by Garon Whited
“Thank you, Grandpa,” she said, very seriously. I kissed the top of her head and sprang aboard Bronze.
“Hold what you’ve got,” I told them. “I’ll be back.”
We shot toward Karvalen.
Most of the time, Bronze loves to run and I enjoy it with her. She hits her stride and the road rolls under us like a ribbon stretching into the infinite future. I sit there, feeling the wind in my face and hair, listening to the bell-like thunder of her hooves and the windchime-wire tinkling of her mane. It’s good.
Not today.
Today, I have time to think. During the incident with the pillar of fire, I didn’t have time to think. All I had time for was act and react, find the problem, solve the problem. It was purely a matter of doing whatever was in front of me at the time.
Now I can feel the limp, unmoving body of my granddaughter in my arms.
Now I can see the energy bleeding out of my daughter’s soul.
My fingers can recall the way in through the hole in the back of Amber’s skull.
My lips can recall breathing into Tianna.
Not long ago, an army tried to kill me and to kill Bronze. It offended me instantly that Bronze was harmed. But Bronze is big and powerful; she’s capable of taking care of herself. Most of the time, the thought of doing battle with her would probably justify some preparatory measures. When I saw her hurt, I was instantly angry, but it cooled down over time. It erupted like fire, burned brightly, and dimmed to the glow of coals.
This anger is growing. It is too vast to come upon me all at once. The rage is rolling in, wave after wave of it, like the tide. It is a cold and dark thing, colder and darker than the depths of the ocean I recently visited. And it rises, ever higher. Soon, it will spill like water when the dam breaks, pouring relentlessly upon everything in its path, sweeping away anything that does not scramble to avoid it.
I’m not trying to divert it. I’m not even trying to contain it. In some measure, I welcome it. It reminds me that I have things that matter to me, people that I love. That I can love people enough to have this kind of all-encompassing fury seems… right.
I once thought that, while I used to be human, I’m not a human being anymore. But that seems unreasonable. I keep thinking like a human being. I keep loving like a human being. And, as much as I can love, I can also hate. That, too, seems right and proper. What would I be if I could not love? And, what is there that has the capacity for love but does not have the capacity for hate? It seems a good thing, to me.
Less so, for others.
As we approached Karvalen, I saw a camp of the plains-people, which reminded me they wanted me for something.
Damn. If I don’t deal with it now, I never will.
Problem, Boss?
Not exactly, yes, and maybe.
Nice to know some things never change, Boss.
You’re not helping.
Bronze cornered to the right at the south bridge and carried me over to their encampment. People rushed out to greet me. That is, they hurried out, dropped to their knees, and pressed their foreheads into the grass. Hunting dogs eyed us with considerable mistrust, but their handlers barked commands to sit down and be quiet. Everyone else was paying attention to us without looking at us.
I should have expected that. As it was, it just annoyed me further, which I did not need.
“You,” I said, and Bronze nudged him gently with a hoof. “On your feet. Look at me. Why are you here and what do you want?”
He got to his feet quickly and kept his eyes fixed on the ground.
“Dark One, it is my elder that brings us here.” The word he used was herahu, pronounced hee-ra-hoo, with the accent on the first syllable. Literally, it meant “the eldest of my family,” but also meant “chief of my tribe,” or something similar. Maybe “clan leader” comes closest.
“Show me.”
He led me to one of the dome-tent-things they used and went back to kneeling at me by the flap. Grumbling, I slid out of the saddle and hit the ground. Tossing aside the flap, I went inside.
The old man looked up as I entered. He sat by a bundle of furs that contained a child, probably about two years old. It took me a second glance to determine the kid was still alive.
“Dark One,” he began, but I cut him off.
“You’ve come here because the kid is ill and you want him to live, right?”
“Yes,” he said, simply.
