When the Gods Slept

by Allan Cole

  "But make certain Lord Timura is there."

  She turned to look out the window.

  They’d come to a wide square and when she looked north she could see the blossoming trees that edged the Royal Gardens.

  Beyond were the spires of the Grand Palace, glittering eerily under the ever-present Demon Moon.

  Nerisa wondered if Safar would remember her after all these years.

  * * *

  "In the end," King Protarus said, "it all reduces itself to money."

  He snorted in disgust, an action much noted by the members of the assembled Royal Court. His snort would frame their discussions, dreams and nightmares for many days to come. Policy would be set because of that snort. Alliances threatened, reformed, or shattered. Thousands of miles away, men both small and large would tremble when news arrived of the king’s sharply expelled breath.

  "Every time I need to do something," Protarus said, "I’m told the cost is too dear. And when I - simple plainsman that I am - suggest the solution is to get more money, why I’m told there’s no more to be had!"

  The king’s glare flowed down the several-leveled courtroom. First it took in Safar, his Grand Wazier and second in command, next the platform where King Luka - whose formal title was Prince Of Zanzair - sat with Lord Fari and other important demons. Below were the Protarus’ generals and top aides, a mixed lot that included demons and a few of his remaining rough plainsmen. Keeping himself slightly apart from this group was Kalasariz, who daily measured the distance and height between him and Safar. Beyond was the main floor of the courtroom, a vast area of hierarchical flatness where some courtiers were known to wear boosted up bootheels so they could stand taller and imagine they held greater favor with the king.

  "Someone explain to me how this can be," Protarus demanded. "I am monarch of all Esmir. I number my subjects by the millions. All of whom seem to be going about making money and prospering, while their king lacks the basic means of running the kind of kingdom where they can prosper."

  Protarus shook his head. "My problem is that I’m too generous," he said. "I made all my friends wealthy. Palaces, lands, money... Money! There’s that word again!"

  He looked at Safar. "You have money, Lord Timura," he said. "Why don’t I?"

  "You have only to ask, Majesty," Safar said, "and I will give it all back to you."

  Frustrated, Protarus rapped the edge of his throne with bejeweled knuckles. "That’s not the point, Lord Timura," he said. "I’m not that sort of monarch. Once I give a gift, I never ask for its return."

  Leiria, Safar’s guard and bedmate, stirred uncomfortably. She’d once been such a gift.

  "The point is this," Protarus continued, "you have money and I don’t because you have only your own household to keep up."

  Protarus’ hand swept across the courtroom, taking it all in. "I’ve got a kingdom to maintain. That’s my household! And where does my household money go? Not for luxuries, that’s for certain.

  "The gods know I’m a man of simple tastes."

  No one dared mention this was a great exaggeration. Protarus had long since shed his soldierly past and reveled in the comforts and pleasures of being King of Kings. He had many palaces, all fully staffed, vast stables of fine mounts of every variety and purpose, huge rooms packed with decorative weapons and armor, bulging storehouses and wine cellars, and immense harems stocked with a continuously refreshed supply of women.

  The king sighed and sagged back in his throne, weary. The seven year reign had been difficult and it showed. Although he was still a man of less than thirty summers, he looked ten years older. His pride, his long golden locks, had thinned and he’d taken to wearing a jeweled skull cap beneath his crown. His beard was streaked with gray strands and his brow was plowed with worry lines.

  "Tell us the problem again, Lord Timura," he said. "Lay it out fully so all can see."

  Safar murmured respectful assent and rose. He strode up to Protarus’ level and motioned to some men-in-waiting to pull aside the immense curtain behind the king’s throne.

  The wall was covered with a tremendous bas relief of Esmir. The largest features were the Gods’ Divide, splitting much of the land from east to west, and the great desert, no longer forbidden, which had once separated human and demons.

  Safar palmed a few pellets, hurled his hand downward in a dramatic gesture and there were several sharp retorts, drawing gasps from the court - including Iraj - and a thin haze of smoke curtained up from floor to ceiling. Behind the haze the bas relief suddenly glowed into being, causing a low chorus of amazement. They were looking at a living map of Esmir, complete with small moving figures, forests waving in the winds and waves beating distant shores.

