by Steven Brust
With the agreement made, the district was populated, for the most part, by the tribe of the Vallista, except for portions of Kâna in which several Dragonlords took up their abode to provide a defensive fastness in case of a retreat by the armies of Kieron. Over the long centuries after Kieron and the rest of the tribes had marched away, the region became nearly its own country, developing a language in which the tongue of the Dragon combined with the Northwestern language and included elements of the speech of the Serioli, until the eastward expansion ended and, toward the end of the Third Cycle, the unity of trade, military matters, and communication began to form what came to be the Empire (or, to be more precise, what many finally realized had been an Empire all along).
The fall of the Empire was felt in the Kanefthali Mountains (now, for a long time, nearly devoid of Serioli, and those few confined to the far north, on such peaks as Lostway and Brownhead) as a strong tremor, and many of the old fortresses of the area collapsed and were ruined, along with many of the working mines; but in a lower valley of Kâna called Whiteside, near a village of the same name, there was a Count named Skinter, of the e’Terics line of the House of the Dragon, whose keep, constructed low and strong and in conformity with the landscape, survived the shaking and rending of the ground. Shortly before the disaster he had been involved in gathering certain forces around him, in preparation for a dispute with a neighbor over an insult Skinter planned to deliver as soon as he calculated he had amassed a sufficient army. Skinter’s intended enemy was a second cousin who had, over the previous century, acquired fishing rights to a certain lake, control of a particular vineyard renowned for its fortified wine made from late-apples, and the affections of the daughter of a local baron, all of which Skinter wanted, and none of which survived Adron’s Disaster. In fact, the second cousin himself succumbed to the first tremors by drowning while attempting to enjoy all three of these acquisitions at once.
This left Skinter, also called Whiteside, relatively safe, without enemies, with a large standing army, without anyone to whom he was responsible (the Duchess of Kâna and most of her family having been in Dragaera City at the time of the Disaster, and the remainder having unfortunately been at home during the aftershocks) and with a great store of ambition. To round out this list, however, we ought to add that he had no means to feed over an extended period of time such an army as he had gathered. When we consider these conditions, and remind ourselves that he was, after all, a Dragonlord, it should come as no surprise that he began to widen his circle of dominance.
When he did so, he made the same discovery that thousands of other warlords of the era, going through the same process, discovered: For the most part, the aristocrats, the tradesmen, and even the peasants welcomed the firm hand of a leader; they had been “free,” that is, without the Empire, for too short a time to become habituated to anarchy (this was, we should point out, within the first few years after the Disaster), and they were nearly all lost, confused, and frightened, and any semblance of order was greeted with a sense of relief; Skinter’s army had rarely to draw sword, lower spear, or set catapult to secure the first victories.
These victories gave the Duke of Kâna, which title he assumed after completing the subjugation of that duchy, a broader area from which to secure food for his army, but it also required of him that he station portions of this army in each of his newly conquered territories, to insure that no other potential warlord, envying him his success, would be able to raise an army to replace or overthrow him and that no leader should rise among the subdued peasantry; he thus required a larger army, he thus required even more territory to support this army, and he was thus forced to continue his expansion, albeit necessarily at a slower pace as the area to be conquered grew geometrically.
This pattern—the lone aristocrat acquiring, building, or already possessing an army needing more land to feed the army, and then a larger army to protect the land—was repeated thousands of times during the period of history we call the Interregnum, but what made Kana, as he now styled himself, unique was the presence of his cousin, a certain Marchioness of Habil, herself of the e’Terics line of the House of the Dragon; a lady with no ambition herself, but with a good knowledge of history, a head for strategy, a skill with arithmetic, and a fierce loyalty to her cousin. On a certain day, scarcely twenty years after the Disaster, she spoke to Kana as he broke his fast and contemplated his position. Before letting the reader in on this interesting conversation, it is only necessary to say, by way of sketches, that Kâna and Habil, although cousins, looked like brother and sister, were often mistaken for brother and sister by casual observers, and have even been identified as such by careless historians. They were quite typical Dragonlords, rather short than tall, and marked by hollow cheeks, deep-set eyes, and curly brown hair that each wore to the shoulder. Kâna wore the black and silver of the Dragon warrior, Habil, though not actually a warrior, did the same.
This being established, let us endeavor to discover what they said to each other on that morning some score of years after the Disaster, as they took their ease in Kâna’s dining room.
“Let us consider,” said Habil.
“Very well,” replied Kana. “I am willing to consider. Only—”
“Well?”
“What do you wish to consider?”
“Acreage of farmland,” she said.
