by Garon Whited
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were busy,” I told them. “I’ll see you later.”
“Please, Your Majesty,” Seldar pleaded, “do join us. I was explaining to Prelate Calsion about the difficulties Lotar faces.” Seldar added, under his breath, “Again.” Even during the day, I have exceptionally sharp ears; I don’t think Calsion heard it.
“I cannot continue this discussion in the presence of an abomination,” Prelate Calsion stated.
I looked him over. He was a tall, spare man with a lantern jaw and bushy eyebrows. The wrinkles in his face said he didn’t smile much and had kept busy not smiling for fifty years or so. He wore no rings and seemed unarmed.
“Are you refusing to speak with a king?” I asked, pleasantly. I moved into the room and seated myself at the table. “I know you’re a priest—some sort of high-ranking priest—but don’t you think refusing a king to his face, in his own palace, is a trifle… unwise?”
“It matters not what you call yourself. You are a blood-drinking monster from beyond the world, a creature of chaos, darkness, and death. Your kind is the embodiment of evil and must be purged by fire and slaughter.”
“Strong language,” I observed. “Are you telling me it’s the intent of your Church to see me slaughtered and burned to ashes?”
“It is the intent of all right-thinking people,” he countered. “All who fail to oppose you are doing the work of evil.”
“Impressive. Most people don’t announce their intent to murder a king in the presence of his bodyguards—you idiot.” I turned to Seldar. “Has he been like this the whole time?”
“We were discussing the merits of a religious argument in Lotar’s sentencing,” Seldar replied. “I maintain responsibility must fall to the actor or the organization, not upon the god. He maintains Lotar was doing the work of the Lord of Light and, therefore, cannot be held accountable.”
“I see. Do you have that crystal with the recording?”
“I—why, yes, Sire. Shall I fetch it?”
“Please do. I’ll entertain your guest while we wait.”
Seldar left. Calsion obviously wanted to leap to his feet and flee the room with him, but didn’t want to appear undignified or fearful. We wound up sitting in awkward silence—awkward for him. I didn’t mind. I put my feet up on the table and traded snide remarks with Firebrand about Calsion.
“Oh,” I said, after a time, “I feel I should point out Lotar is still alive and well. He’s merely been imprisoned, not executed. The priestess of the Lady of Mercy was most persuasive.”
“I am surprised you listened, monster king.”
“You’re being rude,” I pointed out. “Also, I don’t think you understand the new system. I didn’t have anything to do with his trial. I left it to the judicial board, the pentatio.” I explained the process and the roles of the various religious orders. “So you see, I wasn’t involved.”
“You arranged it for show and instructed them on the correct verdict,” he sneered. I shrugged.
“Believe what you want. I don’t expect you to be intelligent and rational.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“See? I was right. I think I was very clear.”
“The light will reveal your misdeeds,” he declared.
“First, you’ll have to turn away from it. It blinds you to the truth.”
“Clever monster.”
“Clever king, please. I don’t usually insist on the full formalities in small groups, but with you, I insist on every single one, mainly because you’re being a jerk.”
“I have no desire to indulge you, dark creature.”
“Okay. Call me anything besides ‘Your Majesty’ again and I’ll have you stripped naked and locked in a dungeon for ten days of bread and water.” He opened his mouth to say something and I sprang up, slapped my hands on the table, and leaned over at him. “Yes?” I snapped. “Go on. Say it! Say the smart-assed thing on your lips. Test me. See if I’ll actually have you thrown naked into a cell for ten days. Go on! Find out!”
Calsion glanced behind me. I felt my two bodyguards move up, ready to grab him at my word. He also glanced down at the table. My shadow was leaning farther forward than I was, hands outstretched toward him.
He elected to keep quiet.
I was amazed at how disappointed I was. I really wanted to slap him around and throw him in a cell. Instead, I sat down again. We waited for Seldar to return in silence. Our conversation died and I couldn’t find it in myself to mourn.
When Seldar came in, he placed a small box before me on the table. I opened it and drew out one of the crystals.
“Now, then,” I began. “Originally, we were going to display these inside various temples of the Lord of Light, showing the clergy what Lotar was up to and allowing your Church to handle the matter internally. That idea fell through, however, when he raised up an armed rebellion within my city. It became a public matter, a civic one—one thoroughly and firmly in the realm of the King.”
I activated the crystal’s playback and let Calsion watch as Lotar and I spoke about deals, murder, purges, and treason. I didn’t think it would do any good. Calsion struck me as the “Right or wrong, I’ve decided!” type. There’s always some sort of explanation or excuse or spin doctoring to make facts conform with belief.
“This wizardry is mere illusion, a cheap sham to slander a member of the faithful!”
Case in point.
I looked at Seldar. Seldar shrugged.
“He’s not going to listen,” I told him. “He’s washed his brain and I can’t do a thing with it. Talk to him all you want, but throw him out of Karvalen before nightfall. At sunset, he’s banished from the city. Any other representative of the Lord of Light who shows up to discuss anything else is welcome to drop by, but the moment they bring up Lotar’s case, the conversation is concluded and the person is banished—throw him out immediately. Understood?”
