by Garon Whited
“Oh? Minaren? What do you say to that?”
“Why, I say that I would be very proud, Your Majesty, to be the Court Minstrel,” he replied, not even stammering. Pardon me while I give you back your sight and a position at court. How’s your evening going, by the way?
“Good. Your first job is to go over the songs and tales to make sure that they’re correct on the point I just made. After that, I expect you to keep an ear on Tyma and make sure she doesn’t blindside me with another piece. Run them past me first, as a check for accuracy, all right?” I asked. Tyma looked extremely uncomfortable at this. Minaren barely glanced at her before nodding.
“As you say, Your Majesty.”
“Wonderful! And, if you need to interview me for material, I’ll do my best to accommodate you. Fair is fair, after all.”
“And perfectly fair,” Minaren admitted. He looked at his daughter. “Isn’t it, Tyma?” She nodded, still wearing a guarded expression. No member of the media likes to have their work run through a government office, I suppose. All I wanted was to avoid having a flood of maimed beggars overwhelming Mochara through an advertising mistake.
“Always happy to help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a thousand things to do.”
“Majesty?” Tyma asked.
“Yes, Tyma?”
“Are you a tyrant or a king?” she asked.
“Tyma!” her father snapped, horrified.
“You said yourself that we should place not our faith in princes,” she countered. “How are we to know what he is? He isn’t even human!”
I made a calming gesture in Minaren’s direction and he subsided. I turned my attention to Tyma.
“Kings can be tyrants,” I pointed out to her.
“No, they can’t. They are very different things!”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“All right, if you say so. Why do you ask?”
“You’re a slave-driving monster,” she informed me. I tried not to be offended. Monster, sure, but slave-driver? I abolished slavery in no uncertain terms. I’m allergic to slavery; it makes me break out in fangs. I was almost certain that she meant it as hyperbole, though.
“Beg pardon?” was all I said.
“You seem to be in a hell of a hurry. Things are being built, things are changing, things are moving… all so quickly. It is as though you plan to see if you can work everyone to death.”
I had to pause for a moment and think about that, while Minaren chided her for speaking disrespectfully to the King.
Was I pushing people? There were some notes on my study wall that could be interpreted that way, yes. No doubt Kavel was bone-tired, even with extra helpers; metalwork is vital to this technological level. Woodcutters, carpenters, shipwrights, wheelwrights, stonecutters, masons, ploughmen, farmers, drovers… yes, there were a lot of people set to tasks and working diligently at them. Quite a lot of tasks, actually.
Maybe I am being a bit impatient, I thought. I don’t sleep, so I work around the clock on things to keep me… occupied. So I don’t have to think about… other things. How much I miss Tamara. How much I miss Shada. What to do about Tort… And about Amber and Tianna…
It seems wrong that I’d rather deal with economic and political problems than emotional ones. Is that because I’m male? Or just because that’s me, as an individual? Or is there some other reason?
Realistically, Karvalen was coming along astonishingly well. Was I playing the part of Gilgamesh? Did I need an Enkidu of my own? Was I driving people to distraction and exhaustion to make it happen even faster? Was there a reason to hurry? No, not really, other than it gave me something to do. We did need to be better prepared for conflict with forces from the Eastrange, but after their losses in that initial assault, they seemed to be rethinking hostilities, at least for now.
“Majesty?” Minaren asked.
“Hmm? Oh, right. Yes. I do seem to be in a hurry, now that you mention it, Tyma. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I don’t sleep and don’t get tired, so I sometimes forget how important it is to rest. Entirely my fault, I assure you. I’ll try to correct it.”
“As you say, Your Majesty,” she replied. “And maybe we’ll see if you’re a tyrant or a king, too.”
“Possibly,” I allowed. I bade them both a good evening and rubbed my eyes with my fingertips.
“Sire?” Torvil asked.
“Hmm?”
“We’ve assembled the knights and the cadets in the practice chamber.”
