Adrienne Martine-Barnes

by The Dragon Rises (v0. 9) (epub)

  “Come between us? Led me wrong? That’s what you always say to your officers just before you make the fleet do something crazy.”

  “You know me too well, dearest.”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes I don’t know you at all. Tell me, did 1 just marry the admiral or the man?”

  “For you, I am only a man.”

  The portal sounded. Alvellaina slipped out of Gilhame’s embrace and answered it. The door hissed open, and Frikard ushered a party of five into the room.

  A young woman in the livery of a heraldic page entered first. Behind her came fan Talba, the Imperial Adjudicator, looking just as nondescript as he had two months earlier. He was followed by a woman Gilhame recognized as the Imperial Court Justice, fan Talba’s superior, and the principal judicial officer of the state.

  Then the Dardanus King-at-Arms, Horabe Il-sabayoo, leaning on the arm of a pursuivant, entered. He was indeed a very old man, his face seamed with lines, his hair sparse and white, his back bent with years. But his blue eyes were lively with intelligence as he swept the room with a glance.

  Gilhame, Alvellaina and Vaverly put their right hands across their hearts and bowed from the waist. The room was silent as the old man shuffled to the chair at the head of the table.

  He sighed as he settled down, plucking at the folds of his robe. Then he stared at his audience. “So, you are Admiral ur Fagon,” he said in a thready voice.

  Gilhame recognized the voice as the one which had said “too strong” in his mind. He bowed again. “I am he.” “And you are undoubtedly wondering why I dragged my old bones up here to see you.”

  “Your worship is correct.”

  “Sit down. I hate craning my neck to talk to people. I am too old to enjoy the protocol I myself invented. There is something to be said for not out-living one’s usefulness. All of you, sit down. What is this?” He pointed at the jar before him.

  “Rurian wine, Excellency.” Gilhame answered as the company sorted itself down the table in order of precedence. Kinterra Kinagin, the Chief Justice, sat on the right of the King-at-Arms, and fan Talba sat beside her. Gilhame took the chair to the left of Il-sabayoo, and Vaverly sat next to him. Alvellaina, taking her cue from the page and the pursuivant, did not sit down but stood behind Vaverly and Gilhame. Frikard stood next to the portal and put his hands behind him.

  “I find these matters go more smoothly if conducted in a relaxed atmosphere. I presume more wine exists.”

  “Certainly, Excellency.” Gilhame answered.

  “Bring it!”

  Alvellaina turned and almost collided with the page who was walking to the refreshment cabinet. The page gave her a quick wink and shook her head, so Alvellaina returned to her place behind Gilhame.

  “I am weary, so I will get right on with my business, Admiral,” Il-sabayoo said as the pursuivant poured some wine into his glass. “The Emperor sends you greeting. He is most pleased with your efforts on his behalf.”

  “It is my pleasure to serve His Majesty.”

  “Good. Because he is not pleased with your lack of family.”

  Gilhame gave a sidelong glance to Vaverly. “I find it difficult to believe that as busy a man as the Emperor should concern himself with the domestic arrangements of one of his subjects.”

  “Don’t be insolent!”

  “I beg your pardon. I intended no offense. But I do not believe that the Emperor knows or cares for my family. I do believe that certain of his policy-makers would prefer that I had some hostages to fortune. This is only fitting. But

  I do not feel that hiding behind the Emperor’s back is fitting.”

  “You are mistaken. This is a matter in which Clyven has concerned himself directly.”

  “I stand corrected. And, quite honestly, I am amazed.” He gave Il-sabayoo his death’s-head smile. “What service may I perform for His Majesty?”

  The old man looked uncomfortable. He sipped his wine and looked at fan Talba, who gave him a tiny shrug. Gilhame, who now had a glass in front of him, drank too, and waited.

  The Chief Justice cleared his throat. “Quite frankly, ur Fagon, your growing military success disturbs His Majesty,” Kinagin said. The old man glared at her.

  “Why? Is my loyalty in doubt?”

  “Any man’s loyalty has a price,” she replied.

