Mobius

by Garon Whited

  Boss?

  “Hmm?”

  They aren’t all that pleased in the first place.

  “How do you mean?”

  Most of them—well, the ones I’ve been near—are more afraid of you than pleased.

  “Go on.”

  Look, Boss. They’re your people. You’re their Mazhani, or so they think, but they’re pretty sure you’re not human. It’s hard to describe.

  “I’m still listening.”

  You know how everything out of the ordinary is a demon-whatever? A werewolf would be a demon-wolf. Stuff like that?

  “Sure.”

  They don’t have a word for “vampire.” You can translate “Lord of Night” if you like, but they think of a blood-drinking monster as a demon-something. A blood-demon, probably.

  “What’s this got to do with me terrorizing the populace?”

  I’m for it. Very draconic. I bring up the language because you’re being described in a similar fashion.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve heard things I haven’t.”

  Yup. I can hear them thinking downstairs and during the day. Nobody talks about you at night, even behind your back. They say you can hear anytime your name is even whispered in the dark.

  “What the…? Really?”

  They’re superstitious, your cloak is an infinite void, your shadow doesn’t behave, blood runs toward you, and several of them have seen you move in a hurry at night.

  I didn’t have a good reply to that. Firebrand was right.

  “Fine. What are they saying behind my back? No, wait. Let me guess. Demon king?”

  Not exactly, since their idea of a king is a little different, but “Demon-ruler-over-a-region-and-its-people-by-virtue-of-conquest-and-settlement” doesn’t really have the same ring.

  I didn’t groan aloud, but I did put my head in my hands.

  If it helps, Firebrand went on, they’re more afraid of you than they are in love with you, mostly in a good way. You’re providing a place for them to live—industry, work, economy, all that. You’re willing to defend them. They believe you’ll defy the Empire and the gods themselves for them, which is part of what scares them. They believe you can! So, you’re a good king—don’t argue—by their criteria, but you scare them.

  “I think it was Machiavelli who said it was better to be feared than to be loved.”

  You’ve got that, Boss. You’re in the zone between feared enough to be instantly obeyed and so terrified they run screaming. It’s a very dragon-ish problem and I’m proud of you for having it.

  “Thanks. I think.”

  I sat there and regarded the sleeping baby while I thought about larger things. The Temples are sure to be upset, but they’re also likely to be busy with some internal problems and some PR problems. They won’t be coming after me as a united front, at least for a while. Hazir’s friends in the heretic movement or protestant reformation or whatever they are will see to it, although they won’t be doing it for my benefit.

  The kustoni barbarian tribes may or may not be willing to establish trading relations. Those are still up in the air, whether from their hidebound stubbornness or from their interest in stealing rather than trading. I hope someone with no talent for thievery will show some courage and make us an offer. If it goes well, it’ll encourage such relations. I might have to make the first gesture, though, and hand out free samples. Maybe give away some steel knives to the local tribe, or maybe several steel knives in the monolithic city. That’ll be for later, though.

  More immediately, the Temple troops… actually, they’re not Temple troops, are they? They’re crusaders. They’ve been motivated by the Temple and told what to do, but they’re really mercenaries and troops from a variety of Houses. It’s an important distinction, but I’m not sure it’ll save them.

  Where was I? Temple troops. They’re all still coming, albeit with fewer supplies. They brought all their gear with them, but they don’t have all their rations. I’m still guessing their plan is to establish their siegeworks and send the wagons back for the rest of their stuff. They did drag all the disabled wagons into a group and leave a couple of squads to guard them. I presume they also sent someone to pick up some spare wagon wheels from Spogeyzer or maybe all the way from Sarashda. If were in their shoes, I’d send one wagon at full speed back to buy another couple of wagons and load them with wagon-wheels.

  Now—thanks to a telepathic dragon-spirit in a sharp piece of metal—I’m told there are a number of people who are concerned about the nature of the individual in charge of the valley. I’m not sure if this is because I’m generally hiding behind Leisel so I don’t have to deal with the public, or if it’s because I do occasionally show my face and it’s a scary one. Would I be less frightening if people got to know me? Or should I be completely hidden so Leisel can be the only person they see?

  I should have bought a damn house and kept my big mouth shut. And kept my hands to myself. And spells. And everything else.

  The kid is also a surprisingly large issue. While the rescue of a child is not in question, the ramifications are. Everyone wants her dead? It’s a universal thing? It’s a legal thing? The circumstances of her birth—to say nothing of some weirdness about her eye color—decree she has to die? I have this small voice inside telling me yes, the locals do believe it. I suppose I could eat some priests and see if the voice changes. Being the keepers of the customs, they might have a different belief, or at least a better knowledge of the whys and wherefores. What makes them think the eyes are the windows of the soul and the colors involved are meaningful? It would take too long to check, though. With a public already scared of me as their… demon-Mazhani? Nope, doesn’t have the same ring. With a public already thinking of me in terms of their demon king—yeah, better ring, there—how are they going to take it if I start raising a soulless creature?