  Safar made a low bow to Iraj, with a sweeping showman’s flourish.

  "Behold your kingdom, Majesty," he announced.

  Fari thought, I wonder how Timura does it. Not the living map... I understand that. Possibly even reproduce it, given a look at his notes. But the explosions and haze are another matter. Where was the magic? I sensed nothing!

  This mystery was only one of several reasons Fari believed Safar must go.

  Iraj’s mood lightened. He clapped, saying, "Oh, very good, Safar. Very good!"

  This was followed by a small patter of applause from the court. Luka grimly rattled his talons in false appreciation.

  He thought, why all the flourishes and dramatic gestures? You would think this was entertainment instead of the serious business of administration. He’s playing up to us, especially to Protarus.

  Luka bitterly resented Safar’s influence over Protarus. As Prince Of Zanzair, Luka considered himself the second most important potentate in Esmir. He should be advising Protarus, not that commoner Safar Timura.

  "Here are the locations of our most troubled regions, Majesty," Safar said.

  He made another gesture and small flames flickered through the haze. There were at least two score spread out all over the kingdom. The flames were of different sizes, some minor glows where trouble was only starting, to larger spears of fire where things were nearly out of control.

  "So many," Protarus murmured.

  He shot a sharp glare at Kalasariz, saying, "You never told me there were so many!"

  "Ah, yes, ah, I can explain, Your Majesty," Kalasariz fumbled. "Delayed reports... because of the... ah... difficulties."

  Iraj gave him a cold nod and turned back to the map.

  "This is the very latest information I have from our temples," Safar said. "And for the first time I think we can see just how widespread our problems are."

  Kalasariz seethed anger for being upstaged by the Grand Wazier. The spy master preferred to show the king what he wanted him to know so he could control events. That damnable Timura, with his damnable network of priests, was stabbing him in the back.

  Not for the first time, Kalasariz swore that someday he’d rid himself of Timura.

  "The greatest problem seems to be in Caspan, Majesty," Safar said, pointing at the leaping flames near the edge of the western sea.

  "Yes, yes," Protarus said. "That’s why the subject of money came up. We need to send troops there and put down the rebellion. But I was informed by my treasurer I didn’t have the money to pay for it. The coffers, it seems, are empty."

  His gaze flickered over the map, once again noting the number. Finally he eyes came to rest on Caspan, nearly ringed with fire.

  "Money must be found for Caspan," he said. "The question is where to get it."

  "Taxes, Your Majesty," Luka broke in. "That’s the answer. More taxes must be gathered. As you said, your subjects are enjoying prosperity because of your efforts. They should be willing to pay a fair price for that prosperity."

  "I must disagree, Majesty," Safar said. "There is no general prosperity. A few areas, perhaps, but only those untouched by drought and plague. And, I might remind my noble friend, King Luka, these conditions have not only prevailed, but become worse over the past ten years."

  F
ari snorted. "Hadin, again!" he muttered.

  Safar whirled on the old demon. "I’ve shown you the evidence," he said. "How can you deny the truth?"

  "I’m not denying anything," Fari said. "Certainly there are problems. And possibly they were caused by some magical calamity in Hadin.

  "What I disagree with most strongly is that these problems are necessarily long lasting. There have been calamities before. Droughts come. Droughts go. Plagues come. Plagues go. It’s the gods’ natural cycle. So only the best and most devout will live on to enjoy their well-deserved rewards."

  "I won’t quarrel with my esteemed colleague, Majesty," Safar said. "You want to hear solutions, not debate.

  "I have one such solution to propose."

  Protarus stirred. "Do you, now?"

  "I find myself agreeing with King Luka, Majesty," Safar said.

  Luka frowned. Where was this going?

  "Taxes are the answer, Majesty," Safar said. "Only, don’t tax those who already pay. Tax those who don’t."

  Kalasariz’ eyes narrowed. So that’s his game, he thought.

