Torve had seen the captain two days previously, when he had first reported the results of his expedition to the Emperor, and was surprised at the change in the man. Not forty-eight hours ago Captain Duon had looked more scarecrow than human, wild hair and a shaggy beard disguising what, now he had shaved, were clearly patrician features. A man who had seemed uncouth now appeared urbane, cultured, worthy of the rewards the Emperor had granted him. Undoubtedly those rewards had already borne their first fruit: the hero now looked the part. Tall, smooth-skinned, golden-haired, with a wide mouth and full lips. Gasps of admiration and delight came from many of the women—and some of the men—of the court.
‘Ma great sor,’ the man said in a melodious voice after walking to the platform and performing his obeisance, ‘you requested a full accounting of my adventures. I have brought an inventory to aid in this task.’ He pulled a thick notebook from his breast pocket.
‘You misunderstand our purpose,’ the Emperor interrupted. ‘We will not require an inventory. We wish a different kind of accounting. This morning we seek to uncover truths which together may give the Amaqi the key to all the world’s riches.’
The Emperor was not given to overstatement, so an excited murmur of conversation filled the silence following these words. The court—and Torve, his intimate—were caught off balance, as nothing of the Emperor’s purpose in this matter had come to their attention, bribes, spies and confidences notwithstanding.
‘Bring the cosmographer,’ cried the herald, and Torve jerked his head around at the word. Again the double doors swung wide, this time to admit…
‘Lenares the Cosmographer,’ boomed the banner-bearer, ‘at the Emperor’s pleasure.’
In she walked, his opponent, clad in a beautiful white dress edged in purple as was the cosmographers’ gift, her pale hair exquisitely coiffured, swept back from her face: Lenares. Lenares! How had this been accomplished? What wiles had his master employed to get her to present so well? She had certainly not spent the night in the questioning room. She had been perfumed, rouge applied to her face, and she walked as though born to the court. The Emperor had organised this without consulting him.
She turned to Torve and oh, she smiled, and he was sure he was dreaming. And as she turned away and walked towards the throne he realised there were some attacks against which defiance was useless.
‘Lenares the Cosmographer at the Emperor’s pleasure,’ the man in shining armour said. Lenares recognised her cue to walk to the throne as she had been taught. Left, right, small steps, chin raised. Easy. They had explained it to her as a ritual, and she had grasped the concept. She had always loved order and ceremony. She saw the clever Omeran and smiled at him, wanting to greet him or wave but knowing that as part of the ritual she was not permitted to speak in this room until she was spoken to.
They had come for her not long after the Emperor and the Omeran left her and Mahudia alone. Six women took her from the cold room and brought her to a wonderful room of silks and mirrors. There they talked to her about what would be required of her. At first Lenares was angry, but gradually they had captured her interest. A bath, water laboriously borne by servants from the kitchens—she made them all leave the room when the time came to immerse herself in the steaming water—had been followed by sleep amongst scented pillows, then an early awakening. She didn’t mind. She’d never needed much sleep. The women spoke softly, respectfully to her: can we wash your hair? Can we make you beautiful? She said yes, as it was part of the ritual, and allowed them to touch her even though it was against her rules. So many new experiences, so much new information to take in. She watched them as they worked, listened as they chatted, absorbed it all with her single-minded concentration. She surprised them, as she knew she would, by how rapidly she learned to do what they wanted. She was special. Why should she not do better than they expected?
And if the looks she received from the crowd were anything to go by, she still did better than they expected. Lenares felt a thrill of pride. This was what she had thought would happen two days ago when the Emperor had disappointed her so badly. Now she exulted in the glory of it.
Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred paces. A good number to end on. She knelt, then lowered her forehead to the cool marble floor. She was not happy about this part, but she knew all eyes were on her even now, so she endured it. Counted to five, then climbed back to her knees and repeated the exercise twice more. Finally she raised her head, got to her feet and looked into the masked face of the man who had hurt her, who had said he didn’t believe her but who really did, who was using her as part of some complicated plan.
