The West Is Dying

by David C. Smith

  Heart-torn, Orain, shivering and weeping, turned to her son. “Take me from him,” she whispered to Galvus.

  “Do you hear me?” Cyrodian said strongly.

  They turned from him and hastened down the corridor.

  “Be a man!” Cyrodian gripped the iron bars powerfully. “Be strong, born of my lust!”

  Galvus opened the door; Orain hurried through, and he followed, not looking back.

  Fool, he thought, damning his father to nine hells as a traitor and a monster.

  “Fools!” Cyrodian cried after them, damning them for their weaknesses.

  * * * *

  Not long later, the prince received another visitor to his cell—this time an individual with sentiments Cyrodian appreciated and could work with.

  Lord Umothet came down the corridor and stepped directly before the bars of the cell. He was wearing a long talar that reached to his ankles. From beneath the folds of, it he produced a small rolled parchment.

  “General,” he said, and passed the scroll through the bars to Cyrodian.

  Cyrodian scanned the brief text of it and nodded approvingly as he did. “And you have the men ready?”

  “A squad of them,” Umothet assured him, “eager to move at your word, my lord. But affix your name and sign to this, and they will sail with the evening flood.”

  “Done, then.” Cyrodian moved to his desk and there signed his name and, dripping fatty wax from a burning taper onto the parchment, stamped it with the seal ring he still wore on his right hand: a lion, a crown, and a sun—mark of the Imperial House of Evarris. He blew on the wax to cool it quickly, then rolled up the document and handed it to Umothet.

  “Take it to them. Have them sail on the hour.”

  “My lord, it is done.”

  By my order, dispatch those loyal to my name to kill the Lady Yta of Athadia as a traitor to the true empire.

  Kale Athadis im Porvo.

  CYRODIAN SXo.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Elad’s initial meeting with the throne’s shields and badges, however, did not proceed as well as he had anticipated.

  He sat with his three generals and their field commanders in a long hall in a wing of the palace dedicated to the empire’s martial victories—and there had been many during those generations of the expansion of Athadia and, again, during the civil wars, particularly against foreign interests who had tried to insert themselves into that emergency.

  But those days were gone. The army now kept patrols, maintained the peace, and put down irregular incidents caused by distant tribes along remote frontiers. Life was good for the men who chose to wear the lion badge and carry the shield with its bossed dragon.

  And because of that, the generals and their commanders had no interest in debating with the throne the matter of Prince Cyrodian’s crimes. They understood Elad’s position, and respected it, within reason. But—

  “Let us handle this in our own way,” one of the men of high rank petitioned Elad. “Frankly, sire, we feel that proceeding as you wish against our brother can only—”

  “General, he is my brother.”

  “He is a soldier, your crown. To us, that is older than the sky and more true than blood. That makes him our brother. Your father respected that.”

  “My father did not kill one of his own brothers.”

  “Respectfully, highness, what we—those of us here at your table, we swords, we who wear our steel proudly—and we do wear it proudly, King Elad—respectfully, sire, as we’ve debated this, what we have here is the dead fox and owl.”

  Elad understood the allusion to the fable. A fox and owl joined one another in a fight over a mouse. A farmer coming through the woods a while later found the fox, owl, and mouse all dead. What had happened? Had the fox and owl killed each other at the same moment? If so, then why hadn’t the mouse escaped? Had the mouse somehow managed to kill both predators before it, too, died? None could say. None could give witness, not the trees, not other animals, not the rain, not the wind. Knowledge of whatever had occurred was lost in the silence of those that had done whatever they had done, and then died.

  Elad said, “I am the farmer in the woods.”

  “You are. And who can say what happened?”

  “Was I not there, General?”

  “Sir, I cannot say. Only you can say. I, too, am the farmer. I was not there.”

  Elad considered it. The risk of alienating the army while he tried to deal with the crafty robes on his council and with the bad economy his father had left him colored his appreciation of the moment.

