Sorrowing Vengeance

by David C. Smith

  “Let’s look at them now,” was the king’s decision. “I have much to attend to today.”

  He stood, kissed Salia on the forehead, then led Abgarthis from the dining hall.

  Ogodis watched them go and commented, “He’s not eager to see his brother returned, is he?”

  Adred glanced at him, and Orain gave the imbur a hurt look.

  Ogodis saw her and realized what he had said. He looked away as he reached for his wine. “Yes…well.…” He sipped, but he did not apologize.

  * * * *

  “Captain Mirsus,” Abgarthis said, placing the first of the dispatches on the table before Elad, “reports that he and his company are in Herossus. The letter is dated two days ago.”

  “Then we may expect Cyrodian here in two or three days.”

  His minister nodded. “Mirsus says that there’ll be no need for them to make a stopover in Pylar, so they will sail directly here.”

  Elad smiled grimly, “He certainly is following my orders expressly, to get Cyrodian here in double time.” He was silent for a moment. “Is everything that awaits his arrival in order?”

  “Yes. A furnished cell has been isolated, and quite a few members of the palace guard have already applied for the extra duty.”

  Elad raised a finger to his lips and urged Abgarthis in a quiet voice, “Go on.”

  The adviser examined the next paper. “Another coalition of Church officials is calling for curtailment of trade with the Salukadians and for other measures to be taken against them. In response to their occupation of the Temple in Erusabad.” Abgarthis proffered the gold-edged document, but as Elad evinced no interest in looking at it, he dropped it to the table.

  “How important is their attitude in this matter, Abgarthis? I mean…is it possible that the Church can cause any real problems that could threaten the stability in Erusabad?” This was already the seventh or eighth appeal to Elad from Church members to promote action against the eastern empire.

  But Abgarthis did not seem overly concerned. “We’re a secular society,” he reminded his king. “The Church is too fragmented, too splintered; it does not have great influence. Some communities, true, may decide to enforce their own trade embargoes, but I think the passions will wane as time goes on. Still…the Salukadian possession of the Temple was primarily a symbolic act. The structure itself had fallen into disrepair; there were a few religious leaders of consequence who lived there, but they were essentially the old guard, esteemed by the Church bureaucracy but isolated from the ordinary citizens. Keep in mind that the easterners gave them warning of what they intended to do and offered to relocate them; the Temple elders elected to take poison, but there was no real general uprising within the city. The citizens there are apathetic, not hostile. Erusabad has always shifted in its sympathies between East and West; that Temple had been over­taken before, in it history.”

  “I know that.”

  “So in terms of any real political anger toward you—no, there really is nothing of consequence developing, not from the people. And not really, in any collective sense, from the Church. But it’s probably well to keep in mind that the more passionate voices from any spiritual corners come from all these cults that have been springing up. I mean extreme fundamentalist doctrinaires and visionaries—Doom-Soulers and wandering prophets and ikbusa’i.”

  The development of these groups did not please the king.

  “They’re becoming very popular,” Abgarthis warned Elad. “We live in troubled times, and these prophets play upon the fears of the people, urging them to give up and claiming that we cannot solve the problems that we ourselves have created. They argue that we are living at the end of time, and they say that people should prepare for the world’s destruction. I have re­ports—”

  Elad was not interested in seeing further reports; he showed Abgarthis a solemn expression. “Sometimes,” he admitted lowly, “I am troubled by such thoughts myself.”

  His minister was sympathetic. “Ah. The Oracle, you mean.”

  Elad nodded but did not pursue the matter further. “What else is there?”

  “Only one more item of importance. Lords Falen and Rhin, of the Council committee investigating the institution of the sirots, would appreciate your presence at the arena tonight.”

  The king frowned. “What the hell do they want?”

  “I believe they’re concerned about your general sympathy toward the revolutionary movement. Perhaps they’ve gained some information regarding Galvus’s views on this and are alarmed.”

