The Unwilling Warlord (25 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Chancellor’s Guard came in handy on occasion; it had saved Sterren a good deal of trouble to simply tell Alder, “Take as many men as you need, but I want Lady Kalira of Semma here in an hour.”

Then all he had to do was sit in his chosen room, a small study on the second floor of Semma Castle, and wait, and an hour later, Lady Kalira glared at him across the table.

“I’m here,” she said without preamble. “What do you want?”

Sterren noted, with hope and admiration, that she did not call him a traitor or otherwise insult him.

“Your help,” he said.

Her angry glare softened to curiosity. “What sort of help?” she demanded warily.

“In running the empire.”

“Empire!” She snorted.

Sterren shrugged, using both the Ethsharitic shoulder-bob and the Semman gesture of spread fingers and a down­turned palm. “Call it what you like,” he said. “Like it or not, the warlock has united several kingdoms now, I can’t say how many since he’s in the process of adding at least one more even as we speak, and I think I can call it an empire.” He had had plenty of time to improve his Semmat in recent months, and spoke it easily now. “I didn’t come here to argue about names,” he concluded.

“Maybe I did, though,” Lady Kalira retorted.

“I hope not,” Sterren said.

For a moment neither spoke. Then Lady Kalira said, “All right, what’s your offer?”

“You know Vond named me chancellor,” Sterren said.

“Whatever that means,” she answered, nodding.

“He’s just decided that it means I’m to take care of all the administrative details that he doesn’t want to bother with,” Sterren explained.

Lady Kalira considered this, and then smiled. “And I suppose,” she said, “that you intend to palm the job off on me.”

“Not exactly,” Sterren said, “but I admit you’re close. I want you to tell me who I should pass it on to.”

“Should?”

“Yes, should. Who could do the best job of it, and who would do the best job of it. I know I’d botch it.”

“You do?” She eyed him carefully.

He nodded.

“I think you’ll need to tell me a little more of what you had in mind,” she said.

“What I had in mind,” Sterren told her, “is an Imperial Council, a group of the best administrators we can find, who would actually run the empire. Vond isn’t particularly interested in doing that, and neither am I. Besides, Vond isn’t going to be around for all that long, and I don’t suppose I’ll be very welcome once he’s gone. A group of well-respected natives would be able to keep things going smoothly, regardless of what Vond and I do.”

“Why isn’t he going to be around very long?” Lady Kalira asked, staring at him.

“I can’t tell you that,” Sterren replied uncomfortably.

“You said the same thing months ago, and he’s still here,” she pointed out.

Sterren shrugged again. “So far, yes,” he said.

“And you still say he won’t be for long?”

“He can’t be,” Sterren insisted.

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Sterren said again.

Lady Kalira considered this, and then asked, “Can you tell me how long he’ll be around?”

“No. Maybe a month, maybe a year or two. I don’t think he can possibly last five years.”

“Did you hire an assassin, or something?” she asked curiously. “The cult of Demerchan, perhaps?”

“No,” Sterren said. “Why would I do something stupid like that? He isn’t doing me any harm. In fact, he isn’t doing much of anybody else any harm, either. Look at the peasants out there — they’re doing just fine! Nobody’s complaining except the deposed nobles, and even you aren’t really suffering much! And here I am, on top of it all, offering you a chance to get back into running the government!”

Lady Kalira studied him closely, and then shook her head. “I don’t understand you, Sterren,” she said. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“I don’t care if you understand me or not; I just want your help in putting together this council. I thought seven members would be about right — no ties in the voting that way. And I don’t want it to be hereditary, exactly, since we can’t afford to have any infants or incompetents on it, but perhaps members could have the right to appoint their heirs. I don’t want any of the deposed kings on it, either — it wouldn’t look right unless we included all of them, and I hope that you, as a Semman, will see why I don’t want that.”

Lady Kalira smiled involuntarily at this reference to her former sovereign. Sterren took this as encouragement.

“I suppose princes or princesses might be all right, but I’ll leave that up to you,” he continued. “I don’t know much about any of the people around here; I never really got to know most of them. I’d like you to choose the people you think I really need to have, to start. You’re welcome to take a seat on the Council yourself, if you like, and I thought maybe the steward, Algarven, would be a good choice, but I’ll defer to your judgement.” He hesitated, and then said, “I think we probably don’t want all seven to be Semman, and in fact, I think a good mix of nationalities would be wise, but on the other hand, Semma is the capital province, so at least one or two . . . what do you think?”

