomplish what they desire. They are fearful. They should be fearful. We have every opportunity to do as we please, and we share nothing. They fear us, and that is why they’re angry. My fear is that we will see more blood, and then more, and then even more. The people are not attacking you; they’re attacking an inefficient bureaucracy, and our unfair economy, and a system that has lied to them. It’s not the people who have nothing who are rebelling, King Elad. They’ve never known otherwise. Why would they rebel? It’s the people who have had some, and were working to get more, and were building homes and building lives—and now we’re taking it away from them faster than they can earn it. I don’t mean just property or money, but opportunities, principles. The things we teach people. The small mercantilists and shopkeepers, the students, the young aristocrats—they want whatever there is, whatever we have—property, justice, the courts—they want these things to be made to work fairly. They were taught this as children, to be fair and lawful, and now they see men succeeding who are no more than criminals and liars and murderers. That’s why I’m sympathetic, King Elad, because if I’d come halfway as they have and worked that hard and then had it all taken away from me—I’d be angry, too. And that’s why Orain and Galvus are trying to help. Galvus has read Radulis.”

  Elad was surprised at the mention of that name; Dursoris had thought well of the progressive philosopher. The king told Adred, “I have tried to read him…with an open mind.”

  “He, too, was an aristocrat, sire. And he wanted to improve what he saw around him. What he wrote…it’s the foundation of the revolution.” He quoted, “‘When a house has grown so racked and weathered—’”

  “I know the words,” Elad told him impatiently.

  When a house has grown so racked and weathered that it no longer serves the purpose for which it was constructed, that house is torn down, and a new one, of better material and workmanship, is erected in its place.

  “He calls,” said Elad, “for the overthrow of the monarchy in his philosophy.”

  “He calls for an end to unjust rule—but it’s unjust because it places the few over the many. He doesn’t demand a revolution. He demands…equality. Brotherhood. Liberty.”

  “We didn’t build an empire based on equality and liberty, Count.”

  Adred reached into a pocket to take out one of the broadsheets he had brought with him from Sulos. Before opening it, he said, “And Radulis asks, ‘Is the effort it takes to build a thing the same as that needed to maintain it?’ Whatever’s required to build a business or start an enterprise or take a throne, is that the same thing that’s required to keep it?”

  He stopped suddenly, aware that he had overstepped his license to speak honestly and frankly to a man who, in all likelihood, had bloodstains on his hands from the manner in which he had…started an enterprise and taken a throne.

  “Sire, I’ve misspoken,” Adred apologized.

  Elad stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. “Have you?” he asked. “Have you said all that Orain and Galvus would have me hear?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “What is that in your hand, Count Adred?”

  “Words,” Adred told him. “This is what they distribute on the docks and in the streets.”

  “Tell me some of these words.”

  Adred cleared his throat and opened the broadsheet. “King Elad, if you could, for a moment, put yourself in the place of the lowest person in this empire, and consider what words like this must mean.” He read a number of paragraphs: “‘Work precedes principal. In trade, the one with money and markets has nothing until the one who works provides him with goods for his markets. Then all have something; all have shared in the effort, and all should share in the rewards. This is why the worker who holds material in his hands is superior to the manager who holds money in his hands, for the material is needed before the money can be put to use in the marketplace.… Those who gain at the expense of others tend toward self-righteousness and conservatism, and it is these intolerant people, more than any others, who are the enemies of the tolerant society that has permitted them to become intolerant.… To enslave a man while claiming to help him is to practice business; to hurt someone while claiming to aid him is to dispense justice. This is the society we have become.… To say that unrestrained business accomplishes good for society is to say that wolves kill and eat other animals for the good of those animals.… Competition is essentially self-destructive, for it destroys those qualities that, in a cooperative atmosphere, are meant to be enhanced—’”

  “Are you quite finished?” Elad interrupted.

  Adred looked at him.

  Elad rubbed his forehead. His attitude was that of a man wrestling with unforgiving pressures. “I am familiar with the philosophy, Count Adred. With all respect to you—and to the lowest person in my empire—if I were to recommend legislating these changes tomorrow, I would first have to institute legislation changing humanity’s basic nature. I know that most of my government is corrupt. I know about the bribes and the criminals. What do you expect people to do when they are put in situations of power and money? This is what power and money do to people, Count Adred, am I correct? Do you really think that these faults in human nature can be blamed on an economic system in which people raise capital to operate the businesses of the empire? This is what business is for. If the gods recreated humanity tomorrow morning, corruption would begin tomorrow afternoon.

  “Do you actually believe that those people out there want to take responsibility for their own actions? That they’re interested in anything bigger than themselves? You can’t mean it. If you do, then you and I must know entirely different kinds of human being. Count Adred, I am more aware than you, I think, of the dangerous situation our country is in. I know that half my people have no work and are starving. I fully comprehend this revolution that they say they are beginning. But next week or next month, when they’ve sobered up—when they have full bellies again—they’ll forget about their revolution. I appreciate your sympathy for them—I do, to an extent—but, my friend—realistically, we have some hungry, bored people in our country because of a temporary business setback. These things happen. Rabble-rousers are agitating them, and the rabble-rousers are in it solely for themselves, be sure of it. They don’t want a revolution; they don’t want a new system of business enterprise or fair economic distribution. The rabble-rousers want this system, but with themselves on top rather than on the bottom—and the people want food in their bellies. This so-called revolution is an exaggeration, and it is dangerous. And if it becomes too dangerous, Count Adred—” here King Elad leaned forward to emphasize what he said “—then we have an alternative method for curing hunger.”

