The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “That is possible,” said Otto.

  “No,” said Tuvo Ausonius, relieved, “he replaces it in its sheath.”

  “Look,” said Vandar, “Citherix returns.”

  The riders of the Otung cavalry were to the right, emerging onto the square.

  “Behold,” said Ulrich, “to the left, Heruls!”

  “These are fierce, terrible enemies,” said Julian.

  “Separated by the Lothar,” said Otto, “the plains of Barrionuevo, the flats of Tung, ranged by the Heruls, the forests by the Otungen.”

  “When have they not met without feasts of blood?” asked Julian.

  “We brought horses from Tangara,” said Vandar, “but Rurik, and his men of the Larial Farnichi, his private soldiers, obtained hundreds more from the countryside, and the lands drained by the Turning Serpent, even to the delta. Rurik, too, cleared the path to Telnar from the dock district, dismantling barricades and uprooting hundreds of horse traps and sharpened stakes, and forcing Drisriaks loyal to Ingeld from their posts, at the last minute, of course, in bloody fighting, to conceal our assembling forces. Without his help we would have lost the element of surprise, and might have been detained, and perhaps stopped, at the piers.”

  “I see the banner of the consul now,” said Julian pointing to the right.

  “His men are afoot,” said Julian.

  “Infantry,” said Otto, “can hold trenches, clear streets, scale walls, investigate narrow places, climb to roofs, can fight from house to house, from room to room. There is no victory without infantry.”

  “The cavalry of Citherix and the Heruls approach one another,” said Julian apprehensively.

  “Slowly,” said Otto. “And note, lances are not couched, bows remain encased, quivers are tied shut.”

  “They mingle,” said Julian, wonderingly.

  “This afternoon,” said Otto, “they are fellow warriors.”

  “And tomorrow?” said Julian.

  “I do not know,” said Otto. “Species can grow bored, and the waters of the Lothar are easily forded.”

  “Abrogastes and Ortog now approach,” said Julian.

  “Let us greet them,” said Otto.

  Otto moved to the front edge and center of the damaged platform, where the steps which led up to its surface were intact.

  He lifted his hand, to hail those who approached.

  At the same moment Captain Harst, at the foot of the steps, gathering his legs beneath him, rose up and sped upward, climbing to the height of the platform, the death gloves, with the venom-laden claws, reaching out to tear at the face and half-bared body of Otto.

  “Beware!” cried Vandar.

  But already, Otto, responding with the suddenness of a startled vi-cat, was struggling with his assailant, his hands on the wrists of Captain Harst. The two men, locked together, turned and swayed, leaning to one side and the other. The claws were but inches from Otto’s face, straining to reach his face, when, bit by bit, they were separated, wavering, and the strength of the blond giant began to assert itself against the fury and driven madness of the captain of the city guard. Captain Harst’s face was wet with perspiration and, as he began, in slow moment by slow moment, to understand the inevitable denouement of his desperate action, his eyes grew wide with comprehension, and terror. Then the clawed gloves, on his own hands, were turned against him, and then, as his strength failed, each of his cheeks suddenly bore the furrows of five claws, each furrow brimming with blood.

  “You did not withdraw,” said Otto.

  He then thrust the body of the captain of the city guard reeling down the steps. At the foot of the steps, the captain rose to his feet, looked upward and back, once, and then turned, took two steps, and fell to the pavement.

  “He was a good officer,” said Julian.

  “No,” said Otto, “his position was with his men.”

  “The poison begins to take effect,” said Iaachus, in horror, looking down from the platform.

  “You need not look,” said Otto to Aesilesius.

  “Do you so despise me, think so little of me, that you would guard me from the world?” said Aesilesius.

  “Forgive me,” said Otto.

  There was wild, piteous screaming from the foot of the stairs, below the platform.

  “Is this how men kill in cities?” asked Vandar, looking down.

  “Sometimes,” said Otto.

  “The difference between civilitas and barbaritas,” said Julian, “is sophistication and technology.”