  “Be quiet!” snapped Il-sabayoo. “Sometimes I wonder what the Creator was thinking about, inventing women!” “The cosmos does seem to have a sense of humor, doesn’t it? But I wonder who the joke is on, us or them?” Gilhame said this to the herald. Kinagin arched an eyebrow at ur Fagon and gave him a hint of a grin.

  “The Emperor does not like his servants to grow too strong, Admiral,” Il-sabayoo commented. “Therefore, it has been decided that you will marry one of His Majesty’s unwed daughters. There are two, Clyfera and Donaclyde and . . .”

  “I cannot.”

  “What?”

  “I am already married.”

  “Set it aside!”

  “I do not choose to do so. I am quite happy with the wife I have. I am sure the princesses are delightful and charming ladies. I doubt they would find me either. I am a simple fighting man. I do not wish to become an ornament of the Imperial Court.”

  “Hardly simple, Admiral,” Kinagin said.

  “Your wishes are of no matter. You will marry one of the princesses. Come, be reasonable. You may keep your wife

  as concubine,” the herald growled.

  “I have no wish to insult the mother of my children by such an irregular arrangement.”

  The herald looked at Kinagin and fan Talba. “You don’t seem to understand that you have no choice in the matter,” he said finally.

  “Nonsense. If I didn’t have any say, you wouldn’t be here. Fan Talba can attest to my record in litigation. Short of killing me, you cannot prevent me from appealing to the Imperial Court of Justice against such a forced marriage. I have done no wrong. I have not sinned against the State. Therefore, I have the right to sue for recompense—even against His Majesty. I would rather not, you know, for the embarrassment to the crown would be greater than to me. Am I not correct, Justice Kinagin?”

  “Your grasp of the matter is excellent.”

  “That is praise indeed.” They smiled at each other. “Would you consider leaving the Navy for a legal career, Admiral?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “The wheels of justice are a little slow for my taste.”

  “What a shame,” she replied.

  “Who is this wife?” fan Talba cut in with his quiet voice. “Alvellaina Curly-Krispin.”

  The Adjudicator looked up at Alvellaina standing behind Gilhame. “I see. It seems my decision was less unjust than it appeared at the time. You share, do you not, a common ancestor with Her Majesty, the Empress, halba?” “Yes. My father’s mother was the half-sister of the Empress’s mother.” Alvellaina spoke nervously, and there were two bright spots of color on her cheeks. The Herald was glaring at her.

  “A traitor’s daughter is not a persuasive assurance of loyalty,” Il-sabayoo said.

  “Isn’t it? Strange. I had never heard that disloyalty was a hereditary trait, Your Excellency,” Gilhame answered. “We seem to have reached an impasse. Shall we try another tack?”

  “Ill-mannered pup!”

  “I beg Your Excellency’s pardon for my insolence. I regret my inability to place political needs,” he said cooly, “before my own. I have spent my life serving the Empire. I have no wish but to continue to do so.”

  “Fine words,” said the Herald, “are easily forgotten.” “I told you not to try to bully him,” said Kinagin. “His psycho-tapes indicate a high resistance to such tactics.” “They also show ungovernable disobedience—as he has just displayed by his refusal to marry one of the princesses!”

  “I told you that wouldn’t work either. A man who has stayed single as long as ur Fagon would never wed for expediency’s sake. You can’t always get your way, Horabe. What are you so worried abo
ut? He isn’t power-hungry.” “That is precisely what worries me. A man without ambition is always suspect.”

  “Would you like me to leave so you can carry on this argument without mincing words?” Gilhame cut in. “I feel as if everyone in the cosmos has seen my psycho-tapes but me. I wonder you don’t just reproduce them and sell them as a new form of entertainment. A game, perhaps?”

  The Herald slapped his own palm onto the table. “Enough! I have decided. You will leave your wife in the care of the Imperial family.”

  “That I will not. Because, when she was poisoned, as I am certain she would be, I should be forced to rend you limb from limb, old man, and my respect for your years makes me reluctant to do so. I never parlay with a gun in my guts.”

