Over time, cases like these became rarer, but they never quite stopped. Remembering this, the superstitious Hector and Hustig even suggested that Ma Ju Ro find a new place for his council. The emperor just laughed. But now he felt uncomfortable. He’d had no fear of facing Ignatius, the undefeated champion of the Arena, bare-handed, but alone with this predator with his perfect snow-white teeth, he felt a shiver run down his spine.
“The transport will arrive at one o’clock,” Cross said, yawning. “The contribution must be delivered in full. I repeat, in full.”
“And I repeat, with the current state of affairs I cannot do that,” Ma Ju Ro answered quietly, but then unwillingly raised his voice as he continued. “We’ve only just solved the starvation problem, there’s a civil war around the corner, and you’re demanding ore, precious gems, fruit, vegetables, fur and more in the same quantities as in peace time! The south hasn’t been making deliveries for an age! Give us a reprieve!”
“The agreement makes no provision for reprieves. If you are unable to meet the terms of the agreement, then we will consider swapping you with an emperor who can.”
“Rezsinius...”
“Yes. I dare say the pretender to the throne will cut the Empire in half, but he will make the deliveries in time as well. That’s exactly the kind of leader we need for Syahr. You’ve been up to some very strange business, Ma Ju Ro!”
“Strange?” the emperor said, amazed. “Taking care of my people is a strange business? You really think that, Anthony?”
“Your job is to deliver us materials!” Cross cut him off. “That is the emperor’s main task! Your predecessors understood this well, which meant they died their own deaths. I would happily demonstrate our power to refresh your memory, but I don’t think that will be necessary. You have two weeks, Ma Ju Ro. If you fail to deliver the contribution, you are done. And thank the Sacred Mother that we don’t take everything from you.”
Ma Ju Ro barely held back from answering as he wanted to. He knew too little of the true strength of the racants, and all his attempts to find out more from Herdinia resulted in a categorical ‘no.’ In spite of all her attraction, if not love, for the new Ma Ju Ro, the woman refused to say a word about anything concerning the wider world.
“You mean to say that giving over half of what the country produces every three months is something to be grateful for? You prevent us from rising from our knees, you keep us in the dark ages!”
“Wow, Ma Ju Ro!” Cross exclaimed. “The dark ages... What do you know about them? The dark ages of the human race have nothing to do with you people. You genetic outcasts began your history only when you were resettled here! You’ve only just reached the dark ages! Say thank you for the fact that you still exist! Hell, we give you support... You don’t have to go far to see that! Where do you think your healers get their medical instruments? Who do you think you have to thank for the benefits of civilization?”
The benefits... The emperor laughed bitterly. Those cheap trinkets that Cross’s man traded in... single-use gilded lighters that the Reyks bought for ludicrous sums, cigarettes that cooled the mouth and changed the tastes, music boxes and other garbage. The emperor had checked the glittering ‘diamonds’, ‘rubies’ and ‘emeralds’ that the beauties of the court wore. His metamorphosis told him they were mere glass. The cost of a bottle of ‘divine fragrance’ reached a thousand gold pieces. The ‘rejuvenating’ cosmetic ointments for wrinkles cost several thousand. Luca had no doubt that all this was the cheapest trash from the wider world. Thanks to Esk’s legacy and his previous life, he guessed the structure of that society and how things were arranged there. But judging by the marker placed on Cross, the advisor didn’t see himself as a hypocrite. He really thought he was bringing ‘benefits.’
In representing the interests of his family, Anthony Cross filled his own pockets by accepting payment in pure gold. The emperor decided to use that.
“I am grateful,” Ma Ju Ro answered after a short silence. “Your contribution to the Empire is priceless. Advisor, I do not refuse to pay a contribution. That is the ancient right of the Cross family. I ask merely for a delay while I solve the issue of Rezsinius. Believe me, I can also be... useful. I was lost, but this conversation with you has opened my eyes.”
The emperor tried to show pleading in his eyes. Cross nodded.
“Continue.”
“A hundred thousand gold to you personally, Anthony. Delay the next delivery by a month.”
Cross smiled contentedly, but then his face took on its usual expression — dispassionate and haughty. He waited, clearly enjoying the sight of the emperor out of his depth. Luca bit his lip, slouched and obsequiously flattered the mighty advisor with his gaze. This was what Cross had been seeking, and he’d got it.
“So be it, Ma Ju Ro. You have a delay of one month. Don’t even think about asking me for another. The family won’t accept it. You have forty five days to defend the throne and gather the tribute. You may go.”
Luca showered the advisor with thanks and tried to kiss his aristocratic hand, but he pulled away in disgust. Thanking him again, the emperor hurried to leave the cursed council hall. Cross shouted to him.
“Maj, wait!”
“Yes, Anthony?”
“I don’t understand; why did you fight against Ignatius? He came to the Arena. You could have taken him without any risk! Along with all those criminals who came to support him!”