  “And lying,” said Otto.

  “How so?” said Julian.

  “Civilization is only barbarism denied,” said Otto, “civilization proclaiming innocence.”

  By this time Abrogastes and Ortog, followed by shieldsmen, had neared the platform, and now both, with their followers, stood back, observing the writhing thing at the foot of the stairs.

  “Is that human?” inquired Abrogastes.

  “It was,” said Otto.

  “You can tell from the clothing,” said Julian.

  “We owe you and others our lives,” said Otto.

  “All who live owe their lives to others,” said Abrogastes. “Consider yourselves now repaid for the succor you once rendered in the basement of the house of Dardanis.”

  “Then we are sword level once more, friend foe,” said Otto.

  “I drew profit from that day,” said Abrogastes. “I recovered a son, and gained two pets.”

  “Two pets?” said Julian.

  “Two,” said Abrogastes.

  “It no longer moves,” said one of the shieldsmen at the foot of the stairs.

  “Draw the gloves from it carefully, avoiding the claws,” said Otto, “then have them burned, but stand not close to the flames. Afterwards scrape together the ashes or what might remain and dispose of it in some carnarium.”

  The shieldsman looked at Abrogastes.

  “Have it done so,” said Abrogastes.

  “You and your fellows appear to have been beaten,” said Ortog.

  “It is hard to stand,” said Iaachus.

  “Healing balm is in the ships,” said Ortog.

  “The field is clear,” said Abrogastes, gesturing behind, “save for the gathering of the dead.”

  “Heruls are ghastly,” said Julian. “I fear they will feast tonight.”

  “I see a slave, he kneeling on the platform,” said Abrogastes.

  Corelius, kneeling, his hands still tied behind him, part of the coffle rope still on his neck, put down his head, trembling.

  “Not a slave,” said Otto, “but a free man, denied footwear and clad in the tunic of a slave. Perhaps you know him.”

  “I know him well,” said Abrogastes. “How much do you want for him?”

  “He is not a slave,” said Otto.

  “A collar and brand will remedy that,” said Abrogastes.

  “Resistance may linger,” said Ortog, looking uneasily to the side, past the senate house.

  “Little now,” said Otto. “We will cleanse or redeem the city guard. The temple guard will be disbanded. Levied troops will be returned to their posts. Order will be restored. Abject defeat should assure dupes, and even zealots, that gods did not favor their cause.”

  “Beware, dear Otung,” said Iaachus, “the temple is unscrupulous and patient, it seeks power like the snake, silently and with subtle venoms.”

  “It is little to be feared if it is denied the sword of the state,” said Otto.

  “Crush it,” said Julian.

  “No,” said Otto, “persecution provokes attention, curiosity, inquiry, and sympathy. What might the state fear? Could it be the truth? Too, if the state should crush difference how is the state different from the temple?”

  “Let schools be free,” said Aesilesius, “let a thousand faith
s flourish.”

  “And lacks of faith,” said Iaachus.

  “Vandar,” said Otto. “Let the bells of the city ring. Let it be proclaimed that war is done. Let it be proclaimed that the good citizens of Telnar, bystanders of strife, may exit their dwellings and resume their lives.”

  “Peace will be in the streets,” said Iaachus.

  “In three days,” said Otto, “I invite you to the palace, with high officers of our allies.”

  “Until then,” said Abrogastes.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Sidonicus, head down, was kneeling on the upholstered kneeler before the small, linen-draped altar in his private chapel, in the exarchical palace. The only light in the chapel was furnished by two candles on the altar. Above the altar, illuminated in the flickering light, golden against a dark, brocaded background, was a stylized image of a burning rack.

  “Your holiness,” said Fulvius, breathing heavily, in robes clutched about him, hastening into the chamber, “plans have gone amiss, unexpectedly and tragically so, much blood has been shed, crowds have scattered, ridden down in the square, the usurper and his villainous cohorts live, our forces are muchly perished in red slaughter, remnants flee, our foes, unimpeded, seize strategic positions, bells ring in jubilation!”