He nodded, a false thing, and welcomed her to the court. She turned and acknowledged the crowd, just as she had been instructed, adding a little twirl of her own before turning back to the Emperor. They admired her; she took note of the frank stares of the courtiers, and it affected her like strong wine to a child.
Torve stood eighty paces away from the throne, having as usual to strain to hear what was being said. Bored courtiers held their own discussions, and there were other noises arising from the assembly of a hundred people. He was accustomed to this, however, as his master insisted on reviewing the day’s proceedings every evening. As a consequence he had developed a sharp and comprehensive memory.
The Emperor introduced his two subjects to each other, then offered a précis of each to the court. Captain Taleth Duon he described as an adventurer from the Anaphil Alliance, a minor Alliance represented at court by an elderly matriarch and her grandson. The family was well respected but, because they were originally from Punta, a coastal city fifty leagues to fatherback, they were at a disadvantage in the Talamaq Palace. His master did not say this directly, of course, but it was there to be heard in his words.
‘Captain Duon has risen rapidly through the ranks by hard work and obedience.’ Not by the usual method of patronage or purchase of a commission. ‘He came to our attention as a result of his activities coordinating drought relief in Punta province, and gained promotion to captain after supervising the cleansing of the Third of Brick.’ Enthusiastic but poorly connected, doing the dirty work shunned by the aristocracy.
‘We rewarded him by granting him an explorer’s licence. He chose to travel fatherwards and brave the dangers of Nomansland; you will recall we sent him on his journey with much celebration four years ago last summer.’
Already his master was losing the court’s attention. Bored courtiers stifled yawns, picked at their nails with elegant knives or their noses with equally elegant fingers, and pretended to listen. The Emperor must have some plan. Given his expressed loathing for the cosmographer girl, and the minor status of the explorer, there must be something important ahead.
‘Our courageous explorer has returned! And as you are about to hear, he brings with him knowledge that may well make the fortunes of everyone in this room, and bring vast new lands under our control.’
Torve watched the court’s reaction to this carefully phrased statement. The less wealthy courtiers leaned forward, nails or nostrils forgotten, while the richest men frowned and scratched their beards as they considered the prospect of losing their privileged positions. The Emperor would be interested in these reactions. Clever, very clever.
‘Now, our dear Captain. We have some questions for you. Our fair cosmographer here will judge their worth, as will this court, so speak you true.’
Captain Duon nodded his head enthusiastically, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘I will, ma great sor.’
Torve pursed his lips. Don’t overdo it, Captain. This is a cynical court.
‘Very well. You passed through Nomansland without incident?’
‘Yes, ma great sor. We engaged an excellent guide from among the Nehra and as a result lost only three of our porters, which is accounted an excellent passage.’
‘And then?’
‘We were warned that unseasonal storms had made hazardous the coast road fatherwards, so we wintered in the
highlands of a country called Jasweyah. This allowed the sick and the weary among us to recover from the crossing of Nomansland, and gave me the opportunity to pick up a smattering of their tongue. In Jasweyah we first heard tales of the Undying Man, the ruler of Bhrudwo, the name they give to the fatherwards lands.’
The Emperor leaned forward, his lips parted. Torve sensed his excitement. ‘What tales, my Captain?’
‘Ma great sor, the inhabitants of Bhrudwo are diverse. Some are cultured and knowledgeable about civilised things, such that they may perhaps rival our more backward provinces. Others are uncouth mountain tribesmen or illiterate fishermen scrabbling for a living among bird-raddled seacliffs. Nevertheless, they all speak of their lord with fear and respect. He has turned Bhrudwo into a kingdom almost to be compared to Elamaq.’
‘And how long has it taken him?’
‘My lord, they say he has ruled this kingdom for two thousand years. Hence the epithet.’
Barks and titters of laughter drifted across the chamber.
