by Dragon Lance
“Exactly,” Vinas echoed. “You can’t remain forever locked away in this citadel. Your mill will run out of grains to grind, your winery will be depleted of grapes, your stockyards of cattle, your men of patience. Perhaps tomorrow I will order it all expropriate and all of your followers slain and every wall razed so that not a stone stands upon another, so that all those who ever pass this spot will shake their heads and know the folly of defying Ergoth.”
The black-haired man paused in his ascent. Vinas had been goading him, taking Antonias’s measure before any true bargaining would begin. What the king said next showed that Vinas had utterly underestimated the man.
“It is never folly to defy evil. If you must rape and kill and destroy, then nothing I do can change what will inevitably happen.”
Antonias strode up the last few steps to another door and swung it open. Beyond lay a high, beautiful great hall filled with wide windows. The sky glittered with stars, and the land with fangs of fire.
“Let us not ruin our wonderful meal with such brutal talk.”
Antonias ushered them in and offered them seats at a long table resplendent with silver and porcelain and candles.
Luccia took an ornately carved chair. “What a beautiful place. You must feel like you are dining in heaven, up here among the stars.”
“Thank you,” said Antonias genuinely.
He gestured the others to their seats, and then moved around the table to the head position. Beside it stood a young warrior who wore armor that gleamed as brightly as the silverware. The young man had a clean-shaven face in the Ergothian style, and short brown hair. He stood, statuesque and stern, until the others took their seats. Then he himself was seated, at the right hand of Antonias.
No sooner had the chairs finished scudding on the smooth stone floor, than a flock of servants in white appeared. They drifted weightlessly along with their silver platters, breadbaskets, and trenchers, like doves among stars. Each new item set upon the table steamed mysteriously beneath a shining cover or caught firelight in cut crystal. Moments later, the meal was fully set, and the silent servants were gone.
Antonias looked up from his bare plate. “Chancellor Titus, I believe you are the ranking priest here. Would you provide us with a blessing on the occasion of this repast, and favorably anoint the discussion that will come with it?”
“Certainly,” said Titus broadly. He stood, extended his arms, and intoned, “Great Paladine, Father of Good and Master of Law, bless this feast set before us and guide the hearts here to an accord that will bring true peace to our lands. So let it be.”
“So let it be,” chorused the others.
As Titus sat, there came a sigh from all of them. Then two stewards began serving the items brought to the banquet table. In silent anticipation, guests and hosts alike watched the succulent roasted pheasant and miniature potatoes, the fat leeks and buttery rolls and peach preserves finding their way to the plates.
Vinas was first to break the silence. “We were invited tonight to parley,” he said matter-of-factly. An edge of menace showed through his smile. “Parley typically means a discussion leading to surrender.”
Antonias allowed Vinas’s words to drift away like smoke. At last, he answered.
“You are a hard man, Commander Solamnus. It has not always been so.” His remarks ceased. He seemed only then to hear and respond to Vinas’s earlier comment. “Yes, I suppose if this evening goes well, resolution of our differences is possible.”
Vinas took his napkin, unfolded it, and laid it disinterestedly across his lap. “It would be unfair for me to lead you astray. The empire will accept no terms but unconditional surrender, with you marched off in chains to Daltigoth.”
“Oh, Vinas,” said Luccia reprovingly. “Don’t be a boor. Let’s hear what he has to say.”
Without acknowledging either of their remarks, Antonias went on. “There was a time when you and I were very much alike, Commander. Perhaps you do not remember me – meek junior senator in Daltigoth – but I remember you. Everyone remembers you. Even your dear father, bless him – who should have been famous for his philanthropy – became infamous because of his audacious son. You were a living folk hero for some of us young nobles.”
Vinas, at long last, was speechless. Titus, to one side of him, and Luccia to the other, gave him identical curious glances.