  “I am aware of this,” said Sidonicus, not lifting his head. “Buthar and Grissus have told me.”

  “I passed them on the way in,” said Fulvius. “This is a dark day for the temple.”

  “No,” said Sidonicus. “In all this we are innocent. We know nothing of crowds and secular designs. What has transpired has taken place without the collusion of, or even the knowledge of, the temple. Who shall prove otherwise?”

  “What of Ingeld?” asked Fulvius.

  “Who is Ingeld?” said Sidonicus. “We know of no such person.”

  “Hundreds know of our role in this,” said Fulvius.

  “And thousands do not,” said Sidonicus.

  “The temple may be closed, outlawed,” said Fulvius.

  “Can one outlaw air, or the sky?” said Sidonicus. “The faith of Floon has been outlawed before.”

  “Only sporadically, here and there, from time to time,” said Fulvius. “The policy of the empire, with the faith of Floon as well as with thousands of other faiths, foolishly, has almost always been tolerance. It never did as we would have it do, force a particular faith on cultures and populations with the sword, extirpating other faiths, dictating beliefs, and murdering dissenters.”

  “Do not despair, friend Fulvius,” said Sidonicus, “we will control the mind of the child and thus the mind of the adult.”

  “You must give the female a koos,” said Fulvius. “In that way the child will be shaped almost in the womb.”

  “There is little in the teachings of Floon to authorize that,” said Sidonicus, lifting his head, and turning a bit toward Fulvius.

  “Floon,” said Fulvius, “was a salamanderine from Zirus. He may have been a neuter. I do not think he gave the matter much thought. He was filled with love, and blessed, and preached to, all things, rational and nonrational, living and nonliving, to insects, flowers, toads, snakes, trees, even rocks, roads, and mountains.”

  “He was insane, of course,” said Sidonicus.

  “We must give a koos to women,” said Fulvius.

  “Nothing in the teachings of Floon authorizes that,” said Sidonicus.

  “Nor forbids it,” said Fulvius.

  “I see,” said Sidonicus.

  “I have many ideas for the increase and exaltation of the exarchate,” said Fulvius.

  “I am sure you do,” said Sidonicus, lifting his ponderous form, rising and facing Fulvius.

  “All now understand Floon to be a salamanderine from Zirus,” said Fulvius.

  “Of course,” said Sidonicus, “and appropriately. He was a salamanderine from Zirus.”

  “This has made it difficult on certain worlds,” said Fulvius, “to proselytize amongst certain species, who do not care that the offspring of Karch should not be of their own species. Indeed, some find that idea repellant. Accordingly, let us identify the offspring of Karch not with a particular form but with a koos. In this way we can present Floon as being of a multitude of different species on a multitude of different worlds, one koos, but different forms, worlds rich enough to justify missionary efforts.”

  “That would necessitate certain adjustments in doctrine,” said Sidonicus.

  “The exarchate would ascend to new heights,” said Fulvius, “heights from which it might then view new worlds, many worlds, rich worlds.”

  “Doctrine must be responsive to truth,” said Sidonicus.

  “Rather, your holiness,” said Fulvius, “truth must be responsive to doctrine.”

  “You are ambitious,” said Sidonicus. “A ministrant is to be humble.”

  “I assure you, your holiness,” said Fulvius, “no one is more humble than I.”

  “I hear the bells,” said Sidonicus, lifting his head, “even here in the chapel.”

  “Celebrating the victory of the usurper,” said Fulvius. “These times may prove dangerous times for the temple. Despite our denials there is a broadcast public perception that the temple is implicated in the insurrection, the rioting, the burning and looting, the tumult and turmoil of the past several days.”

  “A mistaken perception,” said Sidonicus.

  “But one which might redound to the detriment of the temple, and the encouragement of skepticism, even heresies.”

  “We will plan anew,” said Sidonicus. “In the top drawer of the chest to the right, containing vestments and ceremonial paraphernalia, you will find a flat case of sweets. Fetch it.”