‘Come now, man. Surely you mean his ancestors have ruled the kingdom for two millennia?’ The Emperor enjoyed scenes like this. He had already heard the report, but made a show of extracting the information. Why, though, is Lenares here? Torve wondered.
‘No, ma great sor. The people were adamant. The man who rules them now is the same man who ruled their fathers, grandfathers and so on back through time.’
‘It’s a trick, of course. A simple trick.’ An astonishingly deep voice rumbled through the chamber, right on cue. So predictable. The leader of the Grandaran Alliance, perhaps the richest man in the empire aside from the Emperor himself, clever and dynamic in his youth, but now a self-important man who could see little further than his belly. His Alliance had fallen apart around him in the last few years and he failed to mark it. ‘All disguises and misinformation, ma great sor. Why are y’ wasting our time with this nonsense?’
Ever-dependable Lord Tumille, a valuable if unwitting servant of the Emperor. Almost worth the trouble he caused. Torve smiled.
‘Do you not think that thought has occurred to the citizens of this Bhrudwo, Tumille?’ The Emperor spoke softly, with artistry, steering the court deftly towards some as-yet-unguessable conclusion. ‘Why would they believe this tale without evidence?’
‘Credulous and uncivilised, clearly, ma great sor,’ rumbled the reply. ‘What else can be expected from barbarians?’
The Emperor turned to Captain Duon. ‘Well?’
‘Ma great sor, we thought the same, but it was we who were considered barbarians for not knowing the story of the Undying Man. Time and again the story was told to us, and while there were regional differences the storytellers agreed on all important points. It seems that two thousand years ago a man challenged the gods and defeated them, forcing them to surrender the secret of immortality. Rather than sharing the knowledge with humanity, this man selfishly kept it to himself. The gods drove him away and he took the fatherwards lands as his own kingdom. From there he has waged war on the gods ever since.’
Lord Tumille laughed his heavy laugh. ‘Does everyone live happily ever after?’ His allies in the court laughed with him.
‘That was the story we were told, ma sor,’ the captain replied, his face impassive, though surely he must have been feeling uncertainty at this questioning. ‘From what I was told, the Undying Man is not happy, though he does live ever after. He has conducted two wars against his enemy—a land to the west that remains outside his control, in which live a people said to be favoured by the gods—and has lost both times, even though he is the strongest wizard in the fatherwards lands. The latter war was only seventy years ago, and the Undying Man was badly beaten, suffering severely. He has spent his time since then regaining his wizardly strength. This tale is spread all over the lands we visited, and has not been suppressed by the Undying Man or his agents. Everyone knows it. Yet his hold on the fatherwards lands is secure.’
‘Very well, but what matters this talk of wars and wizards to us?’ This from a pasty-faced young man with a thin beard standing beside Lord Tumille. An ally, a son perhaps, but new to the court. Torve had not seen him before. Vacuous, if his first public comment was typical of the man.
‘Perhaps it will help, ma sor, if I describe the fatherwards lands to you.’ Duon turned and raised an eyebrow to his Emperor, who nodded. Lenares stood nearby, her whole attention on the explorer, as though she sought to absorb his words through her flesh. Torve shuddered. How could one defy such a gaze?
The captain screwed his eyes shut. ‘I remember my first sight of the coast,’ he said, opening his eyes again and massaging his temple with long fingers. ‘We came over a ridge some time after dawn just as the mist cleared. Below us lay a patchwork of fields, some planted, some ploughed, some fallow, surrounded by tall trees, all glistening in golden sunlight. Such colours! A crystal stream flowed through the fields.’ He closed his eyes again and waved his hand in front of him as he spoke, shaping the folds and valleys, perhaps, or the rippling of the water. ‘The stream runs all year round, our guide told us. We didn’t believe him. He laughed and pointed to the ocean. The water was not bronze like our oceans, but cool and blue. As we watched, a squall swept across the water and up the coastal cliffs towards us. The guide grumbled, but we lifted our faces to the soft rain. Water, everything is water, the whole of the fatherwards lands is defined by it.’ He opened his eyes. ‘My lords, the land is rich beyond belief. While we suffer drought after drought and our children die, Bhrudwo offers mead and honey for us and for our children. And, my lords, there are few there to stop us taking it.’
