by Hugh Cook
The files made it clear that both Fox and Farfalla had nearly been indicted on charges of high treason. However, three potential witnesses against them had committed suicide rather than submit to torture. The fact that Fox and Farfalla could command such loyalty made them very dangerous people indeed…
CHAPTER SIX
Name: Thodric Jarl. Birthplace: the islands of Rovac.
Description: world-weary man of 45, brusque in speech and manner; grey eyes, hair and bulky beard; always clad in battle-leathers; infallibly armed. Status: a wanted criminal in Chi'ash-lan; a general on the Reserve List of the Imperial Army of the Witchlord Onosh Gulkan, lord of Saf rak; blood-sworn enemy of the better part of a hundred men; a civil servant in the pay of two hostile states.
Career: soldiered in places as far afield as the snows of the Cold West and Tameran's horselands. After many vicissitudes became combat instructor to the hostage Sarazin in Voice. This sinecure ended when the Rice Empire's ruler sent him north to spy in Selzirk, where he got a real job of work as Master of Combat for the Watch.
Shortly after Jarl started his new job, he was approached by one of the Watch, Qid by name. As Jarl had learnt as yet but little Churl, they conversed in Galish. Qid began by noting that Sean Sarazin was ill, but would join the army on recovery. You think he should do otherwise?' said Jarl.
'Let me speak frankly,' said Qid. 'Some of us in the Watch think the prince is meant for better things.'
The Galish Trading Tongue, a language fitted for commerce rather than courtly use, had no precise word for 'prince'. So the actual term Qid used was 'ral-gunth', literally 'power-born'.
Jarl, unversed in the intricacies of Selzirk's politics, knew but the bare outlines of the game of power and influence in which the principals were kingmaker, Regency, army, law courts, guilds and temples, the Watch, the Secret Service, the Diplomatic Corps and the treasury. But he knew enough to say:
'Ral-gunth? Such talk is unsound and unsafe. Sean Sarazin was not born to power but to service. His fate is to join the army like his brothers.'
'His brothers,' said Qid, 'might think their mother's son as worthy of service as any army. What say? Did they speak of power as all four rode together from Voice to Selzirk?'
They spoke of beer, brothels, hounds, horse, dice and cards,' said Jarl. You are bold, Qid, but a fool. There's no conspiracy to be made in Selzirk. Certainly not between Sean Sarazin and his brothers I' "You cannot know that of a certainty,' said Qid.
'Have you not heard? Such a conspiracy is now a physical impossibility, for the army has dispersed the brothers.' 'Where to?' said Qid. 'I don't know and don't care,' said Jarl brusquely.
In fact, he had paid good gold to get the details for the latest coded despatch he had sent to Lord Regan with a southbound Galish kafila. Celadon had gone to Shin as a military attache, Peguero was posted to Kelebes to be aide-de-camp to the governor of that town and region, while Jarnel had been given the hopeless task of collecting taxes (unpaid for the last three hundred years) from anarchists dwelling in the marshlands of Tyte. 'Wherever they've gone,' said Qid, 'they'll be back.'
'But not for a while,' said Jarl. 'That gives all who think or talk treason time in which to come to their senses.'
With that, Jarl terminated the interview. What he wanted – or so he told himself – was a quiet life. More of the pasture time he had enjoyed for so long in Voice. Yet, when others of the Watch came to him in secret to say they would throw in their lot with Sarazin if he sought to rule in Selzirk, Jarl had to admit to himself that he was tempted.
Power! That would be his reward if he helped Sarazin win the throne. He had known power before. Had known victory, triumph, glory. However… while serving with the Rovac armies in the Cold West, Jarl had spent years in Chi'ash-lan, city of intrigues. There he had learnt habits of caution which now helped him frame his response to the conspirators:
'I am but a simple solider who is not paid to think. Sean Sarazin's fate is not in my keeping, since he is no longer my student. Whatever his future, I have no part in it. If you must conspire, then conspire with him direct.'
"His years are not those of discretion' was the answer. We dare not approach him direct. Hence we seek his answer to an invitation to power through one of years more mature.'
Well then' said Jarl, suddenly in the best of all possible humours, 'I believe the scholar Epelthin Elkin tutors young Sarazin still. So speak to him if you wish. But, as for me: I have forgotten this meeting already. If need be, I will deny its history, even in the teeth of torture.'