“Ah. Well, what of it?”
“In this district, it requires some thirty or thirty-five acres to produce sufficient grain for the usual Teckla family that works it to feed itself for a year.”
“Very well. And then?”
“And then, for each ten additional acres the family produces, we are able to feed—that is, pay—an additional soldier for our army.”
“But then, there are the vineyards, which produce wine that we sell, and the orchards, which produce fruit, not to mention livestock and—”
She made a dismissing motion with her hand. “You complicate the issue needlessly. The figures work out to be very nearly the same.”
“You are certain of these figures? That is, you have made a study?”
“No, I read them in a book.”
“Do you trust this book?”
“Oh, certainly. It was published by the University Press before the Disaster.”
“Very well, then, I accept the figures. What of them?”
“Suppose I have thirty renters, each renter, on average, has—”
“What does ‘on average’ mean?”
“It is unimportant. Each renter, let us say, farms fifty acres.”
“Very well, let us say that.”
“When we subtract from this the amount the renter is entitled to for his own use, either to eat or to sell, which is, by chance, very close to what he needs to keep himself and his family alive, we find we have the amount needed to support one soldier, along with the portion that goes into your bin, and eventually, your treasury.”
“Yes, yes, or larder, or wine-cellar. I am familiar with this process. What you are saying, then, is that we are able to support one soldier for each peasant family.”
“That is correct.”
“This also came from a book?”
“The same book.”
“Perhaps I should read it.”
“I will lend it to you.”
“Well, I accept these figures. And then?”
“After reading the books, I did my own calculations.”
“I am not surprised that you did. But—”
“Yes?”
“What did these calculations tell you?”
“That in order to effectively defend the land in these times, with brigands and armies everywhere, we require one of two things: either one and a half soldiers for each peasant—”
“Half of a soldier is hard to imagine.”
“—or we must arm the peasants.”
“A risky proposition.”
“Exactly.”
“And then? What is your conclusion, my dear cousin?�
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“There is yet a third method.”
“I am anxious to hear it.”
“Each time we gain an area equal to fifty acres, and, in doing so, use fewer than one soldier for each fifty acres conquered, we stay afloat, as the Orca say, for a little longer.”
“Ah. I understand.”
“Yes. That is why we are driven to keep expanding.”
“Well, and so we expand.”
“But there is a limit, you know. The expansion must necessarily slow down, because there is time required to secure each new area, and as the circle widens—”
“Circle?”
“Say, rather, as your holdings grow, it will soon take so much time to see to the arrangements that, well, the entire structure will collapse.”
“Having seen the Disaster,” remarked Kana, looking around nervously, “I mislike the thought of structures collapsing.”
“As do I.”
“But permit me to put a question.”
“Very well,” said Habil, “ask your question.”
“If this is how it works—”
“Oh it does, I assure you.”
“How was the Empire able to function?”
“Because it was an Empire, and everywhere was order, and there was little bickering, and so only a small army, and that managed by the Empire itself, could keep order over a large area. In fact, rather than requiring one and half soldiers for each peasant, it required scarcely one soldier for each thousand peasants. You perceive there is a great deal of difference.”
“Yes, yes, I see that. But is there a solution?”
“I believe there is.”
“And what is that?”
“A new Empire.”
“How, a new Empire?”
“Exactly.”
“But that requires a new Emperor.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“And where might we find such an Emperor?”
“I believe I am looking at one.”
“How, me?”
“Are you not a Dragonlord?”
“Well, yes.”
“And have you not proved your ability to win battles?”
“Battles, yes. But to govern such an area, and that without the Orb—”
“The lack of the Orb is a problem.”
“I nearly think it must be!”
“But I have a solution.”
“Have you then?” said Kâna admiringly. “I recognize you so well in that!”
“I think so,” said Habil, blushing.
“Well, I should be glad to hear it, Marchioness.”
“A system of counselors, of observers, and governors of territories.”
“I see. Advisers, then, to suggest actions, and spies to be sure I am informed of what is going on in all parts of the Empire, and rulers of sections to carry out my orders in their territories.”
“You have understood exactly.”
“But how am I to conquer such a large area, when you have already said that expansion such as we have been engaged in is doomed?”
“I have thought of this, too.”
“I am not startled that you have.”
“Shall I tell you what I have thought of?”
“I should like nothing better.”
“This is it, then: You need counselors, observers, and governors.”
“Ah, ah!”
“You understand, then?”
“I think so.”
“Well, let us see.”
“Advisers to help plan the campaigns, spies to make certain I am aware of what is going on around me and throughout the Empire at all times, and rulers to secure each area as it is conquered.”
