by Adam Corby
‘How could we refuse you, my lord,’ Allissál replied courteously enough, ‘when there is such popular demand? Yet we would ask you to keep your narrative something this side of the openly scandalous.’
‘Then to begin,’ he said, laughing insolently. ‘Once, when Goddess was young and God gave to Elna His sword of jade, and all the lands were undivided (as the formulae go), there was a certain high lady of the court: young and lovely, and consumed by such venereal fires that her husband, a dullard rarely if ever to home, was quite unable to quench them. So the lady took a lover; and not being satisfied with but one, took a second as well! Fie, lovely charai, are you all so insatiable in your lusts? And what are morals and public decency then, when even so respected a dame as our heroine, the model of her age, would greedily take on two bravos in addition to the husband who was her lawful share? Yet she would defend herself by saying she needed two lovers because she was of twin moods, and would choose between them as became her momentary mood. Pah, then: for I know of certain charai, including two who are ever to the forefront, whose moods must be changeable as the rainbow!’
‘Listen to them,’ the Chara Fillaloial said in an undertone to Qhelvin of Sorne. ‘The eagerness to solve Arstomenes’s clues comes near to bursting them. Scandal and pleasure are all the highborn care for now.’
‘Her majesty is little pleased by it,’ answered Qhelvin.
‘That is but the result of her own youth and nature,’ said the reverend chara, shaking her head sadly. ‘Yet Arstomenes uses her as he will, and she but smiles and flatters him in return.’
‘Well, but that is only politics,’ said Qhelvin, looking at the Queen as if he measured her for a portrait. ‘She needs Vapio’s votes in the Council Hall.’
At that the sound of hoofbeats burst suddenly in the languid airs of the Gardens, and from up the shadowy avenues of the lower groves there broke upon the scene an armored horseman, sword held menacingly aloft, upon a neighing black warhorse. Arstomenes turned, for once in an awkward manner; while the foreign ambassador from Mersaline in the North rose to his feet with a loudly proclaimed oath. Three guardsmen started forward to protect the Queen. The horseman, however, was quicker. Laughing scornfully at the disorder he had wrought, he leaped from his steed’s back and ran directly for the royal couch. There, casting aside helmet and sword, he fell to one knee before the Queen’s feet.
‘Greetings, mother,’ he said casually.
The guardsmen, recognizing the youth, put up their lances and offered him the military salute. The Queen frowned, as if to scold; but the frown broke helplessly into a smile under her son’s look. She laughed, kissed him, and bade pour him wine.
Though the Prince Elnavis was but fifteen summers, his build and stature were already those of a man fully grown. The golden down upon his cheeks not yet stiff, he had held his own against many a veteran in mock combats staged in the Circus. He had been taught generalship by Ankhan of Ul Raambar, horsemanship by Klipsir of the Eglands, and swordsmanship by Ampeánor of Rukor. With kings and the sons of kings he had grown to manhood; and as for affairs with the gracious ladies of the court, it was said there were few wells at which he had not supped at least once.
Now he turned to face his people, youthful joy growing in his eyes. ‘Let us play the Blind Man’s Game!’ he proclaimed with a laugh.
The younger nobles approved the notion immediately. The men consented to be tied about the head with gauzy bandages, while the charai ran gracefully down into the groves of the lower terraces, laughing tauntingly as they went. After them stumbled the charanti to see who could catch whom – or who would allow herself to be caught by whom. The golden-haired prince, leading the men, did not hesitate a moment, but swiftly followed the trail left by the delightful Chara Ilal.
‘Very charming, to be sure,’ proclaimed Dornan Ural with a measured sternness at the side of the Queen. ‘But your majesty, is it fitting for the future sovereign of the largest nation of the world to occupy his time in mere playing of games? Were I king I should treat the office with a somewhat greater gravity.’
The High Regent stood rather shorter than the Queen, a balding man with a few gray hairs, two chins, and a round pot of a belly. His indelicate features, unsure manner and thick fingers all betrayed his low birth.