“Oh, right. No squires?”
“Should we have gathered them?”
“No, I just wanted to be sure. I’ll head down there. You three, though—I want you to go get something.”
While they went off on their errand, I went down to the gym cavern, thinking about how to say what I wanted to say. Squires, hmm? Youngsters learning from their elders… but learning what?
The cavern fell silent as I entered. A lot of people went to one knee and punched the floor; the few in sashes merely saluted as I moved to stand on a raised area.
“Sit down,” I told everyone. They folded legs and sat.
“You all know that I have a… well, that I have a reputation for being a rescuer of children?” They nodded. There were several grim smiles, a few chuckles. “I like children, in the sense that they are innocent. As we get older, we grow up, and we learn about all the rotten and terrible things in the world. Often, though, children are protected from these things. They aren’t subject to the same temptations and terrors we are. And that innocence gives them the potential to be good.”
I looked around at everyone and sighed.
“That gives them the potential to be better people than I can be,” I added. “And that, gentlemen, is what I need from you.
“I’ve been told that we have a lot of requests for us to take on young boys as squires and raise them up to be knights. I can see why; you are already the most dangerous living men on any battlefield in the world. Who wouldn’t want his son trained for that lofty position by some of the best and brightest examples to be found since the days of Zirafel?
“But there is more to being a knight than being good with weapons. I think you’ve all discovered that just from seeing who I’ve knighted, and why. Your job isn’t just to kill the enemies of the kingdom, or to lead troops into battle, but to be better men than I am. Your job is to be a good example for me.”
Nobody breathed. And when I say that, I mean it; I would have heard.
“That’s what I want. That’s what I charge all my knights with. If you become a knight, your first duty is to be good men. You are to show me, by your example, how to be merciful and just, wise and strong, brave and true.
“That is true now, more than ever before, because we are about to have formal squires. You will have young faces watching every single thing you say and do! They will listen to your words, yes, but they will also mimic what you do and how you act. If you strike a serving-girl for spilling something, they will think that right and proper. Is it?”
Terrel sprang to his feet.
“Your Majesty!”
“Speak.”
“Any retribution or punishment should be made to match the offense!” He then smiled slightly and added, “That is, if it is worth retribution of punishment. Mercy for that offense might be called for.”
Maybe a day on scullery duty did some good after all.
“What does everyone else think?” I asked, looking around. There were a lot of nods; many of them raised a closed fist into the air, a sign of emphatic agreement. I nodded to Terrel and he sat down again.
“So, that leaves me with a serious question. Which among you can be a good man? Who can be the example of nobility, kindness, strength, generosity, patience, and wisdom? Is there anyone here who can show me, by living his life as an example, what those qualities mean?”
There was a long, deathly silence. I was pleased by it; that meant they were actually thinking about it, rather than making som
e snap decision. It went on for minutes.
Beltar stood up, slowly.
“Your Majesty.”
“Speak.”
“What you ask of us… no man can know his own soul so deeply. None of us can truly say if he has the ability you seek.”
“And?”
“Your Majesty, if that is your wish, then all that I possess of those qualities are yours to command. I cannot know if I have enough of the things you desire to be worthy of your trust in this, but what I have is yours, without hesitation and without reservation. I may fail, but I will not relent.”
With that, he descended to one knee, put his fist on the floor, and bowed his head.
Terrel stood up.
“Majesty.”
“Speak.”
“No, Your Majesty. He has spoken, and he speaks for me in every word.” He, too, went to one knee, put his fist on the floor, and bowed his head.
One by one, then by twos and threes and fours, the rest of them rose to their feet, echoing, “He speaks for me in every word.” “He speaks for me—” “He speaks—” “—speaks for me—” “—for me in—” “—in every word.”
Kelvin knelt with them. At the back of the room, Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar were also kneeling. I beckoned them forward and they hurried around the assembly. I had them unroll the bundles, clanking.