I cast my spells and looked the kid over. It wasn’t a disease and he wasn’t wounded. Frowning, I examined him more closely, checking his vital organs and looking for anything out of place. Eventually, I found it; it was his heart. More specifically, it was a heart valve. Every beat of his heart pumped some blood, but the valve didn’t close properly, so it lost a lot of pressure. His heart had to work twice as hard just to achieve a normal level of blood flow, to say nothing of any other problems the defect might cause.
I took a look at my own heart valves, then compared both of them to the elder’s. The fundamental design was the same; the kid’s just had a loose flap. After another spell to reach inside him without actually opening him up, there followed a little manipulation, a little stretching, and a bit of stiffening. After that, it seemed to form an adequate seal. Blood went in, came out, and didn’t have any backflow. I finished by telling his body that this was the right shape and tying navigation points into the surrounding tissue; I didn’t want him developing heart-valve problems again in the course of growing up.
“There. Fixed. Anything else?”
“Fixed?” the elder replied.
“He’s better. Look at him. His color is improved and he’s breathing easier. He’ll be fine in a day or two.”
“But will he run?”
“He’ll run. He’ll do everything a boy should do. That’s what I mean by ‘fixed’.”
“Thank you, Dark One,” he said, going facedown. “My family thanks—”
“And I appreciate your thanks,” I told him, “but I’m in kind of a hurry to start a war and destroy evildoers. I’ve got no time for niceties, and I’m sorry about that; you’ve caught me in a bad mood on a damned busy day. You’re very welcome, I’m glad I could help, and may you live long and prosper. Have a nice day, and I’ve got to run. Pleasure meeting you. Farewell.”
I didn’t give him a chance to kowtow further; I left the tent and hit the saddle again. I almost made it out of the camp before spotting a man with a missing arm.
“You,” I said, pointing. “What happened to your arm? And stand up when you answer!”
He stood up from where he had flung himself and told me how a dazhu hunt had resulted in a trampling, along with the amputation.
“Come with me; you’re getting your arm back.”
He was prepared to run. I was in too much of a hurry, so I dragged him aboard Bronze. He yelped, but gritted his teeth and endured the ride.
I forgot she gets hotter than most people can take. Oops. Well, he was going to be lying in a magical Hospital Bed of Regeneration anyway…
Breakfast was served along with a side of politics.
“As a result,” I finished, “I believe Rakal is serving Byrne, and that the attempts on my life, the attacks by Vathula, the invasion by the coastal cities, and even this last attempt to assassinate Amber are all the doing of Byrne.”
I looked around the table. People nodded, looked at each other, nodded more. Kelvin broke the silence.
“When do we leave, my King?”
“Leave?”
“I presume we will march on Byrne. I would like to gather supplies and prepare for the march. I would also like to know if this is a punitive war, or if our goal is conquest.”
I put my elbows on the table and rubbed my temples.
“Kelvin, do you recall what I said when I knighted everyone?”
“I do, my King. I will remember it until I have been dead a year.”
“As will we all,” Seldar said. Torvil and Kammen nodded, silently. Everyone else jus
t sat quietly, listening.
“I want you to be better than me,” I reminded him. “When I do something terrible, because, as King, it needs to be done, I need you guys to remind me that it is a terrible thing. And to tell me if it was right to do something terrible.
“A war is a terrible thing,” I continued. “If we go to war, men, women, and children will die. Men will die on the field; women and children will starve, homeless and alone. Some of our own men will die, despite all the training, all the magic, and I love them too much to allow that if there is any way to avoid it.
“What I want to do is go to Byrne, find this Prince Parrin, and unscrew his head. I still might. But that’s part of why I have a council of advisors. What should be done? Is this worth all the horrors of war? Or should I respond in kind and simply try to kill the man responsible? Discuss this amongst yourselves; I’m going to go build a bridge. I’ll be back within the hour.”