“Precisely.”
“And,” said Kana, his eyes beginning to sparkle, “as we fully secure each area, there will be fewer soldiers required to maintain control, and thus these warriors can move out, while food for them, and fodder for the horses, which we cannot forget, will move out in regular paths to feed the army that is advancing.”
“You have grasped my plan exactly. What do you think of it?”
“My dear cousin—”
“Well?”
“I think I will be Emperor.”
“I nearly agree.”
“Have you anyone to suggest for those roles of which we have spoken?”
“Some. We will discover more as we begin our campaign. Come now, have you any maps?”
“Why yes, many.”
“Good. I perceive that you have finished your omelet and your bacon, and are now drinking your third cup of klava, whereas I have finished my biscuit and my sausage, and am just pouring my second cup of tea, so let us retire to the library, and consult these famous maps, and begin to plan this campaign of which we have been speaking.”
“An excellent suggestion, and one that I subscribe to with all my heart.”
Thus began Kana’s campaign, which at its start was one of the countless efforts of minor aristocrats to preserve the few holdings they had, and which by its end was so much more.
Chapter the Fourth
How a Band of Road Agents
Met a Sorceress Who Was Not,
In Fact, Picking Flowers
On a spring day in the 229th year of the Interregnum, a woman could be seen to be picking flowers in a meadow near the banks of the river that the Easterners call the Naplemente, which name, we believe, translates to “the last of the light.” The name was given it by an Eastern explorer who, having traveled as far from his homeland as he was willing to go, saw it as the farthest western point he could discern; he therefore called it by his country’s name for the end of the day, or, perhaps, the place where the last of the daylight is seen. It still goes by this name among some, especially Easterners living within the Empire, but it is more often known as the Adrilankha River, for the simple reason that it passes through this city before finding its way to the ocean.
The meadow to which we direct our attention, however, was nearly three hundred miles north of this city, and there were no cities nearby, though, to be sure, there were no small number of inns and tiny villages, as more than a few roads ran in diverse directions through the region.
As to the woman picking flowers, we should say that she was eight or nine hundred years of age, with narrow eyes, a clear noble’s point beneath dark hair that curled around her ears, a small mouth, and a face that showed that she had lived no easy life. While she was unencumbered, she traveled with a mule, which held a heavy pack, and one item of especial note: that being a staff of white wood, polished until it nearly gleamed, and featuring a small reddish marking on one end. Other than this staff, she appeared to have nothing more than what anyone might take for extended travel in the woodlands.
Watching her as she made her slow, painstaking way through the meadow, one might suspect her of being a midwife or herbmaster, until the observer realized that she was not, in fact, picking the flowers, so much as searching through them—indeed, her concentration was so fixed upon the ground that she did not, at first, realize that she was not alone.
When she at last became aware of it, she looked up with a sharply indrawn breath to find eight or nine horsemen watching her from a distance of only a few yards.
“A good day to you, madam,” said one of them. “You appear to have lost something.”
“And a good day to you, sir. I am called Orlaan, and, as you have deduced, I have, indeed, lost something.”
The horseman looked at his companions and, with something like a smile, said, “Tell us what you are looking for, then, and, as we are all gentlemen here, we will help you find it.”
“Will you, indeed? Why, I should be most glad for the assistance, and I will tell you at once.”
“Well?”
“I am searching for a soul.”
The horseman stared, then, frowning, said, “I beg your pardon, madam, but I fail to understand what it is you do me the honor to tell me.”
“But, what could be simpler? There is a soul somewhere
hereabouts.”
“I … that is to say, a soul?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, how did you come to lose it?”
“Oh, I never had it.”
“But … then, it is not your soul?”
“No, it belongs to another.”
“But, how is that possible?”
“For another to have a soul?”
“No, no. For there to be a disembodied soul. I have never heard of such a thing.”
“It was a strange effect of Adron’s Disaster.”
“But that was two hundreds of years ago!”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then you have been searching for it all this time?”
“Oh, certainly not. It was scarcely a hundred years ago that I realized it was missing. It took me that long, you perceive, to train my skills to the point where had an awareness of such things, and to perform the divination that revealed that it existed.”
“But now you know it exists?”
“I have Seen it, yes.”
“And it is here?”
“As to that, I cannot say. I traced a line from Dragaera City—”
“Dragaera City! That is a sea of amorphia, from all I have heard.”
“Well, so be it, then. From the sea of amorphia to Dzur Mountain, and I began my search at the edge of the sea, as that is where I happened to be when I made the discovery, and my search has, so far, brought me here.”