Thus rebuffed, some members of the Watch followed Jarl's advice, and sought to approach Sarazin by means of the good offices of Epelthin Elkin. But the old scholar came to no harm through the warrior's malice, since he was every bit as cunning and cautious as the Rovac warrior. Thinking the conspirators to be, in all likelihood, agents in the pay of the Regency, he dismissed them, saying:
'Sarazin is too young for me to know what he is made of, but I doubt that treason has been bred in his bones.'
That, then, was the state of the Great Game in Selzirk in the dying days of the year Alliance 4324.
Farfalla and Plovey alike watched Sean Sarazin, both fearing that he might be tempted to violence by ambition.
Qid and others of the Watch met often in secret, and, slowly, more and more members of Selzirk's law- enforcement agency were drawn into, conspiracy. The Brotherhood of the Watch – a secret society outlawed for over a hundred years, but flourishing still – discussed Sean Sarazin's potential in cities as far away as Androlmarphos and Kelebes.
Military intelligence, suspecting something untoward was afoot, tried (not for the first time) to infiltrate Watch and Brotherhood both.
The scholarly Epelthin Elkin sent long, detailed reports to Lord Regan on the economic strength of the Harvest Plains. Thodric Jarl, for his part, included a question in his next report:
'Does my lord intend Sean Sarazin to overthrow the ruling order in Selzirk? If so, what help does the south offer? Know this: if my lord commands it, I am ready.'
Finally, Midsummer's Day arrived: the start of the year Alliance 4325. As Sarazin, true to his religion, began the praise-prayers due to the sungod, some of the fiercer spirits in the Watch came to a decision. They would approach Sarazin on the morrow and speak to him. About power. Revolution. Empire. Qid, they decided, would be the man to make the approach.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jaluba: courtesan born in Galtras Laven (capital of the Rice Empire); free citizen of that empire and resident of the city of Voice.
Description: a woman of sixteen who is much like the damsel fair of whom Ipijima says (to quote him in his native Slandolin): 'voluvolv lintori, la, irafram sulpent ersetina…'
Residence: the Velvet Glove (near the House of Bliss), Street of Incense, songlight side of Voice in the Rice Empire.
When Sarazin satisfied his nagging curiosity by seeking out his father, Fox proved to be a heavyset man as old as Thodric Jarl and bearded likewise, though his beard was not grey but tawny. He was distant, reserved and cautious, preferring to listen rather than speak. Finally Sarazin asked a frank question: 'Farfalla says you sought power in Selzirk. Is that true?'
'I sought power through her, yes,' said Fox. We planned to end slavery in the Harvest Plains.'
Sarazin, thinking this was a joke, laughed heartily. A natural reaction – for the notion was, of course, absurd.
'Oh yes, you can laugh,' said Fox, misunderstanding the cause of Sarazin's mirth. We were fools in the thrall of hope. But we were young! We believed! We truly thought justice could conquer regardless of the odds.'
"You mean,' said Sarazin, incredulously, 'you – you really did mean to liberate the slaves?' 'Justice, as I said, was our motivator,' said Fox.
'But is not justice the rule of law? And are not property rights the foundation of law? And are not slaves property?' 'Slaves,' said Fox, with undisguised anger, 'are people.' 'Perhaps. But property first and foremost.'
You th
ink the lives of some worth more than the lives of others?' said Fox. 'Of course!' said Sarazin.
It would be tiresome to detail the convoluted political argument which then ensued. And pointless, since the wise will already be familiar with this perennial debate, while the unwise are unlikely to modify their prejudices in the light of reason. Let it simply be said, then, that neither combatant changed the opinions of the other by so much as an iota.
Fox was fierce and passionate – and a demagogue of considerable power. But Sarazin had law and convention on his side, and, thinking he would win easily, at first argued lightheartedly. Neither the wise nor the unwise will be surprised to learn that he himself became passionate as the debate proceeded, that the tempers of both participants shortened, and that they departed on bad terms, both thinking less of each other than they had before.
The next day, Farfalla summoned Sarazin to her throne room, which typified her palace: it was uncomfortable, inconvenient and built to an inhuman scale. To get there involved a weary climb to the top of the High Court, a tower so high that Farfalla's throne afforded her a view over all of Selzirk. There she confronted her son in private.
