Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams

by Scott Rhine

  “Preposterous!”

  “Words are cheap and common, as is ignorance. I can prove mine. Are you willing to stand behind yours?”

  “If you can’t?”

  “You’ll never see a light from my window again.”

  “I could get that now,” boasted the lord.

  “No. According to the founding precepts of Center, the military requires the beacons every mile around the island to stay lit in case of invasion, plague, spirit attack, or uprising. That rule takes precedence; yours is therefore illegal. However, I won’t bring it to the magistrate’s attention if you make the bet.”

  Clenching his jaw so hard that his molars might have cracked, the lord muttered, “Show me, now, this bit.”

  “I need a yes or a no, in front of these witnesses,” the emperor countered.

  “Yes.”

  Closing his eyes, Pagaose held the flower above his head. In the light of the Door above the throne, weaker than the day of his arrival, the lotus petals translated into pure sesterina. Then, he handed the expensive flower to the head of the observatory. “This work of art, out of thin air, from the hand of the gods, will pay for my request.”

  “Pure spirit metal!” said one aide.

  The guards and aides knelt in religious awe. Only the lord stood, goggling at the evidence in his hand.

  Gliding casually from the throne room, the emperor said, “That should pay for the maps. Leave your vote at my front door.” As an afterthought, at the side exit, Pagaose turned to face his opponent. “And do not ever presume to tell me what to do again.”

  Chapter 6 – Military Week

  When Emperor Sandarac and Empress Humi first received Pagaose’s offer, they didn’t react well. Retiring to their chambers in private, Humi shrieked and shattered vases for an hour. Pregnancy accentuated her natural volatility. Then, turning to her husband, she asked, “Well?”

  Sandarac stroked his closely trimmed beard. “This new pretender is no doubt the thief Zariah warned us about. The Intagliosian army didn’t arrive in time.”

  “What are you going to do about this?”

  “Diplomacy is called for,” he said calmly from the bed. When she opened her mouth to object, he raised a finger. “First, we prevent the announcement from reaching Semenea while we negotiate terms acknowledging our claim. Second, we stall the College of Wizards and cut them off from all support. Third, we claim victory in a letter to the drunkard King Borchart. We claim to have captured his Prefect. The sot knows nothing about military matters. With us controlling the sea, he will have to believe us. Our sole requirement for peace will be choosing us over this newcomer. Navarra can make him think it’s his idea.”

  Impressed by this scheme, she admitted, “This could work.” The exotic beauty sat beside him.

  “Meanwhile,” he said stroking her hair, “we muster every soldier we possess, including the army of Zanzibos, to invade Center. I wrote the plans last week.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You anticipate my desires.”

  “Our child will wear the Imperial crown at Center, or Center will be no more.”

  “Beloved,” Humi said, dropping her robes. “We are indeed of one mind.”

  ****

  At breakfast on Moonday, Anna chirped, “Three votes down already! The stodgy, old College wasn’t expecting you to get any of them. You could get the fourth vote today, halfway.”

  Niftkin grimaced. “Unfortunately, the rest of the votes won’t be that easy. Someone’s given orders for the military academy to delay as long as possible, and the others will only test you in the sequence laid out by the council. There’ll be no more sneaking.”

  “How did you learn this?” asked Pagaose.

  The guard looked around to see if anyone else was listening. He whispered, “Your trick of turning the half-breeds into full-blown Imperials has made you friends in high places. There are men of power with beloved-but-illegitimate children you could make into heirs in a matter of heartbeats. Already, they’re sending messages to their children to return to the homeland. These men whisper small secrets to the Honor Guard to help us.”

  “Us,” the emperor repeated. “You’ve chosen sides, then?”

  “The side of right,” Niftkin asserted. “Our unit could choose no other and retain our name.”

  As he feasted on a baked-egg dish, the emperor asked, “So what’s on the agenda today?”

  “After lunch, we’ll go to the military academy and they’ll test you on the Book of Dominion. Tomorrow morning, they’ll examine your practical knowledge of military strategy. After lunch, they’ll try your skill at the sword.”

  “Then today, you and your cohort will teach me what you can about blades as I have instructed you on unarmed combat.”

  Niftkin bowed. “As you wish, sire.”

  That morning, Pagaose sparred with a practice blade against each of the seven guards on duty. Unfortunately, the Honor Guard agreed with Niftkin’s blunt assessment. “Despite your possession of the One True Sword, you don’t have the disposition of a swordsman.”

  “He swings the practice sword like a staff.”

  “Not aggressive enough.”

  The most recent opponent was sweating and panting. The last guard complained, “But he’s fought all of us and he’s still fresh as a daisy.”