‘You may leave our son’s upbringing in our hands, High Regent,’ Allissál said with a smile, signing to the maidens to bind her sandals about her ankles. ‘Let him play: for well we know what it is like to be young and denied it. Besides, what could be more apt than a prince at games? What is kingship, after all, but a series of games – the Great Game, even? Yet did you not see whom the prince chose to pursue? Perhaps you should have undertaken this game yourself. And how is your intimate friend the Chara Ilal this pass?’
He flushed, looking away and rendering some reply, which Allissál had not quite the cruelty to make him repeat. But it was enough to assure her that her lady had suffered the penalty prescribed. ‘Is it any wonder that Elnavis grows wild at the sight of an uplifted skirt, when you yourself, his most trusted mentor, have been chasing after one of the most wanton charai of our court? Yet how does your good wife bear up under such a thing?’
Gracefully she linked her arm in his, smiling as she heard his stammered explanations and denials. She led him unattended through the clusters of conversing elder nobles, down to the groves below. He was reluctant to go that way; she laughed and compelled him.
When they were well into the spice-scented groves, they heard a startled, joyous giggle in a familiar voice issuing from beneath the fringes of a bush pruned in the shape of a rearing bandar, as of a lady who had allowed herself to be captured and was obviously enjoying every moment of it. The High Regent averted his blushing face, at which the Queen laughed.
‘Come, my good man, it’s only the Chara Fillaloial’s eldest daughter: surely you have seen her thus before? Yet if your maiden modesty is so overpowering, let us pass down the avenue somewhat. Now you may relate in confidence what you wished to tell us.’
‘Your majesty, how did you know I had something on my mind?’
‘Because there is so little else there, of course. An idea shines like lamplight here. Truly, sweet Dornan, if you wish to conceal such treasures you must either wear a cap, as the barbarians are said to, or adopt a wig.’
‘Oh, I have never liked the fashion of men wearing wigs, your majesty. They are too womanly for me. Or perhaps it is that they are too much of the fashion, and I am not a fashionable man. My father was bald, and never wore a wig. Yes, on the whole I lean toward this explanation. Perhaps it is merely my own humble origins, but I have never felt it wise to conceal what one lacks, but rather admit it in all honesty; for—’
‘A truly commendable policy in one who has so many opportunities to practice it,’ she said, drawing him closer. ‘Now, before it bursts through, perhaps you should tell us what is so stuffed into your dome.’
He began, ‘It has come to my attention, your majesty, that officials in charge of the city’s waterways have been derelict; some even having taken monies for repairs never effected. As a consequence the pipes beneath several streets have burst. I have walked there myself, not three streets from the Farusial amphitheater, and—’
‘Sewers!’ she burst out. ‘So this is what has been gleaming through that gray dome? Your abiding interest in the city sewers? Really, good Dornan, we are amazed how you can surprise us still!’
‘I would never have brought it to your majesty’s attention, except that it was my idea your majesty wished a greater hand in the governance of your Empire,’ he said, confused by her continued laughter. ‘Has your majesty not in the past demanded I consult you and his highness upon matters of state?’
‘Matters of state, yes: but sewers were not uppermost in our mind, good tutor! Suchlike are for clerks and slaves to mull over, not kings.’
‘Nothing in a kingdom should ever be below the notice of its sovereign. The sewers are indeed a matter of grave
concern, your majesty. If these men have stolen from the Treasury, they should be made to repay the sums with interest. And if the waterways clog or break then, quite apart from the inconvenience and the odor, there is a danger to the public health. For in those pools of filth are breeding-grounds for noxious insects and vile diseases – of this I have been assured by the most prominent of physicians. And surely even so merry a wit as your majesty must admit it is no laughing matter to those who must live and work amid the filth, lowborn though they may be. Already my office is plagued with—’
‘No doubt, no doubt; yet peace, darling Dornan. Is this a speech you will give from the steps of your office? We are certain such matters are well within your proper domain; they are so trifling, after all. Can you imagine divine Elna worrying himself over sewers?’
‘Why, yes, I can imagine it. As I have often said, your majesty, there are many details of sovereignty of which both you and your son are in ignorance.’