“As you said, we’re in the dark ages. There’s only one way to win the respect of the people here.”
“But... how? I was in the stands. I saw it all! Are you truly so good at duels? Or was it some kind of trick?”
The blood of a warrior flows in my veins, Master Cross. Don’t forget that my great ancestor united the country and took power into his hands.”
“Genes I understand,” Cross muttered, thinking aloud. “But...”
“I also had many years of daily training with the best tutors, since the moment I learned to walk. Good day to you, Anthony!”
Ma Ju Ro left. Cross pulled a device out of his pocket and began to watch the duel over and over again. Something was wrong.
Grabbing hold of the sword? he asked mentally. With a dull sword and thick gauntlets, sure. Piercing the breastbone barehanded? I’ve heard of that skill as well. But all that, done by the obese, alcoholic, drug-addicted and lazy Maj, and against the champion of the Arena no less? Something is definitely wrong...
* * *
The North of the Empire was divided into nine baronies. Historically, there were fifteen northern barons, and each was reputed to be an enemy of the first Ma Ju Ro. The decades had since redrawn the map: some failed to produce an heir, and their territory was absorbed by a neighbor; some combined into one family, by force or by will. Others merely lost wars.
There had been over ten wars in just the last quarter of a century. And almost all the barons fought against each other. Alliances formed and fell. Allies treacherously stabbed each other in the back. Yesterday’s enemies became friends, hostages were taken. Borders, villages and sparse fertile lands became things to be bartered.
The barons united only when facing a shared threat.
So it was when Emperor Jakhamad the First, who the people called the Insane, wished to take triple the taxes that the barons could afford to pay, and sent a huge army to the North to take them. Fortunately, almost half of the troops were born there. As soon as they got to the battlefield, the soldiers deserted en masse for the enemy camp. The rebellious barons threatened to secede, and so Jakhamad had to come to an agreement. Instead of triple taxes, he reluctantly agreed to give the northern barons ten years of complete freedom from any taxes at all.
So it was when the hordes of mutants gathered strength and united into the Cursed Host, sacked the land and moved on the Capital. Only through combined strength had they been repelled and the lands won back.
So it was relatively recently, when the father of the current emperor helped the North crush a
new Cursed Host, not as bloodthirsty as the first, but even more terrible — the modern mutants had organized into something of a society and even founded their own capital of the Wastelands, the so-called Shelter that grew from a small village through a network of caves.
In that war, Reyes, now the ambassador of the northern barons in the capital, was a general of the united forces of the North. They met with the army of Emperor Kiranon the First, father of Ma Ju Ro the Fourth, and combined forces to drive the mutants back to the Wastelands. Since the memorable war with Jakhamad the Insane, the lessons of history had kept the northern barons from thoughts of secession. The mutants reproduced much faster than the Empire’s citizens, and the North constantly needed the emperor’s help.
The South had it easier. The island pirates who raided and looted merchant ships were no great threat, and the narrow strait between the South and the central part of Syahr allowed any land army to be easily beaten back. At sea, the South ruled unchallenged.
But without the Empire, that part of the country would decay. The South lived off farming and fishing. Even the wood and ship timber was delivered from the center, not to mention metal and finished products. The Empire needed the South, and vice versa. This suited all involved, and unlike the northerners, the southern barons had made no attempts to secede.
Now, on the contrary, the situation was that the South under Rezsinius’s leadership was the main threat to the Empire’s security. Ma Ju Ro put all his hopes for successful resistance in the North. He invited the ambassador of the North, Reyes, to negotiate in the palace, and he was in agreement.
“The North shall support the emperor,” he said. “I have no doubt of that, your majesty.”
“Thank you, Reyes,” Ma Ju Ro answered. “When can the northern barons assemble their troops and send them to the capital?”
“There is some difficulty here,” Reyes admitted. “Long ago, they all decided that we should not intervene in the intra-family affairs of the emperor. Three months ago, Gudmund...”
“Baron Gudmund Gudmundson, the Voice of the North,” Lentz whispered to the emperor.
“... Gudmund convinced the others that Rezsinius’s claim to the throne is no threat to the country,” Reyes continued. “He said it doesn’t matter to us who gets to be emperor. The north has paid and does pay taxes to the emperor regardless of who it is.”
General Hustig chewed his lips and coughed, drawing attention.
“Tell me, Reyes, how does that match your words that the North will help us?” he asked directly, as military men far from politics were wont to do.
“Please let me finish, general,” Reyes answered. “Three months ago, the North chose a position of non-intervention. However!” the emissary raised his index finger. “All this time, I have been sending reports of the situation in the capital, and this has caught Gudmund’s interest. You will agree that what is happening in the city, and in particular his majesty’s decisions and deeds, are exceedingly curious. I have described these positive shifts in the ruling of the country in all my reports.”