“Terrel,” I said, pointing at him. He looked up. “Bring me a sword.”
There was a massive indrawing of breath as he stood up. He looked over the array of blades, finally found one, handed it to me.
I held it in both hands as he knelt before me. He kept his head up and looked me in the eye as I drew the weapon.
“Terrel, will you accept this sword from my hand?” I asked.
“I will.”
“What is your oath?”
“To my King I swear loyalty and bravery. To the Crown I swear to be just and fair as far as my mortal wisdom will allow. At my King’s command, I swear to grant mercy, or to withhold mercy; to take life, or to grant it; to harm those from whom my King shall lift his grace; to heal and help those upon whom my King’s grace shall descend.”
“While you serve me,” I answered, “I will honor you, respect you, and ask no service of you that will bring dishonor to my house or to yours. I will heed your councils, that we may find wisdom together. I will stand with you to defend those who cannot defend themselves. I will be faithful in love and loyal in friendship. I will uphold justice by being fair to all. I will forgive when asked, that my own mistakes will be forgiven.
“This is the oath of kings, and I give my oath now to you.”
I held out the sword and he raised his hands.
“Stand, Sir Terrel.” He stood and moved to the side. I pointed at one of the twins, next.
“Bring me a sword.”
One by one, looking each in the eye, I knighted them all.
It was in a very subdued frame of mind that my bodyguards accompanied me to my quarters.
“Sire?” Torvil asked.
“Yes, Torvil?”
“Why did you do that? If I may ask.”
“I’m not sure I can explain.” I frowned as we walked, thinking. “They needed to understand the seriousness of what I was saying. The extreme degree to which I will hold them to that oath.”
“So, by promising to be noble and wise and stuff, that qualified them to be knights?”
“No. Or, not completely. Now they’re in the same boat you three feel you’re in. They know they don’t measure up to what I want my knights to be. But now they are knights. What’s the only thing to do?”
“Be… better,” Torvil said, slowly.
“As much as is it within them to be,” I agreed. “And, maybe, they’ll manage to help a bunch of youngsters learn to be even better men than the knights they squire for, hmm?”
“Maybe we’ll get to be as wise as you, someday, Sire.”
“Wiser,” I suggested. “The world needs more wisdom than I’ll ever have.” Then we were at my door. I paused before going in.
“Guys, you don’t have to be here. It’s night. You need your rest. I’ll need you more in the daytime, okay?”
“We’re fine,” Torvil said. “Just pay us no mind.” Kammen and Seldar looked doubtful. I beckoned Torvil close to whisper in his ear.
“I’m expecting a lady, Torvil. Take the other two and scram until morning. And if anything tries to kill me in the night, I plan to eat it and maybe leave bones for the dogs. Got that?”
“Ah. Yes, Sire.”
They left, I went in, and I settled into the chair someone had carved out of the trunk of a tree. It was heavy, solid, and surprisingly comfortable. It also did a fine job of taking my weight when I thumped heavily down on it. Lesser chairs sometimes collapse.
Tort came out of the bathroom. She wore a loose robe and was wrapping a towel around her hair.
“Why is it that you use spells so often to get clean?” she asked, entering the room and moving to another, less sturdy chair. “I know your preference for the water, despite your inability to swim.”
“The transformation,” I said, trying not to show my discomfort at her change in wardrobe. A beautiful woman coming out of the bath, wearing just a robe, late in the evening, and living in my apartment… Well, it sounds good. When I was eighteen, it would have needed only pizza and cable TV to be perfect.
Oh, the horrors of getting older and a least a little more mature.
“The transformation,” I repeated, “causes an awful stink. If I’m not actually under a shower—or a waterfall—when it happens, it’s hard to scrub off. It’s faster to use a spell even though I like the wet method. It’s all about time.”
“I see.” She folded her legs under her and rested one arm on the arm of her chair. “Oh, I thought I might mention that I have begun using your spell for the distribution of my aging.”
“Really? How’s it going?”