  Adred took in a breath. “Sire, I’m not asking you to change human nature. All I’m asking is that we appeal to the best in our nature. I believe in the best that is in us. Those sorts of people…they helped this empire, too.”

  “I agree.”

  “Then how long will it be before they have jobs again and food in their bellies? Things cannot remain as they are.”

  “I concur. And they will not remain as they are. Everything is subject to change. Isn’t that what your philosopher also says? ‘Evo totis; toti evos. Change is all; all is change.’ We will improve our economy, Count, as soon as I can humanly manage it.”

  “King Elad…is this what you would say to Orain and Galvus?”

  “It is.”

  “They would tell you that this revolution is about more than full bellies. The people want dignity and fairness.”

  “Whatever they may want, Count Adred—they will take what we give them.”

  Adred said nothing. He looked at his wine goblet, looked around the room—

  He stood, then, and bowed. “I’ve spoken as honestly and frankly as I can, your crown.”
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  “I know that. I have permitted it.”

  Adred looked him in the eyes. “I am so afraid, King Elad…that there will be more blood.”

  “I will protect myself and my throne, Count. And the throne’s interests.”

  “And…the people?”

  “I will protect myself and my throne.”

  Adred nodded, bowed again, and went out.

  Elad listened until all was silence. He poured himself another goblet of wine, sipped it, looked at it—

  Wine as dark as blood—

  “Brother—live! Live! I did not want this! I do not want this throne!”

  —and he pushed the wine goblet away.

  * * * *

  Adred returned to his room, furious with himself. What had he done?

  He sulked, not lighting any of his oil lamps, and stared out the partially open windows. Fool! He’d ruined everything, ruined it all. Probably bought a prison term for himself, and certainly jeopardized everything Galvus and Orain believed in and had trusted him with. Dismayed, he poured himself wine and sat waiting for Elad’s guards to come and arrest him for inciting sedition and take him away.

  He was therefore not in the least startled when a knock sounded on his door just before eleven calls of the bell from the capital tower; and when he opened it, he was not at all surprised to find a Khamar standing on the threshold of his rented room.

  “From the crown,” this tall one in bronze and scarlet announced. “I’m to escort you.”

  “From King Elad, then?”

  “From Lord Abgarthis, sir.”

  Adred was puzzled, but he pulled on his heavy coat. As he and the Khamar made their way down the quiet stairs of the inn, he asked, “I am under arrest?”

  The palace guard regarded him uncertainly. “Not that I know of, sir.”

  Adred didn’t know what to make of that. He said nothing as he and the Khamar crossed the few blocks of snowy brick streets to the brightly lighted palace. Inside he was ushered upstairs to the second floor of the east wing, to Lord Abgarthis’s sitting room.

  The old man smiled at Adred’s perplexity. Handing him a cup of tea, he told Adred, “You should be very pleased with yourself.”

  “What for? Thank you. For getting myself arrested?”

  Abgarthis laughed. “You’re not under arrest! No, no. For your episode with Elad, you mean? No, Adred, no. He’s not going to have you arrested. He and I talked after you left. He doesn’t want me on his council, you understand, because I’m too honest. That, of course, means that I’m the only person he can trust late at night. Besides you, apparently. Your honest talk seems to have had an effect.”

  “I’m sure it—”

  “It’s done you some good, my friend.”

  “You must be joking!”

  “Not at all. You should be very pleased with yourself, as I say. I’m not so sure that he’s prepared to institute real business reforms, but he is concerned about his sister-in-law and his nephew. Tomorrow he’s going to lose his temper with council and order an investigation into the people’s demands for reform.”

  Adred set aside his tea, not heartened. “Abgarthis, he’s only stalling for time, isn’t he?”

  “Of course, but there’s more to it. Elad has learned to do two things at once when he seems to be concerned with only the one thing. The moment he proclaims his intention to consider any sort of reform, people will have to listen to him, and wait. The demonstrations will stop. A calmer attitude will prevail.”

  “Abgarthis, no, listen. If he does this, if he agrees to meet with some of the rebels, it’s exactly what happened in Sulos. He’ll draw them out, pretend to talk with them, and then what? Cut off more of their heads?”

  “You certainly think like a revolutionary!” Abgarthis laughed at him. “I believe he is sincere, Count. The one who’s burnt his hand understands fire better than the one who’s never been near a flame. He’s concerned about his family.”

  “They’ve burned his hand.”

  “Indeed. Elad cannot allow this situation to continue. There is too much else at stake. He’s already bribed the army; they’ll stay quiet for a while. Now he must—”

  “—bribe the people,” Adred finished for him.