  Elad chuckled.

  “Shall I inform them that you agree to meet with them?”

  Elad considered it. “I haven’t been to the games in months. Certainly…let’s attend. We’ll make it a general event. Everyone in the palace will make an appearance.”

  Abgarthis nodded.

  “If I have to put up with their complaints that the empire’s finances are going to collapse because a handful of people want to own a plot of farmland, I might as well do it in an enjoyable setting.” He sighed. “This afternoon, Abgarthis, Salia and I are going riding, so you might attend to details here.”

  The elder was mildly surprised.

  “I’m going to speak with her frankly about a matter of importance,” Elad told the adviser. “When we return, I’d like to take an hour of your time to discuss it with you, as well.”

  “What, exactly, is the issue?”

  “You recall Lord Thomo’s suggestion about sending a representative to Erusabad? To show our sympathy to the ghen’s court about Huagrim’s death?”

  Abgarthis’s eyes widened. “You mean to send the queen there?”

  Elad examined the edges of his sleeves. “I want her to understand that she is an important functionary in this govern­ment, not simply an…ornament. I am needed here; and I’m afraid that anyone else immediately here is needed, as well. Galvus would be an ideal representative, but he’d balk at the journey and the lost time. Besides, I want him in Council when we’re discussing the resolution of the sirot issue. Our usual ambassadors have the intelligence and experience we need, but they are not of imperial rank. I’m left with the queen. She could be an important envoy. If we sent her in the company of four or five men of high standing who understand the East and have dealt with the Salukadians before, I think we could ameliorate tensions at that end of the world, at least.”

  Abgarthis, however, was unconvinced. “But she’s very young, Elad. She’s had no diplomatic experience whatsoever. Her father will be appalled.”

  “All the better for him!” Elad laughed. “I’m not sending the butterfly into the spider’s nest, Abgarthis. The travel will do her much good; she’d be required to serve a utilitarian function and win attention for us—that is all. She’s a beautiful woman: surely that won’t be lost upon those easterners. All the boot polishing and diplomatic chatter could be handled easily by our men.” Still he saw that his adviser was reserved. “Well, consider the idea. There are many positive arguments for it.”

  Abgarthis was polite. “Perhaps,” he temporized, “yes…I think we should discuss this once you’ve mentioned the idea to the queen.”

  “She is a good woman, Abgarthis. She is intelligent, she is eager—she lacks only experience in worldly affairs, and that is her father’s fault, not hers.”

  “I will support you,” Abgarthis agreed, “in whatever you decide, assuredly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that all, then?”

  Elad nodded, and Abgarthis quietly made his way out.

  * * * *

  Galvus had not gone riding—that is, not specifically for fresh air or exercise. He had taken a horse from the royal stables, but he had stayed inside the city, and on returning, he hurried upstairs to his apartment, where a meal was brought to him. He asked Omos to locate Adred and invite him to table. Adred was free, so while Galvus ate an early lunch, he told the count and Omos how things had transpired.

  “Our shipment of supplies into Sulos
still operates smoothly,” he informed them. “And,” he smiled, “this may seem hard to believe, but we even have two additional men of property who’ve decided to help us. One of them is Count Olinthos. Did your father know him, Adred? I think he’s associated with the Galsian mines.”

  Adred nodded slowly. “Yes…I’ve never met him, but I’m sure my father mentioned his name a few times.”

  “And you may know the other one, as well,” Galvus told him, sipping his tea.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Colonel Lutouk dos Sendorian of Sulos. Formerly Colonel Lutouk dos Sendorian.”

  Adred tried to recall him but could not. “No…I don’t think so.”

  “He was the officer in charge of executing the rebels in Sulos last winter.”

  Adred stared at him.

