by Guy Antibes
“The man writes down the proceedings. He is the only one permitted on the floor to write anything down. What he writes is the official record of the proceedings.”
Vish looked around at the aides on the balcony and saw them opening up similar boxes. He nodded his head. They would also write down what happened.
“Why do the other’s write their own accounts then?”
“Perspective. You answer me,” Sulm said. He folded his arms and crossed his ankles and leaned against the stone back to the bench.
“Oh.” Vish knew immediately what Sulm meant. “The man down on the floor will write what the Emperor wants and it might differ from what is actually said. All of these men will write down what they want. Maybe none of them will be the truth because they have their own perspective and that is often wrong or a lie.”
Sulm patted Vish on the head and then folded his arms again. “That’s all you need to learn today, excellent.” He smiled, with too much self-satisfaction for Vish and looked down at the first discussion. “Enjoy the rest of your experience.”
Before long, Vish’s eyes began to droop. He didn’t know most of what went on in the council chamber. Sulm shook his shoulder.
“We must stand again when your father leaves the room.”
Vish blinked his eyes and tried to will away the stupor of slumber and stood with the rest of those in the chamber. Still trying to gather his wits, he noticed the anticipation of the council’s end. His father left first, followed by the scribe struggling with the stool and table. Did that happen every council meeting? Poor scribe.
The chamber began to buzz with noise. Voices called from the chamber up to the gallery as councilor’s asked and answered questions that they didn’t mind hitting other ears. Vish remembered the collective tension build at the end of the council meeting and then as his father left, there was a release, like a wave hitting the shore with the hiss of foam and the promise of cool water creeping up one’s legs.
Sulm didn’t say a word as they clambered back down the awkward spiral stairs to the ground level of the chamber. They passed the ornate double doors, now open and filled with chatting men with a few women joining in just outside the doors. He led Vish to a less-traveled corridor. They moved past a few guards and then out into the sunlit Imperial gardens, the lush park that ran between all of the private outer buildings and the compound that housed the royal families.
Vish felt a bump and looked up at the prince that Sulm pointed out during the session. The young man sneered at Vish and pulled his concubine past him, breaking out into a run. Vish followed them with his eyes and unexpectedly felt a pang of jealousy clutch at him. He raised his eyes to Sulm. His tutor made a poor substitute for a person of his same age. Not one that could look at him with excitement in her eyes. A girl? The thought made his face scrunch up as if he bit into a lemon. Still, he continued to observe his half-brother and the girl until they ran up the steps of the third wife’s house. If only he could be so old.
“Do you want to be like him?”
Vish didn’t know, but his vague repulsion of the girl made him shake his head. “No, I don’t like girls.”
Sulm just laughed and began to talk about the history of the Council. Vish didn’t listen. He’d regret ignoring Sulm lecture, but he knew where he could read about the Council in his library.
“My father is too important,” Vish said, interrupting his tutor.
Sulm stopped and guided Vish to a stone bench shaded by an arbor of plum-colored bougainvillea. He peered at Vish the way that generally made Vish squirm, but the boy didn’t feel intimidated today. “He struts in and flaunts the rules of the chamber with his scribe and then struts out. Why can’t he behave like a regular man or even like one of the Councilors?”
Vish thought of perspective and how he didn’t like it. His father created a facade and spoke from behind one. What was the real man like? He found that perspective became an excuse for men to use for their own ends. His father used deception.
“He is the Emperor. It’s in his best interests to behave as a man apart,” Sulm said. Vish looked at him and didn’t think Sulm meant what he said.
“Is that what you really believe?” Vish asked, wondering how Sulm would answer.
The tutor shrugged. “Many men do what they want. The more power a man has, the more he can do what he wants,” Sulm looked at the roofs of the wives’ houses following a pair of birds engaged in a chase of some kind.
“I’d like to have the power to act any way I please,” Vish said.