You have met with Fox,' said Farfalla. 'I ordered you not to, yet you did.' Yes! But what right have you to deny me my father?'
"None. I see that now. I was wrong to try, and I apologise. You may meet Fox freely, whenever you see fit. If Fox makes you a madman like himself, well… we'll worry about that when it happens. Right now, I have more urgent concerns. Three days ago, you met a man.' 'Did I?' said Sarazin. 'Yes! In the Cat's Head, a brothel of the worst repute.' 'Men,' said Sarazin drily, 'are not to my taste.'
'Don't play innocent with me!' said Farfalla. The man's name was Qid. He serves in the Watch.'
'Well,' said Sarazin, 'and what of it? Thodric Jarl serves in the Watch. I see Jarl from time to time. Is that wrong?' This man Qid asked after your hopes and dreams.'
Who told you this?' said Sarazin fiercely, shocked that his secrets had been exposed. Was it Lod?' 'Oho!' said Farfalla. ' Does Master Lod have a part in this?' 'He did set up my meeting with Qid,' admitted Sarazin.
Then I will have a word or two with Master Lod before I'm done,' said Farfalla grimly. 'But rest assured, it was not Lod who betrayed you. I have other eyes and ears in the city. Furthermore, the Regency has spies who work as hard as mine. Exactly what treason were you plotting with Qid? Tell!'
'I'm no fool,' said Sarazin angrily. 'I let him do the talking.'
'So far so good. But will you shun him henceforth, or are you meeting again? Well? Are you?' 'I'm not saying,' said Sarazin, turning to go.
'Don't you walk out on me!' said Farfalla, catching him by the shoulder.
Which was too much to bear. She had chastised him like a little child, and now Sarazin turned in fury. His fist clenched, striking. Ump! Something hit him. And his legs were gone, kicked away, he was falling, going down towards the stone. He landed heavily and lay there with the breath knocked out of him. His mother looked down at him. She was utterly relaxed. Impassive. Watchful. And Sarazin, sore, bruised and shocked, thought: -She could have killed me! Farfalla resumed her throne.
Sarazin, shaken, picked himself up off the floor. He had never before been hit so hard, so fast, so suddenly. What was Farfalla? A witch? (She was in fact a master of Simoya Dance, a mind/body training system perfected in Selzirk, and unknown to the world at large.) 'How did you do that?' said Sarazin. But Farfalla, ignoring his question, continued thus:
Tvly spies tell me the Regency wants you dead. They will send agent provocateurs to tempt you into evil, then they will destroy you through the due process of the law, hoping to destroy or discredit me in the process. If Qid is not their man, they will have him under surveillance by now, for they have spies everywhere.'
'I won't meet him again,' said Sarazin sullenly, 'so don't worry. If you're quite through, I'm leaving. I'll send you Lod, since you're so keen to have a piece of him as well.' Wait about I' said Farfalla. 'I haven't finished yet I'
'What is it now?' said Sarazin, turning back to his mother. Who is Jaluba?' said Farfalla. 'Pardon?' said Sarazin. 'Jaluba,' said his mother impatiently. 'Is she a whore?' 'I don't know what you're talking about,' said he.
'Then read this,' said Farfalla, brandishing a letter, a translation of which had been made for her by her inter- preter that very morning, 'and you'll know soon enough.' One glance at the letter told Sarazin who it was from. You've been intercepting my mail!' he said, outraged. 'If I don't the Regency will,' retorted Farfalla. Then sat back and watched him as he read. Well?' said Farfalla, once Sarazin had finished. 'How did you come by this?' he said.
"My agents intercept Galish kafilas from south and north some leagues before they reach Selzirk. Thus I get at least a few of my own letters before Plovey does. An expensive business – but the cheap alternative might well be an early death.'
Then I’ll tell Jaluba to write with less passion in future,' said Sarazin. 'I for my part will be circumspect in my reply.'
'You'll not write back to this whore,' said Farfalla in unsuppressed fury. 'If you're known to have contact with an agent in or of the Rice Empire, that alone may be evidence sufficient for the Regency to impeach-'
'Impeach! Impeach!' said Sarazin. Having made some concessions to his mother already that day, he was in no mood to surrender on this point also. 'Are our lives entire to be ruled by this mythical impeachment?' 'Politics is our life whether we like it or not.'