Reyes paused to refresh his throat with some tart Tuaf wine. Impatience showed on the faces of all present, from the emperor himself and Herdinia to the military advisors Hector and Hustig. Ultimately, the fate of Ma Ju Ro, his close ones and the entire country was being decided. Everything depended on whether the northern barons would support the emperor.
“Gudmund assembled the others. Each of the nine barons was so impressed with what has happened here that they sent their own people to the capital to confirm the truth of my stories. And they haven’t even heard yet of the emperor’s astounding victory over Ignatius, the chief of the criminal underworld!”
“Master Ambassador, please, get to the point!” Lentz pleaded. “What have the barons decided?”
“I am getting to it,” the ambassador answered impassively, but Ma Ju Ro saw pleasure in his eyes. “The barons wish to meet the emperor personally, and then they’ll decide.”
“When can we expect their visit to the capital?” Herdinia asked curtly, preparing to write it down.
Reyes didn’t answer. Hiding his smile in his mustache, he took to studying his glass attentively.
“Not this time,” the emperor said in his place. “They won’t come. The northern barons want me to ask them personally. By going to see them personally. Is that right, Reyes?”
“His majesty is very wise,” the ambassador answered neutrally. “Such an act by the emperor would melt the cold hearts of the rulers of the North.”
“Send a runner to the barons, tell them I’ll come tomorrow,” Ma Ju Ro said. “Herdinia, you do the same, but in my name...”
“Tomorrow? But, my lord! I won’t have enough time to prepare escort troops!” the general exclaimed. “You can’t...”
Everyone started talking at once, demanded that the trip be delayed, or that they be taken along for the negotiations. The ambassador was clearly enjoying the chaos he’d caused.
“Quiet!”
The emperor’s enhanced vocal chords cut through the noise. The wine glasses shook from his roar. A portrait of one of Ma Ju Ro’s ancestors fell from the wall. The gathering fell silent, and the ambassador finally lost his cool and froze with his jaw dropped.
“We will decide all this at council,” the emperor declared before addressing the ambassador. “Thank you, Ambassador Reyes.”
The man rose and took a half bow. After the door closed behind him, all turned to Ma Ju Ro.
“I need a dossier on each of the barons, along with a full history of our relationships with the North,” he began to give orders. “Herdinia will plan the trip. I have to go to the clinic, for I fear your incurable patients will not live to see my return otherwise, Lentz.”
“Your majesty, two thousand guards...” Hustig began, but the emperor interrupted him.
“Nonsense, general! Hector, select a dozen of your guards for an escort. I’m going alone. This is a friendly visit.”
Chapter 43. The Nine
ROKKAN THE BLACK, one of Ignatius’s former captains, had met the emperor face to face some time ago. The meeting in one of the secret hollows of the catacombs was incredibly interesting and curious for the former pirate, now right hand of the capital’s criminal underworld. At least, so the emperor could judge from Rokkan’s initially dumbfounded and stunned, then inspired expression.
The victory over Ignatius made the unthinkable possible. By all the laws of the criminal community, Ma Ju Ro had become their chief. But what did it mean when the emperor personally ruled murderers and thieves? Since no law-abiding citizen of the Empire could understand that, the decision was thus: Rokkan, as the most authoritative of the remaining chiefs, would lead the criminal world, at the same time unofficially obeying Ma Ju Ro. Weasel became the middleman between the leaders; nobody else was better suited to the role. True, Kane himself had to give up on his past life and become subordinate to Hector to do this, for which Hector was infinitely pleased.
At that meeting, Ma Ju Ro asked Rokkan to set him up a meeting with the most respected of the pirate captains. The Coastal Brotherhood had an agreement with Rezsinius, according to one of Lee Vensiro’s men from the South, but Ma Ju Ro decided to try anyway. Even if he didn’t succeed in his plan, then perhaps he’d at least manage to sow a seed of doubt in the pirates’ heads.
“It won’t work,” Rokkan said, sucking his teeth. He paused, but the emperor expected an explanation, and the bandit continued. “With all due respect, your majesty, they won’t agree to it. I can guess what you want from them, but I can’t imagine that you can suggest it to them. They’ll be fine without it; the barons leave them alone, Rezsinius has promised them a full pardon as soon as he comes to power, along with a million gold. And that’s not counting the amnesty for all those in the Empire’s prisons.”
“Who specifically did my cousin come to an agreement with?” the emperor asked.
Ma Ju Ro decided to compare his information with what Rokkan knew. Le
e Vensiro’s reports were always worth checking thrice, since the cultural advisor’s inclination to exaggerate often overcame his common sense.
“With the Nine,” Rokkan shrugged. “The nine captains with their forty ships.”
The fact that the Nine had forty ships always at their disposal was a legend unto itself. The magic of numbers: the captains in the Nine changed, as did the ships, but the number remained unchanged.
“What about the others?”
“The independent captains have half as many ships, the crews aren’t as strong, the rigging is poorer, and in any case... They won’t go up against their own, against the Coastal Brotherhood. And the Nine are basically the Coastal Brotherhood on their own.
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