  The owl and the fox and the mouse, indeed.

  Unless he himself was not the farmer but the mouse, or the fox.…

  “What would you have the farmer do?” Elad asked.

  “Banishment,” the loyal shield replied. “Removal. Dishonor is worse than death to those who have had blood on their steel.”

  “And do you expect my brother to fall on his sword, then, or travel to do penance at the ends of the world?”

  “Let him do what he will. It is enough for us that, for his disgrace, he is no longer one of us.”

  Elad raised a thoughtful finger to his lips and watched the men of rank at that table.

  “Allow me time to consider this,” he said.

  “A little time, your crown. We will.” And as the spokesman stood: “Good kings, highness, as I’ve learned.… Sometimes they are like generals. A good general has a strong arm, but sometimes he must use his listening ear, or he must whisper.”

  “And so a king does well to listen,” Elad said.

  The general silently nodded.

  * * * *

  Elad’s decision, whatever it might be, did not come soon enough for some of those with swords. The king spent that afternoon, not in council session, but at a table, reviewing documents relating to each of his high councilors and trying to ignore the commotion in the streets outside—drunken men of the army, riding up and down the Fountain Square, whooping and calling out Cyrodian’s name and “Hrux! Hrux!” as they galloped.

  Elad walked onto his balcony to look at them, and there came to him then more remindful words of the oracle: A mirror reflects depth while having no depth itself…a sword has two edges, it may cut the one who wields it as well as his enemy…the mask has no thought, only the mind behind it.…

  Moody, Elad turned and rang a bell and, when a servant appeared, sent that man to fetch Abgarthis, who came in, as tireless as ever and prepared to be of service.

  “My king?”

  “Are they going to keep that up all night?”

  “Better this, Elad, than forcing them to remain in their barracks.”

  “I don’t like it. Our men of rank play with us.”

  “I don’t think so,” Abgarthis told him. “All of us are better off if the disorder does not increase.”

  Elad frowned. “I know what to do, and I want you to accompany me.”

  “Yes?”

  “I must speak with Cyrodian.”

  “It would seem appropriate. I should tell you something about that. I’ve just learned of it.”

  “What, Abgarthis?”

  “Princess Orain, this afternoon—she visited Cyrodian. She and Galvus.”

  Elad’s expression betrayed his concern.

  “She promised to take her own life, as is a wife’s privilege, if Cyrodian were executed.”

  “This is true?”

  Abgarthis nodded solemnly. “There is…an image your father liked to use when he and I spoke in private. I hope you will consider it. It has to do with repercussions. Your father used to compare the actions of a king to the stone that is dropped into a pool of water. Waves grow outward in circles around the dropped stone—from the king—with inevitable ramifications that hurry on despite—”

  “I understand the analogy, Abgarthis.” Elad cut him short. And after a moment’s consideration: “Come with me. Down to the prison. We shall drop a stone.”

  * * * *

&nbs
p; The jailer was half asleep when King Elad and Councilor Abgarthis, carrying an oil lamp, hastened down the last steps into the corridor that contained Cyrodian’s cell. The man quickly roused himself and apologized profusely for his con­duct, but Elad ignored him and simply ordered him to unlock the corridor door quickly.

  Prince Cyrodian was awake and lying on his bunk, hands behind his head, when his brother approached his cell. The prisoner laughed cruelly at the sight. “Celebrated prisoners,” he grunted, “certainly invite the world to turn upside down! Welcome to where maggots feed, my king!”

  “You are foul, brother.”

  Cyrodian stepped up to the bars. “I disagree. I believe you are the foul one. And from where I stand now, it could easily be you behind these iron poles, and I the free one. But you screamed the louder, didn’t you, brother?”

  Elad stood with feet apart in a solid stance, hands behind his back. “Cyrodian, I’d be pleased if you’d keep quiet while I tell you what I have to say.”

  “Speak, then.”