‘And happily so, aged tutor. Yet now we grow weary of such exalted, if odorous, subjects. You may have leave to go. We will see you again at the next meeting of the High Council, and there you may regale us on sewers to your dear heart’s content.’
Alone now among those scentful trees, she took a turn or two more, smiling now at the memory of the High Regent’s words and manners. As she walked, the breezes played sport with the light fabric of her gown and the loose coiling tresses of gold about her brow and exquisite shoulders. From above, the melodies of the players stole faintly down; and behind her sounded a burst of excited laughter. She smiled wistfully, and resumed her solitary walking.
At length she came again to the open terraces, where the elder nobles were still conversing in little groups, about the latest performance at the Theater of Mersalis, the charan who had taken his own life after gaming away his estates, and the newest scandals of the High Charan of Vapio. The Queen passed by, acknowledging absently their salutations, to sit alone upon the royal couch. The maidens served her golden Delba wine, into whose depths she peered, until Qhelvin of Sorne, ascending from the lower walks, came up to bow before her. The Queen nodded, but kept her eyes within the limits of the cup, as if debating whether or not to take it; yet all her food was tasted.
‘How useless it all is,’ she muttered at length.
‘Yet it serves to cloak our true business,’ he answered, standing beside her so that she might have clear view of the lawn below. ‘And also offers us many opportunities to converse with the foreign ambassadors here in the open, the only truly hidden place in the court.’
‘And what is the mood of those ambassadors?’
‘Good, your majesty. Ampeánor will be pleased when he returns: I think things go well enough now, that we shall have all the secret pacts and treaties by the end of the winter. And Carftain alone might hold off the barbarian till then – or, if they do not, then surely Tezmon, fortified as the Charan intends to make it, will withstand them.’
‘Pray your words are prophecy,’ she sighed, gazing down to where the young couples were severally emerging with disarrayed robes from the lower walks. ‘Is it not lovely to see them enjoying themselves so happily?’
He regarded her lowered face for a moment in silence; then said, ‘They are like children playing in their parents’ bodies, your majesty. You are an Empress of the Bordakasha. And your son shall be king.’
She looked up, caught his eye, looked away. Only she took his hand in hers and pressed it. ‘Thanks, dear Qhelvin. Yet now it were better for us to be alone awhile.’
He bowed gracefully, kissed the elegant hand and returned again to the lawn. There the Chara Fillaloial greeted him, saying, ‘Her majesty was melancholy for a space, yet now looks every bit the Queen. Qhelvin, what was it you spoke to her of?’
‘Minor matters,’ he said, gazing at how the Queen sat, with her head uplifted, her elegant smooth throat bared, lips slightly parted and gray-blue eyes searching the unbounded sea of the heavens, like one thinking of a dear departed, or awaiting an arrival. ‘Still, I wish I had my brushes and my paints now.’
And while those gracious lords and ladies fell to their pleasures, far away across the Sea of Elna men swore and strove and fell bloodily to the earth, and yet another city fell to the barbarian armies of Ara-Karn.
III
Under the King’s Light
THE COUNCIL OF REGENTS, who governed the Empire of Tarendahardil in the name of their lord the Prince Elnavis, Heir to the World, convened at a crescent table in a huge hall of stone in the Palace. Once it had served as the Imperial Hall of Justice, and been crowded upon appointed passes with throngs of petitioning citizens. And before them, astride a jeweled throne in a well of sunlight, the golden Bordakasha had given them justice. Ambassadors, suppliants and potentates once had come hither – even kings had waited with their servants on the wide stone steps without the hall to be allowed to offer humble submission to the world-ruling sons of Elna. But now the suppliants sought the offices of Dornan Ural in High Town below, and ambassadors and potentates sent cartloads of tribute to pacify dread Tarendahardil no longer.
Upon this occasion, as indeed upon most, the first to arrive was Dornan Ural. The High Regent spoke gently to his two clerks, who emptied upon the crescent table their sacks of scrolls and parchments. He thanked and dismissed them; then, sitting himself down in the third throne from the right, spread out his many papers, arranged the robes and pectoral of his office, and opened a wax note pad, all in the brusque, sure manner of the good, dutiful workman.