Antonias continued. “I was there that day at the proving grounds, when you and Luccia climbed the standing tree, a hundred feet up, with only a shirt and a couple of belts. I saw when you were impaled, and hung there, and let Luccia escape to ground.”
Luccia drew her eyes away from Vinas’s and dropped her head at the sudden painful memory.
“That day changed my life,” said Antonias. “It defined our generation: dreamers who would choose sacrifice over social status. It showed me that I could make and dwell in a perfect world, but to do so I must not bargain with evil, or vulgarity, or death.”
Vinas shook his head bitterly. “I have learned the opposite, that to live – to even draw breath – is to bargain with evil, vulgarity, and death. Dreamers don’t live very long.”
Antonias looked him square in the eye. “What about the bread riots – when you dressed as a plainsman to take food through a blizzard to starving people?”
“My father saved me then. He saved me too many times,” Vinas broke in. “The last time, it cost him his life. He was poisoned instead of Emperor Emann.”
“Yes. A dreamer at heart. Do you see what I mean? It is in your blood, Vinas. Your father gave it to you. No matter how you deny it or oppose it, that spirit of sacrifice is with you.”
A snort came from the commander. “We came here to talk about terms of surrender, not about my life story.”
The touch of Luccia’s small hand on his wrist stayed him. “Listen to him,” she implored, her eyes searching his. “Listen.”
Antonias raised a glass of ruby-red wine. “So, I toast you, Vinas Solamnus. It was because I followed your early example that I was thrown out of the senate and assigned a troubled border state. It was because I believed in your example of vision and sacrifice that I could make this land the envy of all Ergoth. It is because of you, sir, that we sit here now in pleasant parley.” He swung his glass, ringing it against that of the brooding soldier to his right.
“Hear, hear,” responded the others, Titus most heartily of all.
The king closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of the wine, and eased back in his chair. “Strange the things fate has in store for each of us. Anyone who had seen our youths would think that you would have wound up the rebel pariah, and I the great general of the empire.”
“Yes,” said Vinas. “Well, I suppose one of us outgrew childhood fancies.” Beneath the table, Luccia dealt his knee an indignant slap.
“Please,” said Antonias, gesturing, “eat, and enjoy.”
The next moments were filled with the scrape of knives and forks against ceramic, the murmur of diners uncertain about Vingaard etiquette, and the first sounds of savor, most notably from Titus. Luccia put in a good effort at enjoying her food, making the first compliments on the pheasant.
Wanting to take another stab at serious discussion, Vinas tried a different approach. “Antonias, you seem well acquainted with my life’s story, and I yours, but we have yet to meet your bodyguard,” he said, indicating the brown-haired young man.
Antonias hurried to swallow the food he was chewing. “Forgive me. My mind is elsewhere. This is Iohas, not so much a bodyguard – though he has saved my skin countless times – but a longtime friend.”
Titus lifted his glass. “Good friends are the anchors of a wayward soul!”
He delivered the toast with such verve that Vinas nodded, clinked his glass, and sipped his wine before he realized whose soul, by implication, had gone wayward.
“Look,” Vinas said evenly, “though once I was ruled by bright visions, I quickly learned that the world is hostile to such whimsy. My father sheltered me f
rom the cruelties of life, and I grew up to believe that castles could float in the air, and cities could be built without need of prisons or cemeteries. Well, once my father died, I found out they can’t. I was wrong.
“You are wrong, too. You’ve been sheltered from realities here in your dining chamber among the stars. It is my less-than-pleasant task to bring reality into your heaven. No matter how happy your peasants are, no matter how luscious your wine, no matter how diverting your plays, this land belongs to the empire. You have stolen it. You are no better than any other pillager, who takes what is not his and fritters it away in a great, long orgy of appetites. The dream is ending, Antonias. One way or another, I will wake you and this entire land from its delusional slumber. At least let me try to make the waking less jarring, less brutal.”
Antonias blinked at his wine, then nodded. “You speak bluntly, as though there were no hope for my people, for the beautiful, peaceable kingdom we have here. Tell me, what must I do to save them?”