  Pagaose didn’t explain that the throne Door constantly refreshed his normal physical energy.

  Niftkin grinned. “That’s how you’ll beat them, sire. Don’t do the drills. Challenge them to an outright duel, and then use your endurance to run them into the ground. Win by attrition.”

  “I want the duel here so that I can use the familiar ground to my advantage.”

  The guard nodded. “As the one who issues the challenge, you get to choose. Your opponent selects the weapon.”

  “So be it. Show me what a duel is like,” ordered the emperor.

  ****

  The test on the Book of Dominion from the leaders of the military was haphazard. Pagaose effortlessly answered the questions from the first half of the book. The questions from the second half came only from the oldest general present, Lord Conifer. The first time the emperor gave him a shaky reply, the generals conferred in a huddle, trying to decide whether to accept the answer.

  Then he realized, “You don’t have the second half of the Book of Dominion, do you?”

  The youngest admitted, “It burned in the Scattering. Vinspar the scribe stole what remained and carried it to the Pretender.”

  “I stole it back from him. He never transcribed it with his own hand; I did.” This made the generals buzz with excitement.

  “This would make it easy to refuse Sandarac’s claim,” noted Lord Ashford.

  “Oh, there are easier ways,” Pagaose confided. “Sandarac was lamed and sterilized by the jailers in Kiateros. His concubine, Jolia, told me so.”

  “We are at an impasse,” the aristocrat admitted. “There are no other legitimate candidates, yet no one can pass the test on the second half.”

  “I’ll write you a copy of the first part of the book; my training gives me perfect recall. That will take me at least four days. Lord Conifer studied the entire tome before the Scattering and can help me reconstruct the rest. I have some techniques I can teach him to mine the details from his own memory. The Book of Dominion overlaps the other six books of the Traveler, and I have each etched into my mind. This exercise could take weeks, if not months.”

  “For the sake of future generations, we will accept this,” said the oldest general.

  When Pagaose returned to the palace, Anna asked, “How did it go?”

  “Today, I lay siege to their castle. It may take a couple weeks, but they’ll fall,” he replied.

  ****

  After the Stoneday workout with his guards and a few martial-arts aficionados, Pagaose cleaned up and had breakfast as usual. He thanked the chamberlain for the vegetarian dip the night before. “The chickpeas were a wonderful accent, but keep track of any
thing you spend out of your own pocket.”

  “I am not sure to what you may be referring, sire; however, service is its own reward.”

  “I won’t be a red-headed stepchild to the College forever. If I might beg your indulgence, my scribe will be rising late today. Since he won’t be needed at my testing, I kept him busy writing an important document until two hours past midnight. Be kind when he wanders in asking for a bite of breakfast.”

  “As you wish, sire.”

  Anna reported, “Despite what the tax collector said, I got rid of all but three of the maids. This morning they didn’t have time to watch you practice.”

  The chamberlain noted, “I made certain to blame the unfortunate curtailment on the theft of silver by that Kragen (ahem) woman.”

  The emperor smiled as he had toast with jam. “Every time he wants to insult someone, he clears his throat instead. He’s a born diplomat.”

  “I have also trained myself to say thank you when I have an obscene suggestion for someone.”

  Anna had to leave first to get to the brewery. As they parted, she grumbled, “Why do you have to go to their silly school? Can’t they ask questions here?”

  The emperor shrugged. “The strategy sessions involve hundreds of figurines arrayed on a sand table. The displays can be quite elaborate and take hours to arrange.”

  “Boys!” she muttered, leaving with three guards.

  “She makes it sound like soldiering is all play,” complained Niftkin.

  “When’s the last time our generals actually invaded somewhere?” asked the emperor.

  Niftkin opened his mouth twice to reply and closed it both times.

  Pagaose chuckled. “She has the tact of a barroom brawler, but she’s not often far from the truth.”

  “It’s not fair,” Niftkin objected as they wandered down to the military officer’s academy. “Criticizing her would be like finding fault with my mum. Both of them know how to twist an ear till it hurts.”

  Pagaose had a wonderful time discussing strategy with the teachers. Usually, he would begin his answers, “I read that paper,” or, “I walked over that battleground.”

  The instructors were pleased with his answers and the discussion that followed. The only complaint was from Lord Conifer. “This was supposed to be an exercise to gauge how you apply what you gleaned from the Book of Dominion. Candidates seldom read our papers on matters.”

  During the last sand tray of the day, Lord Conifer pointed to the model of a famous historical charge and asked, “What would you do in this instance?”

  “Wait,” responded the emperor.

  Conifer raised both eyebrows. “Pardon?” He was waiting to reenact the famous charge a unit at a time.

  “That’s what the commander in charge was ordered to do in this scenario. His general was bringing in reinforcements.”