  “Perhaps you don’t know him,” Galvus amended. “But he resigned his commission immediately after that. There was speculation that he’d committed suicide or that he’d been bribed by the revolutionaries themselves. Apparently he was wholly against the action ordered. There was talk of a possible court martial, but nothing ever came of it.” He poured himself a fresh cup of tea. “He’s retired, now, and living in a villa out in the northwest. And he’s contributing aid to the people. He may even be supplying funds secretly to the Suloskai, on his own.”

  Adred slowly shook his head. “Things are certainly never what they seem, are they?”

  “And even less so nowadays,” Galvus agreed. “Even less so now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As they returned from their ride that afternoon, Salia was alert with joy and told Elad that he had made her feel most proud with his suggestion that she act as the Athadian representative to the eastern court. “My father let me have no influence whatever in Sugat. And he’s never let me travel at all. Elad! You have made me so happy!”

  He explained to her that she would be gone for a period of only two months, perhaps a bit longer, that she would be escorted to the Holy City by a coterie of diplomats and advisory personnel, and that her function was solely that of a goodwill ambassador. This was critical. “We are at an important juncture in our relations with the East,” Elad explained. “Our businesses have been trading with the Holy City for many years, but lately, there’s been tension. You know about that. We must maintain the best relations we can with the Salukadians. You won’t be making policy, you’ll simply be…paying them a visit.”

  “I’ll make us both happy with this,” she promised.

  “You are the queen,” he told her. “You’ll be received as such, and you’ll deport yourself in that fashion. Perhaps,” Elad allowed, “it is difficult for you to appreciate this about yourself—here, now. But I think attitudes will change once you’ve returned from this journey.”

  “I want to do all I can,” Salia told him, “to make the Salukadians respect you as much as I’ve come to respect you.”

  Elad was intrigued by that unexpected remark, but he told Salia that he deeply appreciated it. And, as though he had just spontaneously remembered it, he suggested, “Perhaps you should not mention this plan to your father.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not until I’ve spoken to him. I prefer to make this announcement it to him in my own way.”

  She smiled. “You’re correct, of course. But I can convince him.”

  “Let me speak with him first. You are now,” he reiterated, “first and foremost the queen of Athadia; only after that are you your father’s daughter.”

  Salia gave him a wide grin. She was agreeable with that distinction.

  * * * *

  When they returned to the palace, Elad immediately met with Abgarthis in one of the private rooms off the council chamber and informed his adviser that Salia was quite in agreement with his intention.

  Abgarthis still had reservations. “She has had no requisite experience whatsoever. She’s never been independent in the whole of her little life. And she is a child. It will be too much for her.”

  But Elad was insistent. The queen had already managed well through a most troubling situation in dealing with her new husband’s injuries as well as in adjusting to her new home. He wished to encourage her. Besides, he himself had come to power amidst such scandal and danger that few, no doubt, thought that Elad would have survived even this long—yet here he was. Therefore he insisted that a much milder challenge, such as these few months in the East, likewise would encourage Salia to find within her the queen that she truly was. “She’s the daughter of a king, Abgarthis, and she’s the wife of a king. What more is there to say?”

  His minister consented to do all that he could to help matters along. Ever reliable, he had already drawn up a list of suitable diplomats whose services might be solicited, and he was completely in accord with Elad’s idea not to inform the imbur until the following day.

  As for the matter of the games that evening: Lords Falen and Rhin were most happy that their king had agreed to meet with them. But, Abgarthis informed Elad, no one else in the palace was really of a mind to attend.

  “Prince Galvus and Count Adred claim that they are occupied preparing matters for the reconvening of Council, and young Omos, of course, won’t go anywhere without Galvus. Lady Orain does not care for the spectacle. And the Imbur Ogodis claims that he is coming down with a summer cold.”

  “The Imbur Ogodis,” Elad growled, “won’t be sitting in the imperial box in the king’s chair—that’s why he won’t attend.” But he was not in a mood to be refused. “If you will, Abgarthis, please present my request to our royal family once again, won’t you? In no uncertain terms?”