“As of tonight, I take control of your rule; I sit in your seat; I command your castle; I rule your people.” Vinas listed his demands flatly.
Antonias breathed. That soft sound seemed to fill the great chamber. “Knowing the man your father was, and the man you once were and still must be, I could choose no foe I would rather have sitting my seat.”
“You will pen proclamations to be copied and posted throughout the castle and the town, saying you have willingly turned over full power to me, and that it is your wish that those once loyal to you should now be loyal to the empire.”
“You may not believe this,” said Antonias, “but I have already done so, and the copies are already made.”
“Your personal staff and officers, as well as your thousand men, will be stripped of weaponry and imprisoned in their own barracks until such time as they may be marched to Daltigoth, where they will face charges of treason.”
“They were not the treasonous ones,” Antonias objected. “They obeyed their duke, as they were trained to do.”
Vinas shook his head. “I can grant no conditions to you. Your officers and soldiers will be disciplined for their crimes against the empire.”
For the first time that night, Antonias looked resolute, almost angry. “This I will not agree to. If you want to shackle my men and march them into Daltigoth to endure gauntlets, mock trials, and torturous public executions, you will do so at the cost of thousands of your own men. Just see how many can crawl up through your tunnels when burning oil is poured down them. Just see how many men fall, spine-broken, as my defenders fling back the escalade teams. And, even then, you will take no one alive, for every one will fight to the death.”
Vinas grinned sharkishly. “So much for your being above killing. So much for your moral superiority to us warriors.”
Antonias replied, “I did not claim to be above killing, only above the ruthless, heartless, honorless killing you represent. I would fight and kill for this heavenly place, yes, with my last breath.”
“Perhaps there is another way to placate the emperor,” said Vinas. “Perhaps we might even win the disarmed, disbarred freedom of your troops.”
“How? Whatever the way, I will do it.”
“The emperor wants your head delivered to him. If he had that one plaything, he might forget about other spoils.” This time Vinas ignored the nudges from Luccia. “There, you have it. Dreamer, awake.”
Antonias looked down at the half-finished feast set before him. He seemed almost to be sleeping, slumped there. Breath stole slowly in and out of his lungs. A deathly silence entered the chamber among the stars, and no one, not even Vinas, ventured a word. At last, Antonias looked up at the vault above, his eyes roaming across the white ribs of stone.
He spoke in a whisper. “If I am delivered up, my soldiers may be spared?”
Vinas spoke, his eyes clear and bright. “I will do all that is in my power to assure it.”
Without looking down, the black-bearded monarch nodded. It was as if he stood in a deep pit, and was straining to see the small circle of light at the top. He closed his eyes and slowly rose. “Then, we have an agreement. You will sit upon my throne, command my castle, rule my people, and do all that is in your power to shield my officers and soldiers and folk from the emperor’s wrath. In return, I will surrender to you all of these things without a fight. You may have my head, as requested.”
Vinas stood, his face almost ashen in its solemnity. The other diners watched, as though they were artists intent on memorizing every shadow and nuance of the moment.
“Yes,” said Commander Solamnus. “It is agreed.”
In a rush of silk and kingly robes, Antonias Leprus strode across the chamber to Vinas and clasped his forearm. More slowly, Antonias’s bodyguard and friend moved up behind his king. Tears formed in the warrior’s eyes.
Luccia likewise rose to stand behind Vinas. She, too, felt tears materialize – tears of relief.
King and commander stood face to face, staring into each others’ eyes. “Believe it or not, I had anticipated this very resolution,” said Antonias guilelessly. “I am glad it has come to pass.”
“I believe you,” said Vinas. “I, too, am glad.”
“And so,” Antonias said with a joyous smile, “I ask my dear friend Iohas here, to be the first soldier dedicated to the new peace in our lands.”