That brought Sulm eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “You don’t think you do?”
“No, the sorcerers want me to pledge loyalty to them. Mother wants the same thing. Father does too. I am bound by my promises. Mother has taught me that and you have too, if you remember.”
Sulm leaned over, grinning, and put his palm to his forehead. “What have I created?”
“The gods created me. I am their creature, as are we all.”
That brought a laugh to his tutor. “As are we all. One second you spout sedition and the next you declare the most rote of religious statements. As are we all. In the end that’s all we are, just men. Let’s get you something sweet to eat in your kitchen.” Sulm smiled and laughed. “I’ll beat you to your house.” He walked quickly and Vish had to trot to keep up with him.
Perhaps Sulm was a friend after all.
~~~
CHAPTER THREE
~
VISH’S TWELVE-YEAR-OLD EYES DRANK IN THE SIZE of the horse in front of him.
“I’ve never ridden a horse that big,” he said. He’d only seen these massive beasts in parades.
“Your father commands you to ride a hunting steed. It is a hunt, after all, and you’ll have to manage,” the groom said. “This is a big event. All of your brothers twelve and older are eligible to ride on the annual hunt, if invited. This is your special day!” The older man grinned. “I’ll help you up. This old horse is gentle enough, you’ll see. She’ll take you on a good ride.”
Vish walked up to the horse’s head and reached up to pat her nose. She didn’t bite his hand off. That would be a good sign.
“You can mount now, prince.” The groom smiled and put threaded his fingers together so Vish could jump up on the animal.
“Whew!” Vish said as he jumped onto the saddle. The groom adjusted the stirrups while Vish leaned over and patted the horse’s neck. He jerked on the reins and the horse jumped a bit to the side, knocking the groom over.
“Prince, the horse is intelligent enough to react to the way you use reins. You must be careful when you give it instructions through the reins,” the groom said. “She’s even trained to react to guidance with your knees. It might be fun for you to learn. You can practice on your way to the hunting preserve. Start soft and increase the way you squeeze until she reacts to the pressure of your legs. Push your knee one way and the horse will go that way. Push the opposite way and the horse will veer in that direction. It is easy, Prince. The horse should respond. Can you do that?”
A ripple of excitement went through Vish. He recognized it as a type of fear, but tried to keep his face as impassive as the other riders who began to mount. He nodded and jerked his body forward to get the horse moving. Would that work? It did, like it had when he rode much smaller ponies. His excitement settled down as he joined the other riders. The horse was smart enough to follow the others in the long line.
As they moved through the city, Vish felt the uneasy tension of riding such a large beast amidst all of the crowds and sounds, but once they exited the East Gate, they entered farmlands. He was towards the back of a long line of riders, all mounted on horses as big as his. He’d been to his father’s vast hunting preserve before on outings with his mother and siblings. Then he rode in one of the carriages, but not as a member of a hunting party. They wouldn’t reach the preserve for another hour or so and then it might take a few hours to get to where they would be hunting. At least that’s what Sulm
said. He’d also talked him into wearing a coat of ring-mail underneath his shirt despite the heat.
“Don’t tell anyone about it. Other hunters don’t wear armor of any kind,” Sulm had said. “It get’s dangerous on a royal hunt and you never know what kind of animal will gore you.” Sulm had been on a ride to another preserve three or four years ago. Vish had learned to trust the tutor and did as he said. It seemed that his words carried more meaning unsaid than what he had said.
Vish looked back at the wagons following the party. Those held some armor, all of the weapons and a few carried food for the participants. The Emperor didn’t permit his courtiers to bear arms until they began the hunt. He looked ahead at a growing line of trees that bordered the fields surrounding the imperial city. Perhaps the time had come to practice with his knees and see if the groom had only been joking with him.
He put a little bit of pressure to move the horse left, but nothing happened. Then he increased the pressure gradually and the horse moved to the left side of the road. Vish smiled and patted the horse’s neck.