I stood up and went to do that without waiting for anyone to say anything. It was a relatively quick trip, all things considered. I used the gate to go to the southern bank of the Averill, up against the Eastrange; there was a nice niche that would serve adequately. It wasn’t ideal, but it beat the hell out of forcing my gate to appear in both places at once. I brought with me both my bridge-seed and Sir Sedrick. The bridge could grow northward over the river while Sedrick rode south.
Getting him, his horses, his squire, and all that gear through the gate was more expensive in terms of power than I expected. Pack trains don’t move quickly. On the other hand, I had also expected Brother Terrany to accompany him. Once we were through I asked him about it.
“Brother Terrany has other goals,” Sir Sedrick informed me. “He is quite content to preach his gospels to the people of Karvalen, unopposed by other sects.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. “I ought to pay more attention to him.”
“Perhaps, Your Majesty, but allow me to offer a reassurance. He does not seek power; it is against the way of his order.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. They are the priests of the law. Terrany is quite pleased to have found a kingdom without laws, for it their fondest wish to create them.”
“He’s making laws?” I asked, frowning.
“Not so much, Your Majesty, as he is attempting to codify the customs and traditions of your people. For example, you are aware that married women wear their hair in a special head-garment?”
“The things that show their faces, but gather up all the hair in a bag at the back?”
“Yes. I am no expert on women’s garments, but I believe it is called a wriage. It has fallen out of fashion in many cities of old Rethven, but here it flourishes. Terrany may be codifying that custom into a law. For example, as part of the wedding ceremony, after the bride shaves the groom’s head, and he helps her don the wriage for the first time—”
“Hold it. The bride is expected to shave the groom’s head?”
“Of course.” Sedrick blinked at me in surprise. “Did you not know this?”
“I had no idea,” I admitted. “What the hell for?”
“Well, as I understand it,” he said, thinking, “it came about in a number of ways. One way was to insure that his hair was not, ah… infested?”
“Lice.”
“And fleas,” Sedrick agreed. “Not all kingdoms are as, well, clean as yours, Your Majesty.”
“I’ve noticed. Go on.”
“Also, the tradition is that, until he has enough hair to reach his eyebrows, he can indulge in no dangerous deeds. A soldier may not go to war, a knight may not participate in the passage of arms, nor may a man participate in a duel—he can challenge or be challenged, but it must wait until his hair grows out.” He smiled. “It is also said that it is good luck to sire a child during that time, and might be another reason for it. To give the couple a chance to do so,” he finished.
“I see. Okay, back to Terrany. He’s trying to make this wriage thing a law?”
“His order does not make laws. He is merely codifying the tradition,” Sedrick replied. “We have talked much, he and I. He and his order are keepers of the law. They write the laws down and interpret them. Kings often use them for judges, for they take holy oaths to be impartial. Just as often, they are forbidden to be judges, for their gift is law, not justice, you see. He will doubtless approach you when he has assembled a codex of law for Karvalen, for your approval.”
“As long as he doesn’t try to lay down the law without consulting me,” I agreed, then mused, “I suppose we do need to have some laws actually in force, rather than just word-of-mouth customs and traditions.”
“That is the purpose of their order, as I understand it. They seek only to understand and define the laws of men. Your kingdom is a delight to him, for you have no laws.”
“I guess I can live with that. I’m not sure I like the idea of a holy order of lawyers, but…”
“He’s actually very agreeable,” Sedrick said, smiling. “He is a good man, and he means well.”
“Those are the worst kind,” I muttered. “All right. I’ll talk to him at some point and go over what he thinks makes a good law.”
“Eminently fair, as always, Your Majesty. Now, before we go our ways, is there anything else I may do for you?”
“Actually, yes; I think there is.”
“Name it, Your Majesty.”
“Take this mirror,” I said, handing him a small, wooden box. “It will let you talk to me, or to Tort, or to pretty much anyone in authority in Karvalen.” He accepted it with a bow.
“And what shall I say to them?”