Iohas, his cheeks now streaming with tears, lifted his left hand in a greeting, and then laced his fingers in the black curls of his king. His right hand flashed. There was a glint of starlight.
Vinas and Luccia recoiled instinctually as the brown-haired man brought his blade singing through the neck of his friend, the once-king of Vingaard.
Meus Pater
I think you would have liked Antonias, Father. He was the man I was supposed to be.
Part IV
WISDOM
Interlude
One Day Hence, 16 Mishamont, 1200 Age of Light
Phrygia gloated as she examined herself in her vanity mirror. It was done. Vinas Solamnus had spurned her, had marched away from her, thinking he would be free. Instead, he fell for trap after trap that she had set, became the man she wanted him to be, and even captured far Vingaard on her behalf.
Now, she needed merely to bring him back.
Phrygia leaned over the vanity and clutched a small, enameled jewel box. It held the broken fragments of the five soul-gems Caitiff had hidden around the palace. Twenty years of searching had turned up every last one. She’d gathered them and crushed them herself. The fragments remained in the box. She shook it brusquely.
“Oh, Caitiff. Wake up. I have a job for you,” she purred.
There came a sullen stirring in the urn beside the vanity. A thousand tiny rattles sounded as the old lich assembled himself from bone chips and ash.
How satisfying it had been to bum his bones and pour them into that vase!
In moments, a rickety skeleton stood before her, its once-proud elven skull bowing in pathetic subservience. “Yes, my lady. What is your bidding?”
“Vinas Solamnus has succeeded. It is time to bring him back.”
“Shall I teleport him here?” the skeleton asked.
“No,” she replied. “He must fight for every inch of his return. How else will I know he loves me? And at the end of the fight, he must slay my husband, to be worthy to share my bed.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the skeleton hissed, “but what is your bidding?”
“You will raise for me an army that will make Vinas Solamnus’s return a great triumph, indeed.”
For the first time in months, the skeleton seemed pleased with the task set before him.
*
Phrygia was little concerned that these two assassins had once tried to kill her husband. Nor did she care that the man who had saved her husband was the very man she now paid them to kill.
“Kill him or die in the attempt. He must overcome both of you before he proves himself worthy of my love,” she said. The coin bag la
nded heavily on the table. “There. Five more of those when he is dead.”
XIII
Three Months Hence, 10 Corij, 1200 Age of Light
All had been accomplished.
Vinas sat upon the throne of Vingaard. A thousand of his handpicked troops occupied the castle. The head of Antonias was on its way to Daltigoth, along with a message telling of Vingaard’s unconditional surrender. This parcel was borne by an elite messenger accompanied by thirty heavy cavalry units.
As to the warriors and officers of Antonias, they were officially dead.
Thrice a day for a month, Vinas had summarily tried and convicted them, sent them marching to the dungeon, and proclaimed their execution and cremation. The foul black smoke that rose morning, noon, and night from the dungeon’s huge incinerator was actually produced by wood, coal, and cow remains. Meanwhile, Gaias gave the men aliases and new clothes and led them out the longest siege tunnel into a nearby forest. The men went their separate ways and then gradually returned to their elated families and friends – whether in the town of Vingaard or one of the hundred nearby villages. According to Gaias’s instructions, they swore their loved ones to secrecy about the Ergothian lord’s “Vingaard sympathies.”
Among the townsfolk, the “executions” had become an open lie. The peasants enjoyed amplifying the story. Some engaged in maudlin displays of grief each time black smoke rose from the castle. Qthers told of harrowing visitations by the ghosts of their lost loves. A few even had gravestones carved and placed conspicuously in their gardens, saying things such as:
Though Jacobas went away,
We’ll meet again some better day.
Vinas was no small benefactor of this death campaign. He had written to Emperor Emann, describing in loving detail the ruthless trials, executions, and cremations, as well as the despondency of the people. The emperor would doubtless applaud his zeal, even if he would have preferred to keep the officers alive for questioning.