“I think,” Lady Kalira said slowly, “that I need to know more about the duties of this proposed council.”

Sterren smiled, and said, “What would you suggest? Vond has claimed building and conquest for himself, and left everything else to me. I prefer to leave it to a council. What would you recommend?”

“You’re really serious about this?”

“Oh, yes.”

She sighed.

By the time Vond returned from the successful subjugation of Hluroth they had selected four of the seven councillors, and were discussing meeting schedules.

Chapter Thirty-Five

It was the ninth of Harvest, in the Year of Human Speech 5221. The Empire of Vond extended from the deserts in the east to the ocean in the west, and from the edge of the World in the south to the borders of Lumeth of the Towers in the north.

Vond had turned back before attacking Lumeth, and had returned to his citadel trembling.

“I heard the whisper there, even over the power I draw on,” he told Sterren. “I’d forgotten what it was like. Foul, dark muttering in my mind — awful!” He took a deep breath, then released it slowly.

“I almost think I can still hear it,” he said, “but I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.”

Sterren hesitated, then said nothing.

“Well,” Vond went on, “I know where my limits are now, at any rate. I don’t dare ever venture past the borders of Lumeth or Kalithon or Shassalla, but here to the south of them, I’m all-powerful.”

Sterren did not argue with Vond’s claim. “It’s too bad,” he remarked instead. “I was curious about what would happen if you got really close to the towers themselves. Aren’t they the source of your power?”

Vond nodded. “I was curious, too, but I won’t risk finding out. It’s too bad; I’d have preferred to have control over the towers.”

That had been sixnights before, early in the month of Longdays, and that unexpected defeat had been followed by more than half a dozen quick victories over the tiny port nations of the South Coast west of Akalla, victories that had extended Vond’s empire as far as it could safely go. Now, on the ninth of Harvest, Sterren stood on a balcony and looked out across the countryside.

The land was a rich green from horizon to horizon, punctuated only by roads and buildings and the bright colors of flowers; thanks to Vond’s control of the weather and reworking of the soil there were no barren spots, nowhere that the earth failed to yield generously.

Straight, smooth roads paved with stone stretched out from the plaza below the citadel, leading directly to each of the towns and castles of the empire.

The village that surrounded Semma Castle still stood, but was equalled in size and far outdone in splendor by the town growing up around Vond’s palace, a town built of white and gold marble, roofed in red tile. Small fountains babbled in each corner of the plaza and at several intersections, providing drinking water for anyone who wanted it, and a much larger ornamental fountain sprayed upward at the center of the plaza. Smoke and intriguing odors rose from a dozen forges and ovens.

The two villages were growing toward each other across the intervening valley, and it seemed likely that in time they would merge into a single entity.

In time, Sterren thought, this might become a real city.

Semma Castle itself still stood, but its population had dropped drastically. Over the months, as the royal treasury and the castle stores gave out, the nobility had drifted away, fleeing the Empire or, in a few cases, finding honest work. The royal family itself was still sticking it out, but most of the others had left.

The same thing, Sterren knew, had happened in all the former capitals, the castles and strongholds that had once ruled Ophkar, Ksinallion, Skaia, Thanoria, Enmurinon, Hlu­roth, Akalla of the Diamond, Zhulura, Ghelua, An­suon, Furnara, Kalshar, Quonshar, Dherimin, Karminora, Alboa, and Hend.

So far, Vond had definitely been good for the Small Kingdoms. He had dispossessed a few hundred nobles, but he had enriched thousands of peasants. He had killed a few dozen people in his conquests, but he had probably saved at least as many from starvation.

And he was doomed.

Sterren still found it hard to believe that Vond did not realize he was doomed. It was really fairly obvious. After all, all warlocks were doomed. Just finding a new power source would not change that. Sterren thought Vond had had enough hints when he established the northern borders of his empire, but still the warlock did not see it.

It was not just that he was unwilling to admit it, either. If that were it, he would have cut back on his use of magic, and he hadn’t. He continued to lay roads, erect buildings, manipulate the weather, and at times to light the night sky in sheer celebration of his might.