“Understood, Sire.”
I stood up; Seldar stood up. Calsion stared at me.
“You are not serious!”
“Buster, you’re lucky you’re not facing execution just from your personal rudeness to the King. From what I understand, most monarchs think in terms of beheadings, boilings, and beatings. I’m the nice one!”
“He is,” Seldar added, seriously.
“I strongly suggest you send someone with more tact,” I continued, “because you will never be allowed in this palace again. Warn the next guy. Failing to be respectful and polite in the presence of the King is punishable by what we discussed—naked, in a cell, bread and water, ten days. Believe.”
“I will brook no commands from a demon-spawned monster of blood!”
I sighed heavily and shook my head.
“Why is it no one ever listens?” I asked, rhetorically.
I signaled my guards. They grabbed him. One stuck three gauntleted fingers in Calsion’s mouth to shut him up, the thumb hooked under to get a grip on the jaw.
“I know I mentioned the part about naked, a cell, bread and water, ten days,” I told him. “You obviously didn’t believe me. Seldar. Have him stripped naked, thrown in a deep, dark cell somewhere, fed on bread and water, and then banish him after he’s been in there ten days. I have spoken.”
“Indeed, Sire,” Seldar agreed, and summoned guards to make it happen.
I don’t think Seldar enjoyed talking with the man. I know I didn’t. I also wondered how much of a thorn in my side the Lord of Light and his Knuckleheads—excuse me, the Hand—were going to be. Calsion would go home, eventually. I doubted his report would be favorable, but it might, at the very least, encourage the more diplomatic of the faithful to go on diplomatic missions.
I checked in with Sedrick. He answered almost immediately.
“Ah, Your Majesty. So good to see you.”
“And good to see you, too. How goes the exploration?”
“Kamshasa is quite warm, somewhat unpleasant, and thoroughly frustrating.”
�
��I expected it to be hotter than here, but how is it unpleasant and frustrating?”
“I am a man and a foreigner. The fact I am roaming without a writ of travel from some official dame offends the citizens and causes trouble for me. They do not like that I do not fit within their rigid demarcations of what a man may or may not do. It has been… slow going. With resistance and prejudice and trouble almost every step of the way.”
“At least you’re not in jail.”
“Not at the moment.”
“Were you?” I asked, surprised. “Or are you anticipating?”
“I was, briefly. Fortunately, your name carries some weight even across the Circle Sea. Do not be too shocked if you are queried by a matriarch of one of the Great Houses.”
“I’ll try to maintain my aplomb,” I assured him. “What’s a Great House?”
“I’m not sure, but I have heard them mentioned.”
“Fair enough. I’ll bother T’yl.”
“Whatever you find, please relay it to me. I feel I may need to know more before I can be effective as your agent in this place.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. In fact, I’ll call him as soon as we’re done. Do you want to stay there, or should I bring you home?”
“I am reasonably comfortable at the moment. Let us discover what we may from T’yl before you exert yourself on my behalf.”
“I’ll call him now.”
“Thank you.”
We disconnected and I dialed up the mirror T’yl used to call me. Most people don’t get the concept of caller ID, but I’m not from around here. Maybe that’s why the man who answered seemed surprised to see me. At least, he made a strangled squeaking noise and his eyes tried to leap out of his head.
“Good afternoon. Is T’yl available? Don’t interrupt if he’s involved in something, but I’d like to speak with him as soon as is convenient.”
“He’s, yes, he’s… as soon… yes, of course. Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty. One moment, Your Majesty.” He finished his stammering and hurried off. I sat back comfortably, chair creaking, and refreshed my healing spell. I was mostly recovered from my sudden transformation, but I wanted to see how long it took to get back to a hundred percent. All day, apparently. Without magic to help, I would probably want bed rest for the day. Note for the future: Avoid sudden time-zone changes from night to day. Dying is easy. Un-dying is hard.
The image in the mirror transferred from one mirror to another. The view flickered wildly for a moment before stabilizing. It was a radically different perspective, obviously through a hand-mirror. T’yl held it, looking into it and frowning his frown of concentration. His face relaxed as the image steadied.
“Majesty.”
“Magician.”
“I’m told you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, please. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“No, we’re just on our way to see you.”
“It looks as though you’re in a white room.”
“This is a cloudship spell. It’s a comfortable way to get around and moderately speedy. We’re passing over the Eastrange even now and should be in Karvalen within the hour. Do you mind if we make landfall in the upper courtyard?”
“Not at all. Be my guest.”
“Thank you. Now, how can I help you?”
“I have an agent poking around Kamshasa, trying to find things out for me, but I’ve obviously goofed. He’s a man in what I understand is a matriarchal society, but it seems to go a lot deeper than merely saying the women run the place.”
As I spoke, T’yl’s lip curled.
“I fear you may have doomed your agent,” T’yl told me. “Men, even foreign men, are regarded as slightly above slaves and a trifle below horses.”
“He’s a Hero.”
“He’s a—hmm. He might manage, at least for a while. One underestimates a professional Hero only at great peril. I must still strongly suggest removing him from Kamshasa, however.”