  Fulvius then went to the mentioned drawer, and, in a moment, returned to Sidonicus, who took the case of sweets from him.

  “I have a plan,” said Fulvius.

  “You seem fertile with plans,” said Sidonicus.

  “I think you will approve,” said Fulvius.

  “I attend,” said Sidonicus, placing a sweet in his mouth. “Speak.”

  “The prestige of the temple is in jeopardy,” said Fulvius. “Men suspect that the temple has ends in view, economic ends, social ends, political ends, which are incompatible with the sweet, loving, tolerant, anarchistic teachings of Floon. They dare to think, if only privately, that we seek wealth, prestige, and power. Indeed, many think the temple has betrayed Floon. Once again we must see to it that the temple is regarded with reverence, that it is respected as a selfless vessel, divinely instituted, by means of which Karch hopes to improve and exalt the weak and small, the miserable and unhappy, the neglected and despised, that they, or a select few amongst them, for one must keep them apprehensive, may find places at his table.”

  “And how, dear Fulvius, is this to be brought about?” asked Sidonicus, placing another sweet in his mouth.

  “Suspicion must be diverted from the temple,” said Fulvius. “The temple must no longer seem the perpetrator but the victim. The temple itself must seem attacked by the very forces which brought about so much disorder, suffering, and destruction. Thus the temple cannot be guilty, and, indeed, might it not even seem that the disorder and chaos might have been raised by enemies of the temple itself, perhaps heretics, say, illusionists or emanationists, to cast suspicion on the temple, to discredit it in the eyes of the faithful.”

  “And how, sweet Fulvius,” asked Sidonicus, “is this fruitful and valuable illusion to be brought about?”

  “Simply, your excellency,” said Fulvius. “We need an innocent victim, one who is irreproachable, beloved, holy, and saintly, one whose death will seem shocking and piteous, one whose end will provoke outrage and generate sympathy, a martyr.”

  “Excellent,” said Sidonicus. “It should be an individual reasonably well known, one of some position and station, one revered for
his selflessness, his devotion, orthodoxy, piety, sanctity, and such, preferably a ministrant.”

  “That is my view, exactly,” said Fulvius.

  “Have you someone in mind?” asked Sidonicus, reaching into the box of sweets. “What are you drawing forth from beneath your robes?” asked Sidonicus.

  “Surely you recognize an altar knife,” said Fulvius. “Have you not, often enough, in the ceremonies of Floon, used such a knife to cut apart the loaf of blessed bread symbolizing the riches of the table of Karch, the bread you then distribute to the faithful?”

  “Do not!” cried Sidonicus, as the knife was plunged into his breast.

  The case of sweets fell to the floor.

  “Now I am exarch of Telnar,” said Fulvius.

  He replaced the knife in his robes, and looked about. He regarded the altar with the white, linen coverlet, the two candles, and the representation of the burning rack on the wall, gold against the brocade. He then looked down at the crumpled body of Sidonicus. “I am not a manipulable fool,” he said, “nor do I fetch for fools.” He then bent down and, from the fallen case of sweets, picked out a sweet, and placed it in his mouth. He then turned about and left the chapel.

  Outside the chapel, in the dark corridor, Fulvius paused briefly, listening to the bells outside. Then he continued on, moving through the corridor to the exit through which he had entered. This exit, where it entered the building, was several blocks from the great square. He accounted himself fortunate, in such times, to have made it safely through the streets. Once he had even seen a Herul rider, small and fur-clad, far off, a lance in his grasp. When Fulvius reached the exit he found, waiting for him, Buthar and Grissus. They plunged their knives, several times, into his body.

  “That is done,” said Buthar, at last.

  “Let us go now,” said Grissus, “and collect our pay from the exarch.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  “We must leave the city,” said Urta, tearing away the livery of the temple guard.

  “What has happened?” said Viviana, rising, frightened, to a crouching position, for the ring and chain which confined her permitted her no more.