‘Do you speak of trade or of conquest?’ Tumille got the question out just ahead of a dozen other lords.
The Emperor smiled at his court. ‘Does anyone here think there is a difference?’
Ah. Here was the plan, then. A campaign of conquest, the first of the reign. Destabilising the mounting opposition to his restrictive policies, undermining the positioning of the major factions, just as Torve and his master had often discussed.
The cleverer ones grasped it straightaway. Heads turned to neighbours, and for a moment the chamber was filled with whispered speculation. Torve diligently noted which courtiers appeared confused and which looked satisfied.
‘Are a few exotic luxuries really worth the attention of my court?’ The Emperor was being disingenuous, even the slowest among them knew it. The nuance seemed to have escaped Captain Duon, however.
‘Ma great sor, there are treasures beyond the telling in Bhrudwo!’ he said anxiously. ‘Permit me to read to the court from this list—’
‘We have already indicated that an inventory is not necessary. Be silent, Captain, or risk doing your cause further harm.’
Captain Duon’s face turned pale. He replaced the notebook he had been fingering inside his tailored jacket. He wanted to lead the next expedition, Torve guessed, and had just clumsily shown his hand to a number of powerful potential rivals. The next venture would be far better equipped, with the capacity to bring much wealth back to Talamaq. There would be many candidates for such a position.
Torve’s mind raced ahead. His master must already have decided: there would be another expedition, and Captain Duon would lead it. The Emperor could not risk giving such a prize to anyone in the court with true power.
‘Now, we invite our cosmographer to comment on the veracity of Captain Duon’s assessment.’ The Emperor turned to face Lenares.
The girl’s face coloured in response. Clearly she knew she was being asked a question, but just as clearly she did not understand it. Torve watched her. If the silence continues much longer, the Emperor may damage his own cause…
‘Is Captain Duon telling the truth?’ A few titters of laughter accompanied the Emperor’s clarification.
‘Everything he says is true, but none of it is accurate.’ Lenares snapped out the words. Clearly she knew she was being mocked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He bel
ieves what he says. He is not lying. But he has exaggerated some of what he says because he wants us to feel how strange things are in the fatherwards lands.’
‘Oh? Captain, is the cosmographer correct?’
Such a dilemma.
‘Ma great sor, I have tried to help you and the court understand the wonder of the fatherwards lands. If you had wanted only the bare facts, my inventory would have sufficed.’
Oh dear. A clever answer, but not a wise one. The Emperor would use his dark voice.
‘Captain, is the cosmographer correct?’
Torve felt his stomach flutter. His chest constricted as though some great weight had settled on it. So much of his life’s effort had gone into ensuring the dark voice was not used.
‘She is, ma great sor.’
‘Hah! Anyone who knows these explorer types could have guessed that.’ Tumille again, taking a risk by interjecting so soon after the Emperor had used the dark voice. ‘Stands to reason. The boy wants to tell a good story.’
Lenares lifted her chin and turned her blazing eyes on the lord. ‘Why are you still sleeping with your daughter?’ she asked.
A collective indrawn breath followed the words, then a dozen things happened at once. Torve found himself hard pressed to keep up. Lord Tumille roared an angry denial, and beside him his wife turned and slapped his red face, her own face pinched and white. To Tumille’s left a slim girl, new to the court, fell to the floor in a faint. The thin-bearded man bent to help her to her feet, then recoiled from her in obvious disgust. A babble of voices erupted across the chamber, ripples from the stone Lenares had thrown amongst them. The cacophony was completed by the sound of the Emperor laughing.
‘Ah, Lenares,’ he said as Tumille’s friends led the disgraced man out, arms under his slumped shoulders, while the slim girl lay on the mosaic floor unregarded. ‘I am convinced. You have a dangerous gift.’
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