  Maybe Talbot wants to hire me as a mercenary zombie-hunter. I feel my life would be simpler, dealing with zombies. More active, maybe—but simpler. More complicated for him, though.

  Why is it everywhere I go I find complications and difficulties? Almost everywhere. Living on Apocalyptica was nice. Of course, I had Diogenes and, after a while, a few million robots trying to make my life simple and easy. Maybe I should dig up a quantum computer core, a post-apocalyptic world, and see if I can do it again. I can’t simply dig that hole and pull it in after me, but I can certainly hide in it. I could do some spell research, maybe come up with an arbitrary magical scale for measuring it. I might even come up with a way to spy on another universe without causing it to time-synch with wherever I am. That would be worthwhile.

  But, damn it all, I still need to gather data on alternate Earth timelines. And for that, I still need an objective viewpoint outside the things! Which, of course, is why I’m here in Tauta with a bunch of nosy Temples, reasonable heretics, crusading troops, and terrified peasants.

  I watched a contented baby sleep while I pondered long and hard about when to cut my losses.

  Leisel knocked on the bedroom door before entering. She saw me looking at the bed, looked at the bed, and closed the door gently behind her.

  “Is this yours?” she asked, softly.

  “It is now,” I replied, equally quietly. I left my chin where it was, on interlaced fingers.

  “Renata?”

  “Yes.”

  Leisel carried a chair next to mine rather than drag it. She seated herself next to me and considered the child.

  “I didn’t know you wanted one.”

  “I don’t. I simply have an aversion to them being mistreated.”

  Leisel sighed.

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who are you? —no. What are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here?”

  “That’s at least three questions,” I replied.

  “You said I could ask, so I went for it.”

  “May I ask why you ask?”

  �
��You are… hmm. There are many things you do not know. Things I would think a hermit living under a rock would know. Things about the Temple, about the Empire, about the castes of people, about the attekytees, about the kustoni, about the Houses, about… about everything. You could be from Thalkasar, but I do not recall the last time someone braved the Sea of Shoals successfully. Is there another land beyond theirs?”

  As she spoke, I looked at her, listened to her. She struck me as being, if not afraid, then at least a little pleading. She wanted to be reassured.

  “One moment, please.”

  I cast a spell to alert me if and when the baby woke up. As an afterthought, I cast a few more to alert me if anyone entered the room. And another to hold the door closed. Then we went up to my workroom and the sand table.

  “This,” I began, “is the world.” The sand billowed up and formed a model of it.

  “This can’t be right,” she protested.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a ball.”

  “Oh?”

  “The world is flat.”

  I bit my tongue. Not hard.

  “How do you know it’s flat?”

  “Because… well, everyone knows it.”

  “I’m not going to argue it,” I said/decided. “Just pretend with me for a bit, okay?”

  “As you wish.”

  “This is the Empire of… what’s it called, again?”

  “Tassar.”

  “The Empire of Tassar,” I finished, and it sprang out in high relief. “The kustoni are over here, and I’ve heard of the Sea of Shoals, and of Thalkasar, but I don’t know where they are. No, don’t show me. It’s not important. Now, there are other lands, as you can see.”

  “You’re from one of those?”

  “Not even close. I’m about to upset your view of the world in a big way by telling you the truth—truth I went out and found, occasionally had shoved down my throat. Not ‘truth’ some priest told me because some older priest once told him. Truths I looked at, saw for myself, and proved. This will mean things you think are true will be called into question. Are you ready for that?”

  Leisel considered the slowly turning globe.

  “The world isn’t flat?”

  “It is not.”

  “Why don’t people fall off it, then?”

  “You’ll find that out, too.”

  She walked around the sand table, regarding her planet.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’ve decided I don’t want to know.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I was wondering about… about some things, but I’ve changed my mind. Or, no, I’ve made up my mind. It’s a little unnerving to ask what I asked and have an offer of all the answers.”

  “Oh?”

  “This is my decision,” she stated, finally. “I know enough magic to see it. That’s enough. I know you don’t want to hurt anybody you don’t have to. That’s enough. I know you’ll defend La Mancha from anyone and anything—and succeed. That’s enough. I know you care about me. That’s enough. I don’t need to know why the world is round, or what country you come from—or even what star gave you birth in the days before the gods. None of it matters. I’m a warrior—I’m your warrior—and I’m your First. I’m your vidat. If it doesn’t matter to one of those, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  I had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea. I mean, I would want to know, but I’m me, not Leisel. The idea of having the equivalent of a modern library translated and dumped in the Library of Alexandria appeals to me. If I lived in Alexandria, I’d spend my days reading and correlating everything because that’s the sort of person I am. But Leisel…

  “I don’t understand,” I admitted, “but I respect your decision. I hope you’ll understand how, sometimes, things you don’t know and don’t want to know will leak through and confuse you. I won’t mean to do it, but I suspect it’s inevitable. Anytime you want to want to know about something—the world, the gods, or me—I’ll do my best to help.”

  “Thank you. Maybe… maybe a little at a time. Not all at once.”