  “Pressure is being put upon me to overrule Yta’s judgment in regard to your verdict.”

  “Pressure, hey? Welcome to the world of real politics.”

  “The army has threatened violence if I have you beheaded.”

  “Well, the army is something to fear, that’s certain.”

  “So is the throne. I know you’re behind these events, but keep in mind that it does neither you nor me any good to have the army and the throne at odds.”

  “King Elad, I’m only a criminal! What does it matter to me what passes for judgment up there?” He glanced toward the ceiling of his cell.

  “I will make a bargain with you, Cyrodian.” Elad’s voice was as steady as his posture.

  Cyrodian smiled and glanced at Abgarthis. “He’s learning, isn’t he?”

  “I intend to tell the army, in the morning, that I will exile you from the borders of the empire. You will remain alive, but you will be banished. What do you say to this, brother?”

  “I get my life, but I lose my honor and my name, and you still keep your throne and the empire?” Cyrodian smiled hugely and leaned forward against the bars; he twisted his massive hands around them as though intending to snap them, had he the human strength to do it. “You’re frightened, aren’t you, brother? You should be. A king without fear is soon a dead king. You see? Any man should be frightened when he seeks power over any but himself. Kings sleep in a bed of adders, not cockroaches. And where will the serpents strike next?”

  Elad maintained his composure. “I ask you again: Do you agree to this bargain?”

  Cyrodian moved away from the bars, sat on his cot, stared coolly at Elad, and thought deeply.

  “Well?”

  “I agree.”

  Elad nodded curtly to him. “Then I will release you in the morning. You will be chained, and an escort of my choosing will lead you from the capital.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “Where?” Elad did not smile. “Far away from me, brother. Far away. Maybe you should be the one to be afraid now.”

  * * * *

  Count Adred could not sleep. The noise of the soldiers in the streets had dwindled, but the squadrons had not, despite King Elad’s request, disbanded entirely. With news coming from the palace in the morning, half the army remained in the Fountain Square, eager to hear the decision.

  Adred read for a few hours, until his eyes began to burn. Then he got out of bed, pulled on his trousers and a loose blouse and his boots, and left his chamber. Intending to look in the audience hall for Elad, he changed his mind when he noticed Abgarthis seated on a marble bench just outside the tall, closed portals of the council chamber.

  “You cannot sleep?” the old man asked him as Adred stepped near.

  “Impossible. What are they celebrating out there?”

  Abgarthis sighed. “They’re not celebrating. They’ve demanded that Cyrodian not be executed. Elad has promised them an answer in the morning.”

  “Yes,” Adred said, “of course.… The coals heat quick­ly, don’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Is Elad with his ministers, or—”

  “No. He’s inside.” Abgarthis nodded. “Drinking.”

  Adred frowned.

  Abgarthis smiled carefully, a touch of wisdom in his tired, aged features. “He is in there, King Elad is, drinking wine and casting small colored bones to see the future.”

  “Is that so wrong? He looks for solace.”

  “But he already knows the future, Adred,” Abgarthis told him. “Why can’t he put away the bones, or stop staring into his mirror? He already knows what he will do, no matter what the bones say.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  At dawn, King Elad was stretched upon the throne of empire, dozing in an awkward posture. Abgarthis, in the company of several other councilors (those who had spent the sleepless night in palace apartments), intruded and awakened him. Elad was brought a washing bowl, a change of clothes, and a breakfast plate of bread, soup, fruit, and tea. And as early morning lit the misty streets of the capital, Elad ordered to him a sufficient number of councilors to witness his announcement regarding Cyrodian. As these weary men, yawning, not bathed, found their way to their seats, Umothet and Bumathis and others, Elad watched them carefully, determining whom he cared for least, whom he distrusted most.

  Scribes in attendance dutifully copied down the exact words.