So, settling himself to make notes upon the latest list of the Imperial tax-gatherers, Dornan Ural carved for himself a comfortable little niche out of the air of that huge and somber hall. Far over him on either side, stone galleries protruded from the walls. There the highborn had had their seats in the past. Seven massive pillars rose like enormous trees out of the tiles of the floor of the hall to maintain the ceiling-beams lost in the gloom high above.
Along the long walls of the halls ran two series of arched niches, each with its own ceremonial lamp placed before it: in these niches were busts of each of the Emperors, from Elna himself all the way to the late Emperor, father to Allissál. There had been so many of them through the centuries, that their busts filled all the niches, even to the very ends: all but one, the very last niche upon the left-hand side. It had been a source of some concern where room should be found for all the Emperors yet to come.
High upon the outer wall several circular windows broke the black stone to admit Goddess’s light. To guard against the weather, these windows were covered with thinly cut sheets of translucent rock. The largest and central window, however, opened bare to the sky: and it was through this that the column of Her light fell to the innermost end of the hall, to form the oval pool of gold in which the Emperors had sat – for which reason it had been anciently named, the King’s Light.
Dornan Ural worked on, oblivious to these noble wonders about him – still, he was thankful for the King’s Light, which served well to illuminate the forest of figures and characters he had uprisen about himself.
After some time the High Charan of the Eglands entered, taking his accustomed place in the last of the thrones to the left. He nodded curtly to the High Regent’s words of greeting, and drew up the hem of his cloak to cover and warm his knees. Farnese, last lord of the windy horse-breeding plains of the Eglands, was an ancient man with but a few wisps of white hair left about his head. He had been hailed in his youth as the greatest general of his time; yet his crooked nose had been broken, it was rumored, not on the battlefield, but in a heated duel over the love of the Chara Fillaloial, years before the birth of the late Emperor. For all his age, the Charan’s sharp gray eyes darted about him as piercingly as those of a gerlin or some other prized bird of prey. One thing only did the old man despise more than the soft corruption of the young nobles of the court: the wrinkled corruption of his own flesh. The sternest, most dignified noble in the Empire, he had but a single friend – Amp
eánor, the Charan of Rukor. There at least the old dying man fancied he had found a kindred spirit, almost, as it were, a son.
Dornan Ural worked on, now preparing his notes for the matters to be presented at this meeting. After some moments, the High Charan turned his rigid back and regarded the High Regent.
‘Where are the others?’ he asked in a deep, bitter voice.
‘They should be here shortly,’ Dornan Ural replied diffidently. ‘Her majesty was in the baths, but I saw Arstomenes in the Gardens, conversing with the Chara Ilal.’ He colored slightly. ‘Lornof, I am sure, is on his way. We are early yet, I believe.’
‘And his highness?’
‘Ah – I am afraid I don’t know where the prince is this pass.’
The High Charan grunted, the sound of which was like the splash of a drop of gelid venom. ‘You should do more to oversee him, Regent,’ he said. ‘Such is your office.’
The High Regent turned in his chair, ill at ease in the scrutiny of those eyes. ‘I am but the chief of his highness’s servants,’ he said at length. ‘It is not for me to judge or condemn.’ Farnese looked away down the hall, his silence comment enough. Dornan Ural, relieved, lost himself again in the shelter of his papers.
Shortly thereafter, the palace slaves sounded the hour; Arstomenes and Lornof entered, followed shortly by her majesty. The lords of Vapio and Fulmine took the thrones to the right of the High Regent; Allissál sat in the third throne from the left, upon the other side of the central, greatest throne, from Dornan Ural. Two of the seven seats thus remained vacant: that between Allissál and Farnese, where Ampeánor of Rukor was used to sit, and the great central throne, that alone stood full in the King’s Light.
‘Shall we get on with it, then?’ said Farnese.
‘My lord, some patience, if you please,’ Allissál said gently, forestalling the assent that had leapt to Dornan Ural’s tongue. ‘We are not long past the time. We are expecting his highness at any moment.’