“Good girl,” he said as moved the horse to the different sides of the road. It didn’t take much direction, just as the reins didn’t take a lot of force to get the horse to move.
Vish recognized a life lesson as he continued to work with the horse. He realized one didn’t need to apply brute force, but gentle guidings to get where one wanted to go. It had been four years since his testing at the Sorcerers’ Tower and they had tried brute force on him. What if they had been gentler in their approach? Influencing him bit by bit. Would he have succumbed to their request? Vish didn’t know the answer to that, but he conceded that a milder approach might have worked on him.
He nodded his head as he rode. Did Sulm do the same thing? What kind of thoughts had been gently placed in his head as Sulm directed him? Vish frowned at the thought. Was that part of manipulation? Sulm had just begun to talk to him more about political strategy. Vish understood that successful politicians often manipulated others. He’d have to pay more attention now that he realized that any perspective could hide a lie or a deception and he now accepted that he could be manipulated with gentle guidance to believe in a certain way. These seemed to be connected and the principles involved were likely used all of the time in the Imperial Compound.
Vish pressed his lips together in determination. He didn’t want to be manipulated by gentle pressure. He would have to be on his guard at all times. But he smiled as he continued to work with the knee commands. Riding the horse had become fun. He could manipulate as well as be manipulated, if his actions were equally subtle.
One of his father’s guards rode back along the long line of horses and turned to ride next to Vish. The young prince realized that most of the others rode with a partner and none had offered to do the same with him. It was just as well. He couldn’t have practiced riding the huge mare if he had another person riding next to him.
“Follow me. Your father would like to speak with you.”
Vish smiled at the command. The Emperor would deign to speak with his son. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an audience with his father and followed the guard up the line. Vish tried using his knees to guide the horse and he grinned as it followed his commands. He still held onto the reins because he didn’t know if he should be doing such a thing.
“Your Imperial Highness,” Vish said as another rider gave his place to him.
His father turned and smiled at him. “Vishan, welcome to the hunting party. This is your first time, isn’t it?” This man wasn’t acting as the Emperor, yet Vish could see the power in the way he spoke and held himself on his horse. The Emperor didn’t need all of the trappings he usually wore. Vish could feel his impressive confidence. He wished he could have known him as a father, but the man had many other sons. Did he treat them all the same way? Vish wondered how much his father interacted with any of them.
“It is, father. I turned twelve, three months ago.”
The Emperor nodded. “Three more years and you’ll be counted as a man. I have something for you.” He reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a dagger and handed it to Vish.
“One should have a personal weapon on a hunt. You may always wear it my presence, even if most others are forbidden to bear arms in my proximity. What do you say?”
Vish gazed at the dagger. A jewel had been placed at the end of the pommel. Curving lines of inlaid gold glittered in the sunlight, but Vish looked at the steel itself. Every surface of the handle looked perfect—but it was polished without too bright of a sheen.
“It’s not shiny.” Vish said. He wasn’t disappointed, just curious. Sulm had only taught him the basics of holding a sword and a knife in the last year and he could tell that his tutor didn’t excel in the handling of weapons.
The Emperor’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Weapons aren’t always made to be shiny. There is sometimes an advantage to being dull, but deadly. Have your tutor or Yalla’s cook teach you how to keep it sharp. The cook probably knows how to do a better job.” The Emperor laughed and let Vish ride beside him in silence for a few moments. “Have a good day, Vishan.” The Emperor nodded to the guard that rode just behind.
“Come with me, Prince,” the guard said as he guided Vish back to his proper place in line. Vish eyed those who passed. He saw a number of youthful faces including the brother who ran into him in the Imperial Compound two years ago. There were more nobles. The hunting party must have numbered nearly one hundred. The guard hurried back up towards the Emperor, leaving Vish by himself towards the back of the line again.