  "Tax me, Majesty," Safar said. "I not only benefited from your gifts, but I pay no taxes on them."

  Safar pointed to Luka, then Fari, then Kalasariz, and all around the room, pointing at each nobleman in turn.

  "We have all prospered, Majesty," he said. "But we pay nothing for it."

  Protarus was interested. "I’ve often commented that generosity is my greatest virtue and flaw," he said. "Apparently I’ve forgiven more taxes than is good for me."

  "Exactly, Majesty," Safar said. "I’m sure all of my colleagues would be delighted to share your heavy burden during this emergency."

  "Ah, an emergency tax," Protarus said. "Maybe calling it that would wipe off some of the sour looks in this group." He smiled at Luka and Fari. Both forced smiles in return. He went back to Safar - "A temporary tax, lasting only through the emergency. That might go down better, politically speaking."

  "I for one do not fear sacrifice," Luka said. "But I must point out that the money wouldn’t be enough. It would pay for Caspan, perhaps." He pointed at the array of trouble spots on the bas relief. "But what of the rest?"

  "King Luka is quite right, Your Majesty," Kalasariz said. "And I also join him in my willingness to sacrifice and share your burden.

  "I also question the nature of the emergency."

  He pointed at the bas relief. "This is very kind of negativism that is at the root of our problems, Your Majesty!"

  Protarus lifted his head, interested.

  "We are terrorizing your subjects, Majesty," Kalasariz continued, "with all this bad news. It feeds rumor that things are worse. It makes rebels out of weak men. It makes good honest subjects lie to your tax gatherers when they come to collect. And hold back vast amounts of money that rightfully belong to you.

  "Vast amounts, Your Majesty. Vast."

  "That’s theft!" Protarus said, angered by the sudden vision of mean-spirited citizens burying huge chests of gold in their cellars.

  "Exactly, Your Majesty," Kalasariz said. "Theft. "No kinder word to put on it. And I propose we end it at once!"

  "How would you do this?" Protarus asked.

  Kalasariz looked around at the huge assembly, then back at the king.

  "I think it would be best discussed in private, Majesty," he said.

  * * *

  "I won’t do it, Iraj," Safar said. "It may be in Kalasariz’ nature to make such a great lie, but it’s not in mine."

  "How do you know it will be a lie?" Protarus said.

  The two men were alone in the king’s quarters. Less than an hour before Kalasariz, vigorously supported by Luka and Fari, had outlined his plan. Safar’s opposition had been so heated Iraj had sent the three away so he could reason with him in private.

  "Kalasariz had a good point about the effect all the negative news is having on the stability of the kingdom," Iraj continued.

  "Lies won’t make things better," Safar said.

  "Again," Iraj said, "I don’t see where anyone was proposing to lie. Kalasariz merely suggested we declare a national feastday. A feastday that would point up the positive, rather than the negative."

  "And what of the casting?" Safar asked. "The casting that I, as your Grand Wazier, am supposed to oversee?"

  "What’s wrong with asking the gods when this long crisis will end?" Iraj said.

  "A great deal," Safar replied, "considering that Kalasariz already had the answer he wanted me to report to all Esmir."

  He held up a single finger. "One year!" He shook his head, disgusted. "One year... and the world will be well again."

  "That’s a good number," Iraj said, "If people believe things will be better in a year, they won’t be so tight-fisted with tax money. Hells, I can even raise the taxes. An emergency measure, like you suggested."

  "But on the poor," Safar said, "not the rich."

  Protarus sighed. "It was a good idea, Safar. Not enough money to be gained, but a sound idea just the same.

  "Unfortunately it wasn’t something I could ever do."

  "Why not?"

  Another sigh. "These are the beings I eat dinner with, Safar. When I entertain, they are my guests. When I hunt, I hunt with them. They’re my friends, after all. I don’t want to sit around the table with everyone mad at me because I slapped a fat tax on them."

  Safar didn’t answer.

  Protarus looked at him, then nodded, saying, "I suppose you’re thinking if there are some things I won’t do, then I should understand when you have similar reservations."