“I have a number of trees on the upper slope—the park area above the courtyard—already enmeshed in it.” She shrugged. “It seems to be working. I should have the rest of the trees in the matrix by endweek. I think I shall pay a visit to the woodcutter, Timon, and see if I can quicken his saplings, as well. I also plan to use the original version on some of the livestock—they grow to maturity more quickly, while I age more slowly. What you call a ‘win-win,’ I believe.”
“Absolutely. Good. Glad to hear it.”
I ran out of talking about that point and wondered what to do to fill the silence.
“So, you wished to speak with me, my angel? I am here.”
I wasn’t this nervous meeting my estranged daughter.
“Um,” I began, cleverly. “Earlier, when we, uh… when you wanted me to promise to always come back?”
“I remember,” she said, smiling.
“I think we need to, uh, talk about your… expectations.”
“Expectations?” she asked.
“Maybe I should do this the other way around,” I muttered. “Okay, look. You’ve moved into my quarters—I don’t mind at all, let me add. That sort of implies… stuff. I’m not sure what you want, and I’d like to have some idea of what you expect from me. Not as your king,” I added, “but as me.”
Tort frowned, but didn’t seem upset.
“I expect... to do everything you wish of me,” she said. “I am at your service, my angel.”
“Okay, great,” I allowed. “Now, what do you want?”
“My angel?”
“I think I’m running smack into a conflict of cultures, here. You expect to do anything I want because...?”
“Because? Because you are you, my angel.” She looked thoughtful for long seconds and I waited through them.
“Years ago, when you rescued a maimed little girl from a rotting attic,” she said, “she loved you as an angel.” Tort smiled at me. “You loved her, did you not?”
“Well,” I said, shifting uncomfortably, “I guess I would have to admit that, ye
ah, I did.”
“I know. I knew it then, too. You rescued me from so many terrible things—my injury, starvation, poverty, that terrible man, even from bad dreams. You rescued me from pain, death, and fear, and I have loved you for it ever since.”
“Um.” That wasn’t exactly how I would have put it, but I suppose she had a point.
“I assume you’ve loved other people, too?” I asked. She grinned.
“Is my angel asking how many lovers I have had?” she asked, impishly.
“No! That’s none of my business. What I’m trying to say—badly—is that I don’t want you to be so focused on me that you forget about you. Okay?”
“I understand.”
“Let’s just be direct, shall we? I’m not so good with subtle. Are you happy?”
“I am moved by my angel’s care for my happiness,” she said, smiling. “I have everything that I need, thank you. There are, however, a few requests that I would make, that, if fulfilled, could make me very happy indeed.”
“Sure. What would you like?”
Tort got up, crossed to me, and sat on my lap. She nibbled on my ear. I suspected that was going to happen sooner or later, or something very like it, so I was prepared for it.
“Oh,” I said.
“My angel did say that subtle was not likely to be effective,” she murmured, warmly, in my ear.
What to say first? That I was flattered, but emotionally unprepared to deal with this? That I was still recovering from the loss of Shada, then the recent loss of Tamara? Or that it was nighttime, and I was dead, and that having a working cardiovascular system is kind of important to men...?
Maybe I’m looking at this wrong. I do care about Tort, even if I’m having some emotional issues about whether or not I can be in love with anyone just at the moment. I know that, eventually, I’ll get over the loss of Tamara and Shada; that just hasn’t happened yet. On the other hand, Tort is here, now, and has apparently waited… well, long enough. Can I tell her that I’m not ready to have a relationship? Can I make her wait until I feel that I’m up to it? Is that fair?
What’s fair and what’s true often bear no resemblance to each other.
Any other man in this situation would be influenced by a warm bundle of woman on his lap. Luckily, I’m dead. That’s about the only thing that keeps me from being distracted by Tort’s closeness. If she did this during the day, I’d have to wonder what my motives were—intellectual or organic. As it is, it comes down to one thing, and one thing only.