  “Don’t dump a bucket on you, just pour out a glass now and then.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll try to be less forthcoming,” I agreed, trying not to sound sarcastic.

  “Good,” she replied, sincerely. “Now, can we talk about the wars?”

  “Of cour—wars? Plural?”

  “The one with the Temple and the ones with the kustoni.”

  Leisel backed away when I spoke. I wasn’t speaking to her, but my language use was probably offensive. If my altar ego was listening, no doubt he felt willing to comply, but damning the proverbial “it” was, for the moment, beyond his capabilities.

  When I finished my tirade—a matter of a few seconds—I squeezed my temples with one hand and resisted the urge to go kill something.

  “All right,” I said, trying for a normal tone. “I think I can handle the Temple. What’s this about the kustoni?”

  “The people in charge of your mirrors have been watching all around. They found three groups of them moving through the mountains. We have our own moving to intercept them. They watched the column from the Temple encounter… a problem on the road. We have also watched as they continued their advance and, since you have decreed there will be no surrender, we continue to ready ourselves for their attack. We also watch to the west, since all that separates us from the kustoni is a tunnel and a wall.”

  “Go on.”

  “Hundreds of them have gathered. The few times they have come through the Kasnakani Range, their raids have been, at most, twenty or thirty. They come upon some village in the dead of night to quietly steal or simply slit throats. This is an attack in the making.”

  “And how does this mean war?”

  “When they attack, we will defeat them.”

  “Yes.”

  “They will be incensed by this and more will come. They are a stubborn, prideful lot and will consider us a threat.”

  “They’re right,” I muttered. More loudly, I asked, “Why is it I’m only now hearing about this?” Leisel looked pained.

  “No one wants to attract your attention.”

  “Please explain.”

  “You are incomprehensible to most of your people. I know you better. For anyone else it is an act of courage to approach you, an act of heroism to speak with you.”

  “Velina and Tessera never seem to have a problem.”

  “Tessera loves you, and Velina is the bravest person I know.”

  I thought back to the few interactions I’d had with nameless warriors acting as guards. Did they seem terrified? No… not exactly. But when I sent them to do things, did they make that swirling-hand gesture and depart with more alacrity than obedience required? Maybe. At those times, it seemed to me they were doing as they were told—eagerly, on the bounce, and with speed. Now, though, with the obvious pointed out to me if not actually rammed down my throat…

  Machiavelli was right about being feared rather than loved. However, I seem to recall the ideal was to be feared and loved, not feared so deeply as to instill terror.

  “Do we think there will be any trouble dealing with the kustoni assault? The first one?”

  “No. They are not prepared to attack. It will take them days to get themselves together. Raiding parties are still gathering.”

  “Good. I’ll think about how to deal with them. Hopefully, it involves mass slaughter, because I’m in a foul mood. The Temple’s troops will be here… when?”

  “They should start their siegework tomorrow.”

  “Then I should probably steal all their excess supplies tonight.”

  “Sir?”

  “Since I scare people, how about you give the orders?” I suggested. “I’ll stay here. You do the ruling and suchlike. I’ll just come out when you call. It’ll give the impression you have control of the thing in the tower and reassure people. It’s also a role I und
erstand. I’ve done it before. Will that help?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “We can try.”

  “In the meantime, I do need some things done. I’ll need some long, flat lumber…”

  I played with a soulless baby for a while and didn’t notice much difference. I fed her again and tried to put her down for a nap. It didn’t work. She fussed forever. As a result, when I left the bedroom to do some shift-booth work, she came along. My cloak made a decent sling across my front and she seemed happy enough there.

  Leisel was right. Everyone who looked in my direction dropped their eyes or looked away or pretended to be looking past me. It was a subtle thing, quite unnoticeable to me in my usual preoccupied state, but when I took the trouble to look for it, there it was.

  They’re scared, I noted, to Firebrand.

  Well, duh.

  How long have you known?

  Since, oh… well, I’m not sure. It was before the priests visited. Um… probably around the same time you beheaded one of Londrin’s men and kicked his head outside to have a talk with it.

  It?

  The head.

  I was talking to you!

  But they didn’t know that! —Leisel included! You think the men didn’t talk to anyone? Or that anyone would ask Leisel for the truth about the rumor you can talk to the dead as easily as the living?

  Dammit!

  I worked on one of the long, narrow chambers underground. The basement level was centered on the tower, now with six hallway-like extensions growing from the central chamber. Auxiliary rooms were still forming off these, but one of the corridors was good enough for what I wanted. I nudged the spell on it to hold it fixed for a while and added some shift-booth markings. At least it took my mind off other things.

  On the plus side, the charred former prisoners were no longer in a wall. The wall was smooth and unblemished. No doubt other chambers would use more mundane restraints in the future. Although, if wizards could walk through walls, it might be better to have a corridor for prisoners with guards at each end. Someone shows up unexpectedly, you shoot them. Of course, a spell or two for keeping people from teleporting or walking through walls or whatever might be in order, too. Or an anti-magic sphere around the room? Probably simplest, all things considered.