“That’s why I called. I need your advice and all the information on Kamshasa you can give me.”
T’yl nodded and set the mirror down carefully, angling it to keep it upright. He looked upward and steepled his fingers in thought.
“Are you sitting comfortably?” he asked.
“It’s a surprisingly sturdy chair.”
T’yl started talking. I listened.
Kamshasa is a matriarchal elitist oligarchy, if that’s not redundant, as well as being a magocracy. Women are the only ones permitted to study magic. Officially, they’re the only ones permitted any formal education, or even literacy. The ruling council is composed—in theory—of the heads of the nine Great Houses, and makes decisions for the nation as a whole, with semi-autonomy for each of the Great Houses in their internal matters. The autonomy of each House borders on total independence. The nation might be better described as an alliance of nine states with similar cultural values and strong sense of keeping up with the Joneses.
Succession within the Houses is theoretically based on line of descent, but also on challenges. An only daughter might take over as the Matriarch of the House, but if there are multiple daughters vying for the position—or a sister to the former Matriarch—there might be a magical duel, possibly a free-for-all, to determine who would take the title. The exact details vary from House to House.
Officially, the Matriarch of each House has a seat on the ruling council of Kamshasa. In practice, Matriarchs are more concerned with their own power and position relative to the other Houses, so the council seat is often filled by someone sent to wield that authority. Whether this was to get a troublesome up-and-comer away from the House, or to provide valuable political experience to a favored heir, or some other rationale is impossible to say without knowing the details of the power structure within a given House—and they are as guarded about their House workings as a gambler with his cards.
“So, let me ask a question,” I interrupted. “When you say the individual Houses have a lot of autonomy and the Council in Kamshasa is somewhat less than a strong central government, does that mean the attacks by Kamshasa on Rethven and Karvalen were done by the Council or by some House?”
“By a House,” T’yl replied. “Getting a majority of the Council to agree to anything—and then getting their Matriarchs to agree, separately—is as likely as moonrise at noon. It’s not impossible, but the world may well be ending.”
“Okay. I just want to be sure I understand. We haven’t actually had a coordinated attack from the nation of Kamshasa. We’ve had… oh… some duchy or other of Kamshasa come after us.”
“That is a fair assessment,” he agreed. “If they ever learned to trust each other and work together, they would be a formidable force in the world. As it is, they bicker and fight amongst themselves too much to be more than an occasional thorn in one’s paw.”
“Got it. Go on.”
While men in Kamshasa are seldom allowed any sort of general education, they are almost always masters of a single skill set. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, they’re trained from an early age to be whatever it is their mothers—Masters? Mistresses? De facto owners—want them to be. Rarely, they demonstrate a complete ineptitude for whatever it is and get switched to something else, but they usually have to stick it out and do the best they can.
This raised questions in my mind, but I grew up in a society where mothers loved all their children. Not so in Kamshasa, apparently. Girl-children are a delight and a blessing. Boy-children are either useful or inconvenient. What kind of a society devalues one gender or another to such a degree that one is merely a necessary evil, rather than a child to be cherished?
I’m sure their society evolved in such a manner for good and valid reasons. Of course, a drug pusher on a playground is also there for good and valid reasons. Personally, I’ll subdivide the drug pusher and flush him down the sewer; I abhor his actions and the reasons for them. I’m not sure about Kamshasa, yet.
One of the other things that faile
d to recommend the place to me was the rigidity of the populace. People were assigned to their village, their residence, and their occupation. They were forbidden to travel, change houses, change jobs—pretty much anything—without a writ authorizing it from someone of sufficiently high rank within their House. Women had a relatively easy time of it, at least according to T’yl. He made it sound like doing any of that was no worse than getting a driver’s license.
On the other hand, men were regarded as property—yes, sometimes certain specimens were valuable property—and had all the rights and privileges of such. Sending one of your men off to deliver a message, a load of goods, or whatever? It better be within your city or town; any farther will require a writ of permission. And he better not be out, roaming around unsupervised after dark! You’ll have to come get him at the jail or identify the body, depending on who found him and where.
Frankly, I didn’t see how their society functioned at all. Then I remembered it’s a magical matriarchal elitist oligarchy. With sufficiently powerful and skilled magical people in positions of power, it might be possible to force it to work. Add in strict controls on education and propaganda and it could be done. Obviously, with nine Great Houses squabbling amongst themselves, it wasn’t a particularly well-run tyranny, but it might be nine moderately-effective tyrannies calling themselves a nation.
Just the sort of place people wanted to go, obviously. No wonder Tort picked it as a hideout. Anyone who hated the Demon King—and there were a lot of them, I gathered—would also have a hard time hunting her down there. Me, too.
“All right,” I finally agreed. “I think I have a better picture of what I’m dealing with. Do you have any suggestions?”
“If you want agents in Kamshasa, you’ll need women to do it,” T’yl replied, almost sneering. “Men won’t be taken seriously and, lacking a mistress, may even be killed out of hand. A woman can’t even be executed without at least some time and trouble to get it approved.”
“Right. I’ll see what I can come up with. Meanwhile, how are your experiments going?”