  “You will do as you are bid—or face the consequences!” shouted the herald.

  “Let us examine these consequences. I can go on leading my fleet against His Majesty’s enemies everywhere. That is one. I can accept exile. There is another. Do you think your father would be pleased to see us, Alvellaina? Or, I can resign my fleet and take a paper-shuffling job in the Admiralty. Would I be safe teaching tactics at the Academy? Would that draw my teeth sufficiently to satisfy your fears, Il-sabayoo? With no fleet behind me, I am no threat to anyone except perhaps my staff. What danger would I be behind a desk?”

  “You would do that?” The Herald was amazed.

  “Why not? I’ve been living in a ship for over twenty years. Perhaps it is time for a change. In fact, you might put me in charge of what is hilariously called Intelligence. I might do better at avoiding the kind of screw-up that almost happened at Gemna. Unless that is too dangerous a position for a man of my ungovernable disposition.”

  “You would retire?”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t believe this. You would voluntarily surrender the power you have amassed?”

  “Power? Is that what I have? Strange, I have never thought of it as such. I suppose, to a man like yourself, who has grown old in the manipulation of such things, that a fleet defines itself as power. You see ships and weapons, don’t you? I don’t. I see people, like the Lieutenant here, laboring in a common cause, which is the Empire. My people serve under me, but they do not serve me. They serve His Majesty. This is an idealistic hangover from my own early service under Admiral Legardi, no doubt, but I have never found any reason to question his philosophy.

  “I must say, however, that I resent the implication that / might renegade or, worse, attempt to hold some kind of gun to His Majesty’s revered head. That’s really offensive. Now, after Gyre’s defection, I am not surprised that you are jumping at shadows. I quote you a maxim of Clyven II. ‘One way to create enemies is to alienate friends.’”

  “Very prettily said, ur Fagon. Alright, you will be relieved from command after you receive your rewards from the Emperor. Your audience is tomorrow at treece. You will receive a list of who is to accompany you. You are an unruly rapscallion, young man, and I hope you do not live to regret your decision.”

  Gilhame grinned. “With undue immodesty, I will say that I am currently the most able fleet officer in the Emperor’s command, Il-sabayoo. You had better pray you don’t live to regret the decision which your manipulations have

  forced upon me. You might, you know.”

  The pursuivant helped the old man out of his chair. “It doesn’t matter. The pattern is nearly complete anyhow,” he wheezed. The rest of the company stood as he moved towards the portal. “Arrogant bastard!” Gilhame heard him mutter as he left.

  Gilhame smiled and saluted. “Call me if you need me,” he said quietly.

  Justice Kinagin caught his words. “You need not worry, Admiral. We will,” she said. Then she followed the rest of the party out of the room, and Frikard closed the portal behind him.

  Ur Fagon looked at the two women who remained. Alvellaina was white with strain. He could see her hands were fists, the nails cutting into her palms. Lieutenant Vaverly looked very thoughtful.

  “Thank you both for your silent support, halbas. You really should receive combat pay for that encounter.” “What a nasty old man!” Alvellaina exclaimed.

  “You misjudge him, my darling. By his lights, he did the correct thing. I am the vortex of Chaos, remember? My climb to success has been too rapid for his peace of mind, and he has spent centuries in the service of the Empire.”

  “Sir, what did he mean about the pattern almost being complete?” Vaverly asked.

  “Metaphysics, Lieutenant, only metaphysics. Come and see me tomorrow at brimas and tell me how I should behave in the Presence, will you? Will they give me a patent, do you think?”

  “Almost certainly, sir. Anything less would be an insult.”

  “Good. That old man will choke on my choice of mottoes. You are dismissed.”

  “Very good, sir.” She did not move.

  “What is it, Vaverly?”

  “Your presence will be missed, sir.”

  “Why, thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “And I would like to wish you both all the happiness in the cosmos.”

  “You are too kind. We’ll send you an invitation to the wedding.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The protocol officer left.