  * * * *

  When Elad, followed by Queen Salia, her father, Lord Abgarthis, and a number of attendants, made his appearance at the arena early that evening, the hundred thousand spectators seated in the huge oval Kirgo Amax, the largest coliseum in the capital, stood as one and applauded wildly, raising a roar of welcome—a swaying tide of wild arms and lifted faces that broke the purple twilight with its noise. And the acclaim continued, uninterrupted, swelling louder, as Salia, standing beside Elad in the imperial box, glanced at her husband and watched him lift his chin proudly at this spontaneous outburst. When at last he stretched out his right arm in a salute of recognition, the crowd’s noise lifted again before dwindling into suffocated pockets of sporadic applause, lingering cheers, and whistles.

  “I’m overwhelmed,” Elad laughed, as he settled into his ornate chair. “Do my people love me so much, despite all our problems?”

  Abgarthis, seated behind him, leaned forward to interpret. “This is your first public appearance, remember, your crown, since the assassination attempt. And a quarter of this audience was admitted free of charge—in anticipation of your attendance.”

  Elad glanced back at him. “I’m certain,” he said, “that most of our people feel as these good citizens do.”

  “Of course they do,” Abgarthis affirmed.

  The program commenced with a long parade: dancers and musicians led lines of athletes, performers, and animal trainers around the perimeter of the arena. As they swayed and pranced and jumped, they waved at their noisy audience and received, in turns, enthusiastic yells of acclaim. Women wearing gossamer pirouetted; gymnasts stood on one another’s shoulders and somersaulted; lions, bears, leopards, and panthers paced and growled inside their rattling cages; athletes struck intimidating poses and punched the air. Among the tiered rows of seats in the amphitheater, up and down the aisles, bettors marked their lists and passed them along to the odds managers.

  As the parade ended and the performers returned to their waiting areas behind the bulwarks at the southern end of the kirgo, Lords Falen and Rhin, seated two rows down from the imperial box, waved to their king. Elad hailed them and gestured for them to join him. The councilors rose and made their way to the nearest aisle, climbed stone steps, and moved toward the imperial box. Elad invited them to take two of the vacant seats to his left. With much graciousness, they advanced to
the stout wooden chairs, pardoning themselves excessively as they passed before the imbur and Queen Salia.

  As dancers and mimes moved up onto the wide, festooned center stage in the middle of the arena, Elad glanced at his councilors but found them content, for the moment, to enjoy the program without speaking. The performance was of a short comedy; yet while the audience laughed in carrying waves of approval at the ribald antics, the portly Rhin and the bald, slender Falen watched in tolerant silence. The comedy ended, and boxers and wrestlers mounted the stages to either side of the central platform. Lord Rhin, sitting beside King Elad, produced from a pocket of his light coat a miniature usto set. Pegs on the flat bottoms of the playing pieces allowed them to be placed securely into holes drilled through the red and black squares of the board. Perhaps intolerant of the amusements on display, the two councilors proceeded to engage one another beneath Elad’s watchful stare.

  As the gymnasts performed a number of hazardous exercises, Lord Rhin, staring at his board, complained to Elad, “You see, your throne? Only if one understands the rules of a game can one compete with any real degree of responsibility.”

  Elad leaned toward him, keeping an eye on the gymnasts. “What is it that you trying to say, Lord Rhin?”

  “Only that competition should be left to competitors.”

  “You’re afraid of these sirots, then?”

  Rhin bounced the warrior piece in the palm of his hand as he regarded Elad carefully. “The sirots we can manage,” he replied in an even voice. “We were able to manage the formation of the trade guilds, and our terms with the leaders of those guilds are very specific and mutually rewarding. The same can be accomplished with the sirots.”

  “I don’t intend to allow the workers to manage the government, Lord Rhin,” Elad reminded him. “If that’s your concern, be at ease. But I believe there should be a place for them to discuss their ideas in our halls of justice. Is there not room on the board for many kinds of playing pieces? What, precisely, are you afraid of, you and your competitors?”