  “Salute!” Abgarthis smiled, raising his tea cup in a gesture of praise. “You should become a politician.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’m too busy getting into trouble in plenty of other ways.”

  “Adred, our king in his soul is a decent man. He’s as stubborn as his father and far too much a victim of his whims, but he’s young. I believe that he truly is a good man trying to manage as best he can in this world.”

  “He’s not alone,” Adred commented. “But this isn’t about the people. This is about placating me so that I can go back with good news to tell Orain and Galvus and get their hopes up.”

  “But you do have good news to tell them.”

  “I suppose. Only…when I go back, I won’t be alone, will I?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning your spies will be right there with me.”

  Abgarthis shrugged. “I call them my agents. They help hold the empire together.”

  “You don’t trust me to be honest with Orain and Galvus.”

  “It’s not a matter of your honesty, my friend. They are family to the crown. We can’t let them get too far out of sight.”

  “Tell your agents to relax, Lord Abgarthis. The princess and her son are jumps ahead of them in this game.” Adred walked his fingers in the air in front of him, as though marching a wooden playing piece along an usto board.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Abgarthis admitted. “Here. Shall I depend upon you to be my agent, then, Count Adred?”

  “No. They trust me, and I would never betray their trust.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Only ensure their safety.”

  “They’re probably safer than I am, at this moment. But.…” Adred considered it and, within a moment, came to see the sense of it. He told Abgarthis that, yes, he would do it. “For their sake. And that’s the only reason. Do I swear an oath?”

  “Only to be a friend to them.”

  “Then it’s done.”

  “Oh, put a smile on!” Abgarthis ordered him. “You’ve gained a fair hearing for these precious rebels of yours. And no one’s going to try to hurt you, Adred. You’re a friend.”

  “Am I?”

  “You are, yes.”

  “So how long must my precious rebels wait for their fair hearing? A month? Will it drag on for years? People are hungry, Abgarthis. But of course, you know that.”

  “Count Adred, understand me…this is crucial. You have gained a hearing for the people of the empire. You’ve done well.” And then he said, “Months. Let’s give it a few months. We’ve lasted this long, which is something that, in itself, I find rather remarkable. You cannot overturn in a day what it’s taken decades to accomplish.”

  “Well,” Adred said, “everything finally reaches its point of diminishing returns. I suppose that’s as true of being king as it is of my playing a hand of cards. If I’m free, Lord Abgarthis, then I’ll be on my way north again.”

  “You and your travels,” the old man said to him. “You’re never in one place. You’re one of those heroes in the stories, always wandering and looking for a treasure or a princess.”

  Adred shrugged, feeling moody. “Maybe I am searching for treasures and princesses, Abgarthis. But I’ve never found any. Still, one day, I might surprise you.”

  Abgarthis grinned. “You have already surprised me, young man. I wish we had ten of you in this palace.”

  “But we wouldn’t stay,” Adred replied, grinning with tired mischief as he turned to cross the room. “We wouldn’t stay. We’d wander off.” He shook his head. “Good night, Abgarthis. Thank you very much. I mean it. Thank you.”

  “Not at all.”

  Adred glanced out a window; the shutters, partly open, showed a black night with whirling snow.
“Look at it out there,” he commented. “Terrible weather. Well—” half smiling “—when the revolution comes, we’ll fix the weather, too.”

  Abgarthis laughed loudly at the self-deprecation. “By the gods, I like you!”

  “I like myself, too, Abgarthis. Most of the time.” Adred yawned, waved lightly, and went out, quietly closing the door.

  Lord Abgarthis stood for a long time staring after him, staring at the closed door, and wondering about this provocative, intelligent, lonely young man.…

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The sword of war, the march of conquest, the yoke and the flames and the thunder, the coming thunder, of blood on the horizon, of evil against many to elevate the pride of one.

  Nutatharis had received in his court ten envoys from Ilbukar, sent with a message from Huagrim ko-Ghen, war chief of Salukads. The envoys presented to Nutatharis this plan: that as Huagrim ko-Ghen wished to take for himself the whole of the city of Erusabad in an act certain to be deemed one of war, and as Nutatharis (it was well known) was no friend of the Athadians and had his own designs upon the Low Provinces of the East, let there herenow and hereafter be a state of martial truce and even of alliance between the empire of Salukadia and the nation of Emaria.

  Nutatharis asked the ghen’s envoys if he understood this offer correctly: Did it mean that the two governments were allied, insofar as it was deemed advantageous by their kings, against the Athadian Empire? Did it mean that, should Nutatharis’s advance into the lowlands bring an Athadian military response, he might expect military assistance from Ilbukar? Did it mean that, should any such confrontation between the Athadians, the Emarians, and the Salukadians result in the despoilage of the Athadian Empire, that King Nutatharis and King Huagrim then would between them decide which territories would be apportioned to each ruler?

  The ambassadors from Ilbukar replied affirmatively to each of these questions.

  That evening Nutatharis met in council with his retainers and ministers and announced to them that, within the week, Emarian cavalry would begin an invasion of the Low Provinces.

  “And the wall?” Cyrodian asked him.