  Alvellaina sat down in the chair Gilhame had occupied and drained his glass. She refilled it and half-emptied it before she spoke. “Now, at least, I understand your unseemly haste to marry me. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. But, I remembered that in the reign of Clyven III a similar situation arose. One Admiral Kinagin, the father of the chief justice, I believe, was . . . pressured, shall we say, into marrying Clyven’s daughter Kanclyva. Since it was Il-sabayoo who masterminded that alliance— misalliance is a better word—I thought the same solution might appeal to him again. He is the power behind the throne. I hope you can bring yourself to forgive me for rushing you, and for using you as I did.”

  “Did you use me? I suppose you did. Still, I think you paid a pretty stiff price for me—your whole fleet for a five-cruiser woman.”

  “You are never going to let me forget that, are you?” “Should I?” She was a little giddy from having drunk so much wine so quickly.

  “Probably not. If you go on knocking back wine at that rate, you’ll feel awful tomorrow.”

  “Tell me, should I be puffed up with conceit at your choosing me over my cousins, the princesses? The Emperor has so many daughters I get mixed up.”

  “Let me see. The one called Doraclyde has a face like a swine and writes epic plays. A charming and intelligent woman, probably, but quite ugly. The other, Clyfera, is beautiful, quite beautiful. I have heard, in the manner of her mother. She is also a devoted intrigant and would probably cost me my head if I didn’t murder her first. She’s been widowed twice before. No, my refusal should not enhance your consequence. Be satisfied with a fleet for your bride-price.”

  “You do regret it.” The tears stood in her eyes.

  He came over and knelt beside her, searching her face. His resignation hurt her more than it did him. He brushed his hands over her hair. “Alvellaina, I would count the cosmos well lost to have you beside me.”

  Epilogue

  The audience hall on Kardisia rang with the blowing of trumpets. Gilhame, his bride on his arm, began the long walk toward the throne. All along the sides of the room, nearly a quarter mile long, the twenty thousand families of the nobility sat in their hereditary boxes, eating, drinking, talking and watching. Some, who were impoverished, were reputed to live in their boxes.

  As they progressed, with Frikard, Buschard, Vraser and a number of ur Fagon’s other officers, toward the dias the murmur of the viewers became less. Finally, they arrived.

  Clyven IV, dumpy and whey-faced, handed out such awards as were appropriate to the occasion. Gilhame waited his turn, for his officers were acknowledged before him.

  “Gilhame ur Fagon, Admiral of his Imperial Majesty Clyven IV’s Twelfth Fleet, approach the throne,” bawled some heraldic fu
nctionary.

  He received his medal. Then the herald continued. “Being mindful of your valor in Our service, We are disposed to offer you a patent of arms, Gilhame ur Fagon. Therefore, our heralds have devised the following arms: Upon a field of red, the head of a dragon in black, edged in gold, the throat of the dragon cut smooth. Henceforth you will be known as Durimus Gemma and Vardar. What, if any, motto do you wish attached to your arms?”

  Gilhame was amused. A viscount! But the arms amused him more: Gules, a dragon’s-head sable couped and fibriated or. He had borne that banner before his troops on a hundred worlds.

  He bowed before the throne again. “If it please your Majesty, I would choose as my motto, ‘In the Service of the Empire.’”

  A tiny gasp went around the royal family and the heraldic officers. Gilhame could hear the whisper of his choice being hissed from box to box overhead. Il-sabayoo turned red and choked.

  Clyven nodded at the presiding herald, apparently unaware of any irony. But the Empress gave ur Fagon a sharp look and just the hint of a smile.

  “The motto of Gilhame ur Fagon, Durimus Gemna and Vardar, will be in the Service of the Empire.’”

  Gilhame ur Fagon retreated from the Imperial Presence well aware that he had gotten the final word in his argument with the old King-at-Arms. It amused him, but all he could really concentrate on was his new wife and the child that would someday be theirs.

  He heard a tinkly laugh in his mind. For a second he could see nothing but blackness. Then he made out the wheeled silver ornaments in her black hair. ‘You see. You can progress. ’ She said that and vanished. And Gilhame ur Fagon breathed a sigh of relief and forgot about Glass Castle.