  "Something like that," Safar said.

  Actually he’d been thinking how revealing Protarus’ statement had been. He’d rather starve the starving because he didn’t want his wealthy friends mad at him.

  "And if we did have a big public casting ceremony," Iraj said, "and you saw many difficult years ahead - rather than only one - you’d feel honor bound to report it. Is that right?"

  Safar tried to lighten the situation with a smile. "Only some of it would be due to honor, Iraj," he said.

  "After all, I’ve got my wizardly reputation at stake. When a year passed and the troubles continued no one would trust me again."

  Protarus studied him for a long moment. Then he returned the smile, but his eyes were shielded.

  "I can see how you might consider it too great a sacrifice to make," he said.

  The meeting ended on that dissatisfying note.

  Just before Safar left, the king said, "Oh, I almost forgot."

  Safar was at the door. "What was that?"

  "The captain of my guard says it’s time for Leiria to drop by the palace for a little brush up on her training."

  "I’ll be sure to tell her," Safar said.

  As soon as the door closed behind him Kalasariz came out of a side room. Behind him were Luka and Fari.

  "I’m glad you signaled for us to linger within hearing, Majesty," Kalasariz said. "That was a most revealing conversation.

  "And I must say you handled him quite smoothly, Majesty. Quite."

  * * *

  It was night when Safar’s carriage made the approach to the grand mansion. It was raining so heavily even the Demon Moon was obscured from view.

  "Who is this Lady Fatinah, Safar?" Leiria asked.

  "I’m not quite sure," he answered. "Other than she may or may not be a notorious woman."

  "She must be more than that," Leiria said, "to get the Grand Wazier himself to show up at her welcoming banquet."

  Safar peered through the curtains, but the night was so black all he could see was his own reflection in the glass.

  "It’s that chief clerk of mine," Safar said. "He can’t resist a bribe. I’d get rid of him, but the extra money he earns dishonestly makes him so efficient I have the best kept schedule of any administrator in Esmir."

  "You could have refused," Leiria said. She gave him a teasing smile. "But I suppose you’re as curious to see her as every man in the city. It
’s said she’s quite beautiful."

  "I never know when the event is the result of bribery, or duty," Safar said. "It’s easier just to go to all of them. Linger an hour or so for appearances’ sake, then slip off."

  "And it doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful," Leiria said.

  Safar laughed. "And notorious," he said. "Don’t forget that."

  Leiria laughed with him, a lovely and exotic woman in her own right in her best dress uniform.

  But Safar took note she was unusually inquisitive that night.

  And her training session at the palace had been that same morning.

  Interesting.

  * * *

  Nerisa saw him enter.

  The rain had made the guests tardy but after a time she’d despaired Safar would be among the later arrivals. It had been a difficult evening, doing her best to be a charming and witty hostess to a group of strangers, while at the same time preparing herself for the moment when he arrived.

  She didn’t want to him think she’d come all this way because she required something. The Lady Fatinah was quite capable of taking care of herself and didn’t need a man - even though he might be the Grand Wazier - to fend for her. No, she had a duty to perform. A too long delayed duty.

  As for her girlish crush on Safar, it was years ago and was, after all, just that - girlish. Safar was kindly enough at the time to see it and not humiliate her.

  She determined when they met she’d be as calm and cool as everyone expected the Lady Fatinah to be.

  Then she saw him at the door. One minute the entryway was empty, the next a liveried servant was leading him in.

  Someone pointed her out to him and he raised his head and he smiled as their eyes met.

  Nerisa was lost.

  His eyes were just as blue as she remembered.

  * * *

  Safar was stunned when he saw the woman approach. The Lady Fatinah was every bit as beautiful as people had said. Perhaps even more so in her stunning black gown, cut low to reveal a pearly bosom. The dress clung to her, showing off her long slender figure.

  But her face was a cold shield when she came close, hand outstretched to welcome him. The coldness put Safar off, as did her thin smile. This was clearly a woman out for the main advantage, he thought. His clerk had taken a bribe and that was that.