Sterren had refrained from commenting, but after all these months, he was finally convinced that Vond deserved better. He deserved a warning, at the very least — a warning only Sterren could provide.

And, Sterren promised himself, he would deliver that warning.

The only catch was to figure out how to convince Vond that he, Sterren, had only recognized the danger now. If Vond knew that Sterren had withheld his certainty for so long he was likely to be very annoyed indeed.

Sterren did not care to have Vond annoyed with him.

He was puzzling out an approach when someone be­hind him cleared a throat.

He turned, and found a palace servant, a man named Ildirin who had once been a butcher’s assistant in Ksin­al­lion, standing in the balcony door.

“Your pardon, my lord chancellor,” he said apologetically, “but the Emperor is meeting with the Council and desires your presence.”

“Now?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ildirin replied.

Sterren knew better than to argue or hesitate; Vond hated to be kept waiting. “Where?” he asked.

“In the council chamber.”

Sterren nodded, stepped past Ildirin into the palace, and headed for the stairs.

Ildirin followed at a respectful distance.

The council chamber had not been designed as such; after all, when Vond built his palace he had no idea that an Imperial Council would ever exist. He had intended the room to be an informal audience chamber, where he could meet with his cronies without the full pomp of the main audience hall, but still on a business basis rather than in his personal apartments.

Save for Sterren, however, who was usually welcome even in Vond’s private quarters, the warlock had no cronies. He had a council, instead, and so the informal audience chamber had become the council chamber.

The councillors could hardly be considered cronies; none of the seven liked Vond or particularly wanted to see him remain in power. All seven, however, were willing to recognize that the Empire of Vond was a reality, and that it needed governing, and all seven were very good at govern­ing.

Ordinarily, the Council went about its business, and Vond went about his business, and the two had as little to do with each other as possible, communicating with each other only through Sterren. For Vond to meet with the entire Council was unheard of.

Sterren hurried down the stairs, the wide sleeves of his velvet tunic flapping at his sides, and marched across the broad hallway at the bottom. The great red doors at the inner end of the hallway led into the audience chamber; the black doors at the outer end led out to the plaza. He ignored them both, and headed directly for the small rosewood door that nestled unobtrusively in one corner.

His hand on the latch, he hesitated. He rapped lightly, then opened the door and walked in.

The seven councillors were seated at the table where they carried out most of their deliberations, three to a side. Their chairwoman, Lady Kalira, usually sat at the head of the table; today she was at the foot, and the Great Vond floated cross-legged at the head. He was only slightly higher than if he had been using a chair; his knees were below the polished wood of the table-top.

“Ah, there you are!” Vond said when he saw Sterren step into the room.

“Here I am,” Sterren agreed. “What’s happening?” He looked about for somewhere to sit, or even somewhere better to stand, and spotted an unused chair. He turned it to face the warlock emperor, and asked, “May I sit?”

Vond waved permission. As he did, he caught sight of Ildirin peering in the doorway.

“I see you found him,” the warlock said. “Now go see if you can find us something appropriate to drink; I ex­pect we’ll be doing a lot of talking, and talking is thirsty work.”

Ildirin bowed and vanished, closing the door behind him.

“Now,” Vond said, “I suppose you all want to know why we’re here, so I’ll get right to the point, which is that am I not at all sure I like this ‘Imperial Council’ of yours.”

Sterren did not like the sound of that, and decided that perhaps Vond was not in a mood to hear bad news today.

He wondered whether he could somehow convey an anonymous message to the warlock.

The councillors glanced at one another, and some at Sterren, but after a second or two all eyes came to rest on Lady Kalira.

She accepted her silent appointment as spokeswoman, and rose.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” she said in her accented Eth­sharitic, “we serve at your pleasure. If you wish us to stop, we will stop, we will be glad to stop.”

Two or three heads bobbed in agreement; nobody indicated by even the slightest gesture or sound that he might think otherwise.

“Don’t be so quick to resign, either,” Vond snapped. “I know I need somebody to run things; I’m just not sure I want you, and I’m not sure you’ve been running things the way I want them run.”

“We serve at your Imperial Majesty’s pleasure,” Lady Kalira repeated, bowing her head.

Her Ethsharitic had improved greatly over the past several months, Sterren noticed. Recognizing that it was the new language of government had driven her to study it far more seriously than mere curiosity had before.