“If you would, go into Byrne and see what evil lurks there. If you find some, let us know what kind of evil it is. And, if some one of us should call you on that mirror, we might tell you to flee that city; if so, please do.”
“Flee?” he asked, frowning. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because, if I’m asking you to flee, it’s because I don’t want you to be hurt by what I’m about to do to it.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” he agreed, nodding. “I shall certainly seek out evil for my own sword to smite, but if I find something worthy of your powers—or, at least, beyond my own—I shall be swiftly forthcoming with that information.”
“I appreciate it. And one more thing…”
“Name it.”
“As you go, you might mention that you’re hero-ing up here because you’ve heard that the King of Karvalen is coming, and there won’t be anything left for you when he finishes.” I grinned at him. “It’s not true; I usually leave survivors. But it might encourage guilty people to run for it, which kind of makes them obvious. ‘The guilty flee when no man pursueth,’ and all that.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, chuckling. “And, I trust, if you have any actual evil that needs smiting, you will recall me?”
“Naturally. Everyone needs a professional Hero now and again.”
“Then farewell, Lord of Night and King of Karvalen. Long may you reign in peace, prosperity, and righteousness.”
“And may good fortune follow you all the days of your life,” I answered. He and all his baggage set off at a headlong slow walk.
I turned my attention to the bridge. I jogged west for a bit, past the waterfall-pool, and found a suitably narrow place. I aligned the model bridge carefully, then set it down on the stony lip of the riverbed. It latched on immediately, almost hungrily.
How long would it take to grow, I wondered? A day? A week? It certainly wouldn’t take all that long to cross the river, but I couldn’t begin to make an actual estimate of when it might be useful.
I left it to its work and jogged back to the niche I was using as a gate point. With a trifle of work to shape it a bit better, it made for a closer match to the archway. Then I called the wizard in the gate room on a mirror and told him to expect an incoming call. Shortly thereafter, I stepped back into the mountain. I took a detour to the foundry to drop off my armor and went bac
k to my chambers.
Upstairs, they had reached a consensus. I sat down at the breakfast table and helped myself to everything.
“Majesty,” Thomen said, “you set us quite a pretty problem.”
“I know. My own impulses may be based on personal feeling; I want your opinions, too, before I finalize a decision and set plans in motion. It’s a big decision and will impact the lives of thousands.”
There was much uncomfortable shifting around the table. T’yl broke the silence.
“May we ask your intentions, Sire?”
“No. I want you opinions before I give my own. I need alternative points of view, and I’m afraid you might tend to agree with me.”
“I would not think so,” T’yl said.
“Nevertheless,” Thomen continued, cutting him off, “we have argued many points, both for and against a full-fledged war. We have not treated it lightly,” he finished, glancing sharply at Kammen. Kammen appeared oblivious to this.
“I am pleased,” I told him. “So, what have you concluded?”
“Sire,” T’yl replied, taking over again, “there was some spirited debate. Knowing your fondness for the welfare of children, we considered most carefully the ramifications of war. It is true that war will cause suffering, but that suffering is not the goal. It is done without malice toward children; it is merely a consequence.”
“One I don’t like,” I agreed. “Go on.”
“Yet, any action may have such a consequence. When you kill a man who has murdered a child, his own children may be orphaned. Even when you defend the city against invaders, those attackers who die on the field may leave children destitute at home.”
“Granted.”
“While it is a good and noble thing to be a defender of children, it is not the only thing. As you have noted, Sire, you must do things in your capacity as King that you would not condone as a private individual. The office of King must do things that you, as a person, would not.”
Sometimes, T’yl can be a real pain.
“Granted,” I agreed, again.
“With that in mind,” Kelvin said, “we feel that you—as King—have been provoked sufficiently to warrant war. You may, if it please Your Majesty, choose any lesser course. But if your choice is to march on Byrne and reduce it, then we will go to war without hesitation and without doubt.”