Tour life, you mean,' said Sarazin. 'You've got the fun of it, the command of secret agents, rights of release and pardon, powers over half the best jobs in Selzirk. You've got-'
'Responsibility,' said Farfalla, cutting him off. 'A responsibility to keep us alive. Both of us, if possible.' 'Then what have I got?'
A rhetorical question. But it earnt itself a straight answer nonetheless:
'You've got your education. Since you won't be fit to join the army for some time yet, concentrate on your studies with Elkin. Also, Thodric Jarl has consented to continue your combat training, so you've that to work on as well.'
The river-fever does no lasting damage – except when it kills – so by late summer in the year Alliance 4325 Sarazin was most definitely once more fighting fit.
The army thinks your enlistment delayed indefinitely by disease,' said Farfalla. 'But you know yourself you've made a perfect recovery. I can see that for myself – as can others. It would be safer for all of us if you joined up now.'
That would upset the army surgeons,' said Sarazin blandly, confident his mother would indulge him in this small matter. Their professional judgment would be called into question.' 'Don't give me that nonsense,' said Farfalla. She spoke so curtly that Sarazin, hurt, felt momentarily tearful. She had terminated his intrigues with Qid. She had cancelled his correspondence with Jaluba. Was he not going to be allowed any freedom whatsoever? He mastered his emotions then said:
'I won't be a soldier. I couldn't stand it. A lifetime of garrison routine with that drunken mob of foul-mouthed oafs? It would kill me.' What do you -want then?' said Farfalla.
To be what I feel I have the ability to be. To make the most of myself. To fulfil the purpose for which I was born.'
His mother would have wanted as much for him, had they lived in a time and a place where ambition did not promise death. As it was…
You were born,' said Farfalla, 'as the natural consequence of an act of lust. That's all there is to it. You understand?'
It hurt her to talk of his birth so coldly. Sarazin, her firstborn. A child conceived in love. Worshipped at birth as something sacred. His hand so small, clutching her finger to tightly! Yet talk harshly she must, to try to make him see sense.
Sarazin did not answer. Farfalla had already betrayed herself to him in an earlier meeting when she had spoken of his foot jammed beneath her rib, of his birth, his first words, his first step, the agony of their parting when he was aged but four. Did she think he had forgotten already? She loved
him. Wanted him. Needed him. Valued him above almost anything in the world. Surely he could secure her indulgence. Seeking to do that, he said:
'I believe I can have whatever I want. I can be whatever I want to be. I can win whatever I want to win. All I need is just a little help to tap my true potential.'
'I give up!' said Farfalla. You're as senseless as a teenager. It's Lord Regan's fault. The old fool indulged you in a game of princes. But you're not a prince. You're a farrier's bastard, that's all.'
She hoped to educate through shock where reason had failed. Her vehement outburst shocked herself. But made little impact on Sarazin, who proved as much by saying:
You were consecrated as one of the Favoured Blood. In sacred ceremony, you joined your blood to that of the lineage of the rightful rulers of Argan. As all legend knows-'
'Legend! Legend!' said Farfalla. 'Do you want to be a legend-hero? Very well! Ride forth, my son, and kill yourself a dragon. Or dare the lands beyond Drangsturm and make a name for yourself as explorer. Or win yourself a princess, and make yourself lord of some kingdom through her inheritance.'
Thus raged Farfalla. Sarazin knew she was being sarcastic, but, even so, once he had escaped from her wrath he began considering her suggestions in earnest. Neither dragons nor Drangsturm appealed, but the idea of winning a princess recommended itself to his imagination.
The next day, Lod found Sarazin deep in research amidst heaps of books, scrolls, papers and maps. What are you doing?' said Lod.
'Researching my marriage to a princess,' answered Sarazin. 'Really! Have you found any candidates?'
'One or two. Things may have changed, but some of these reports claim that the kings of both Dybra and Chorst have daughters as yet unmarried. Slerma of Sung is also unmarried. Unfortunately, a traveller's tale alleges that she's slightly overweight. I must say I don't like fat.'
Then you must see my sister Amantha,' said Lod, whose appetite for devilment was unconstrained by any thought of the probable consequences of such. 'She's thin as an eel. And, I'm sure, every bit as slippery when wet.' He winked.