  “In regard to the matter of the execution of Prince General Cyrodian of Athadia, an order based upon partial testimony brought before Queen Yta, let it be decreed that my royal command is hereby ratified and amended; the verdict of death is overruled, and Prince Cyrodian is to be on this day.…”

  The morning was lost to the army’s reaction. Merchants found it impossible to open their stalls for business, shopkeepers were unable to travel in safety to their doors, and the daily routines of five hundred thousand souls were disrupted as seven squadrons galloped madly through the boulevards and city squares, shout­ing and drinking, waving steel, blaring trumpets, and beating drums.

  Elad took no action against them; rather, the king reviewed with Abgarthis the list of army officials who might best be entrusted with the dangerous task of transporting Prince Cyrodian into exile.

  * * * *

  Doing his best to ignore the riotous confusion outside his apartment window, Count Adred busied himself with writing a letter:

  My Dear Good Friend:

  The gods embrace you and guard you and grant you peace and long life and all good rewards. Kale Athadis im Porvo.

  Mantho, you would be, I am sure, as alarmed as I at the events I have witnessed here since my arrival in the capital. We have been stricken with an outbreak of madness unmatched, I am sure, since the historic high crimes of the days of the Civil Wars.

  Be sure that I am truthful when I tell you that, since coming here, I have witnessed the death of one prince at the hand of another, the arrest of the guilty son, the abdication of Queen Yta, and a new monarch upon the throne of our land. And more lightning, I fear, yet lingers in this storm.…

  * * * *

  Elad that afternoon was at a table in his apartment when a servant entered with a note on a tray, bowed, and held it out for the king.

  No name, no seal—only a small piece of paper folded in half that, opened, had upon it:

  Your Crown, please allow me to remain anonymous until we meet. We must discuss matters of the High Council in private.

  Elad asked the servant, “Who is this man?”

  “Majesty, he appears to be old, but he is dressed poorly. He is in disguise, we think. With a large hat and walking with a staff.”

  Elad considered for a moment, then said, “Have him escorted in, but I want two Khamars with him.”

  “Done, lord king.”

  The servant went out and, moments later, led in two large guards in bronze and leather and, between then, a tall, slender man who might have been any aged business
man on the street or a peasant in from the fields.

  Elad remained where he had stood while talking with the servant. He dismissed that one and bade him close the outer door to the apartment, and when he was done, asked, “Tell me now who you are.”

  “I fear for my life in the presence of any but you and Lord Abgarthis, my king.”

  “Do you fear the Khamars?”

  “No, sire. Only other servants.”

  “There are no other servants here.”

  “Your crown, is Lord Abgarthis here?”

  Exasperated, Elad ordered the Khamars, “Show me who this imposter is!”

  “Wait, wait!” yelled the disguised one. “Don’t speak my name. It’s all I ask.”

  “Undo yourself,” Elad commanded him.

  The man did so, dropping his staff to the floor, removing his hat and a scarf, and then his long black coat. He was Lord Bumathis.

  “And why are you here?” Elad asked him. “What are these matters of council?”

  “May I speak frankly?”

  “Frankly and honestly.”

  “Is Abgarthis truly not here? I trust him as I would my own father.”

  “Trust me,” Elad said. “Now speak, or you will anger me.”

  Lord Bumathis told him, “I was sincere in council when I told you about your brother. You have enemies in your house who never loved your father and who wish you not to be king.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Their leader is Umothet, and I spit on his name. He takes after his father and his father’s father, and they were poison, no better than that.”

  “Who else?”

  Bumathis named them, and then told his king, “Tell Abgarthis. He can confirm this.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Why are you doing this? Not for me?”

  “Sire, yes, for you, but mainly for myself. If Umothet helps your brother take the crown and throne, I am on his list to be damaged. Many others, too. We have spent our lives at what we do, but Umothet is hungry to have everything. He sees you as one more thing to be put out of the way. Forgive me.”

  “No, your honesty is welcome here. I will keep my throne. And I will repay you for this honesty. Is there anything else?”