“That’s what you say here,” Vond said, “but I hear otherwise elsewhere. I hear whispers that you’re plotting to overthrow me, to restore the old monarchies. After all, you’re all aristocrats yourselves; why should you accept a commoner like me as your emperor?”

Lady Kalira started to say something, but Vond held up his hand to stop her.

Sterren wondered suddenly just what sort of whispers Vond had actually been hearing. Was it whispered rumors that had upset him, or was there another sort of whisper entirely that was getting on his nerves?

Then he forgot about that, as Vond turned and ad­dressed him directly.

“So, my lord chancellor, why is it you chose only the old nobility for your council?”

The question itself was easy to answer, so easy that Sterren wondered what Vond was really after.

“Because, your Majesty,” Sterren said, “no one else in your empire has had any training or experience in governing.”

“And you did not see fit to train them?”

“No, your Majesty, I didn’t; I was trying to set up something to handle governing now, not at some indefinite future time. Besides, I don’t know any more about governing or training peasants to govern than you do.”

“It wouldn’t have to be peasants; couldn’t you find merchants or tradesmen? Running a country can’t be that different from running a business.”

Sterren had some serious doubts about Vond’s statement, but he ignored it and answered the question. “I didn’t try to find tradesmen, because I didn’t see anything wrong with using nobles who already know the job. Besides, there aren’t that many tradesmen around here; it’s not exactly Ethshar. I mean, in Semma, they had a Lord Trader — how much of a merchant class could there be, in a case like that?”

“You didn’t see anything wrong with using the nobles I threw out of power?”

“No, I didn’t!” Sterren answered. “What are they going to do? You’d kill anyone who got out of line, and they know it.” He gestured at the councillors, reminding Vond that they were listening.

“They could stir up discontent,” the warlock suggested.

“Why should they? Listen, Vond, I don’t think you appreciate what these people have done here. I picked the most competent people I could, without worrying about where they came from. Each of them agreed to help run the empire because they could see that it was here to stay, and each one of them was labelled a traitor by his friends and family because of that! They put up with that because they want to see their people — nobles, peasants, merchants, everybody — ruled fairly and well. If your empire ever did fall, and the old kingdoms were restored, they’d probably all be hanged for treason for having helped you!”

“You think so?” Vond said, his expression unreadable.

“Yes, I think so!” Sterren snapped.

At that point Ildirin entered quietly, bearing a tray that held a full decanter and a dozen wineglasses. He proceeded around the edge of the room to the emperor, who court etiquette required be served first.

“And I don’t suppose,” Vond said, “that you might be trying to put the nobility back in power, leaving me just a figurehead!”

“Why would I want to do that?” Sterren asked, genuinely puzzled.

Vond accepted a glass of wine. “Because you’re a noble yourself, of course, Sterren, Ninth Warlord!” He drank.

Sterren’s mouth fell open in astonishment. One of the councillors giggled, then quickly suppressed it. Ildirin silent­ly poured wine.

“Me?” Sterren said at last. “I’m an Ethsharitic merchant’s brat! I’m no noble; my grandmother ran away from home, and I don’t give a damn who her father and brother were. I’m no more a part of the old nobility here than you are!”

Vond’s expression stopped him, and he corrected himself, “Well, not much more. I didn’t know I had any noble blood.” He glanced at the councillors, and said, “Besides, if I were trying to restore the old nobility, wouldn’t I have put kings and princes on the council, instead of these people?”

“Kings would be a little obvious,” Vond pointed out, “and you did put a few princes in here, didn’t you?”

“I did?” Sterren looked at the councillors again, and recognized Prince Ferral of Enmurinon.

“Oh,” he said. Defensively, he added, “Only one. Out of seven.”

“So far,” Vond said.

Ildirin had served all the councillors now, and ap­proached Sterren with a filled glass. He waved it away; it appeared he needed his head clear if he was going to keep it.

“So far,” Sterren said, “and forever. I don’t choose new councillors; I don’t know who can handle the job and who can’t. I let each councillor choose his own successor.”

Ildirin, still holding the glass he had intended for Sterren, looked around the room and noticed that the emperor’s glass was empty. He stepped back and started gliding silently along the wall, back toward Vond’s place at the head of the table.