The audience with his father had been limited to a few sentences and yet Vish didn’t mind the abrupt ending. He pulled the dagger out of its ornate leather sheath and admired the patterning forged into the blade. The marbled steel didn’t reflect the sun’s light other than to show a blurred, but bright image of the sun itself. Pulling out a pocket square, he ran the cloth over the sharp edge and he marveled at the sharp edge splitting the weave. He’d have Sulm take him to the Imperial Library and they could research what kind of steel the Emperor had given him.
His father had called him by name, but did he actually recognize him? Vish doubted it. Presenting the gift obviously gave the Emperor pleasure, but he must have done such a thing many times in the past. Did each son get the same kind of knife? Vish wanted to find out.
The party stopped at a large meadow not far into the forest. A permanent marble pavilion dominated the open area. Vish remembered the place from outings with his immediate family, but then it wasn’t so crowded. Men, who had ridden behind the wagons, rode up and began to tie up horses at stone rails as more servants hurried to set out food and drink on the tables underneath the large dome of the pavilion. Vish just moved along with the rest as they walked into the woods and relieved themselves on the leafy forest floor. He made sure that none noticed his mail shirt. He pondered removing the wretched thing so he could cool down, but Vish knew he wore the protection for a reason. He looked forward to a cool drink of water.
“Prince Vishan?” A smiling older man stopped the young prince as he emerged from the woods. He was a noble of some kind, wearing a dark brown leather vest with black silk trimming. His hair had just begun to gray. “I am Fenakyr. I serve as a Baron. My domain is on the border with Serytar. Your father has just asked me to accompany you on the hunt. Let us sit and refresh ourselves together and I’ll tell you what happens from here on.”
“I thank you,” Vish said. “I’ve never hunted before.”
Fenakyr laughed. It seemed forced to Vish. “A long, long time ago, I hadn’t either. We will plunge into the woods after the huntsmen and the grooms have found animals to hunt. All of us will be given spears.”
“And armor?” Vish remembered seeing armor in one of the carts.
“Just for the Emperor. He’ll be protected around courtiers and his sons wearing weapons that are generally not permitted in his presence.”
Vishan furrowed his brow.
He wouldn’t tell the baron about his mail shirt, but he had something else that he wanted to show someone. His father told him that he would allow him to wear his dagger in his presence. “What about this?” He showed Fenakyr his new dagger.
“Beautiful. They only make steel like that in two places, on the Roppon Isles and in the city of Gamor, close to Cuminee. The finish is stunning.” He looked at Vish and squinted. “Has anyone approached you about what your father would like you to do when you are older?”
Vishan gave his head a quick shake. “The sorcerers tested me four years ago.” He finished with a little shrug.
“So you failed. To me, that’s in your favor. The sorcerers don’t actually support your father, you know, but they have enough power to mandate the testing.”
A servant put a platter of food in front of them. Vish took a banana from the stack and began to peel it. “The thing is I don’t think I failed,” he said. “I refused to agree to be loyal to them above all else and walked out.”
Fenakyr blinked his eyes. “You did this at eight years old? Didn’t they intimidate you?” He shook his shoulders. “I’m always uneasy around them.”
That was quite an admission, Vish thought, so he would make one of his own. He laughed a bit and then said, “I ran as hard as I could as soon as I left their tower and kept running until I reached home. I thought they would attack me, but nothing came of it.”
“Have you touched Affinity since?”
Vish furrowed his brow. “I don’t know how to do that, but I could see through the deceptions they laid in front of me.” He didn’t want to tell him about the glowing ball.
Fenakyr took Vish’s knife and cut a slice off of a haunch of some kind of meat Vish didn’t recognize. The man obviously collected his thoughts as he wiped the knife thoroughly and returned it to the sheath. “I’m sorry about that, but I hate tearing apart my meal.”
Vish saw that all of the other hunters were ripping at the meat with their bare hands. He unsheathed his knife and did the same as his new friend.