  “But those reinforcements never came. They collided with another force to the west and were decimated.”

  Pagaose laid a finger aside his nose. “Our opponent was a cautious man. He would have sent a large contingent of scouts to investigate any battle on his flanks. This would have reduced the possible warning for my attack, lowering my casualty rate. For though this charge was nominally successful, the campaign was crippled by the losses it incurred. An officer’s job is to obey his general. Failing that, he should conserve his resources while inflicting the maximum toll on his enemy.”

  Lord Conifer blinked a few times before admitting, “The candidate passes strategy; we will break until tomorrow. I want to get home before the rains.”

  Pagaose conferred with a group of generals. “So, after I pass my arms proficiency tomorrow, I’ll get your vote?”

  The others looked to Lord Ashford. “If you pass tomorrow’s exam, we will do so in exchange for a guaranteed annual budget of . . .” Then he named a figure twice Myron’s largest war budget.

  The emperor snorted. “Pull the other one.”

  Ashford drew himself up, insulted. “If we’re to build an empire, we need money and ships.”

  “I say to you we are an empire; we just need to act like it. If I bring warships, will you vote for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Pagaose said with a smile.

  ****

  On Windsday Pagaose rose earlier than normal and stretched so he could be ready for combat. As they meandered from the palace down to the Military College, he breathed in the fresh air and took in the beautiful view of the harbor in the pre-dawn light. The students responsible for hanging out the flags gazed at the rocks instead of attending to their duty.

  Niftkin made inquiries and one lad pointed to a wrecked merchant ship just outside the pincer-shaped mouth of the harbor. “She’s made this voyage a hundred times, but somehow, today, she hit the shoals. None of us can make heads or tails of it.

  The emperor’s eyes widened as he spotted a new rock where no rock had a right to be. Running down to the harbor, he was followed by his guards, Lord Ashford, and a few curious students. “Sire?” asked Niftkin.

  “No time,” he answered, pouring on the speed, stretching his line of pursuers behind him like a parade. Winding through the streets, he turned right when he reached the docks. Running out of docks, he switched to a cart path. When the path ended, he clambered over the rocks that reached out into the bay.

  His entourage was panting; some dropped off to rest. When he finally halted, only Niftkin remained within five paces. The moment the emperor ceased moving, the guard sank to his knees, heaving. “What—is—it,—sire?”

  On the shore nearest the rescue boats, Pagaose squinted at the rock a few hundred paces out to sea, just on the border of the Deep. “She’s a crafty one.”

  “Who, sire?” the guard asked, grabbing the stitch in his side.

  “Serog!” the emperor shouted.

  A single silver-gray eye opened on the rock. In his mind, he heard the panicked voice whisper, “The Sun!”

  “I would have words with you, Fallen!” he bellowed sternly.

  The rock unfolded so fast and shot into the sky so quickly that a waterspout formed in its wake. When the others in the retinue arrived, only a misty rainbow remained to mark the place.

  “Blast. Next time, I’ll have to try to sneak up or distract her.”

  “What in the hells?” asked Niftkin.

  “An irate dragon is targeting our ships,” Pagaose explained. “This makes no sense. Normally, she would work through storms or other untraceable means. She doesn’t like to be seen. She’s survived this long by not leaving evidence.”

  “I saw it, sire, but even I don’t believe it.”

  He paced. “I’ve done nothing to her. If she were angry at me, she would have flown over to tell me exactly what I did wrong.”

  Niftkin gulped. “Are you sure that’s wise, sire?”

  He patted the sword at his hip. “This would protect me.”

  “What about us?”

  “Not so much. You might be able to hide in the rocks, though. She’s not allowed to touch the lands of men; violating that stricture would cause her great pain. Not to fear, she’s usually very civil and reasoned.”

  “Of course,” Niftkin agreed, looking for a nice-sized crevice to hide in.

  “That she’s attacking in broad daylight means that someone is forcing her hand. See if there have been other unexplained disappearances lately. I want to find out what she’s up to. Until then, I would advise that no ships come in or out of this harbor.”

  “Can’t we just put up a ward on the ships?”

  Pagaose shook his head. “She’s one of the ancient Air Spirits. Only an armored Imperial warship might stand a chance. You wouldn’t happen to have one of those hidden somewhere?”

  “No.”

  The emperor’s eyes scanned the horizon, looking for other strange rocks. “What’s that low, flat rock over there with the circles painted on the side?”

  “The spirit arena: it’s where ward wizards
take their final exams. It’s just over the border of the deep, and spirit creatures have free reign there. Duels have been known to take place there. People can watch from the higher rocks inside the safety of the harbor.”

  “Interesting.” After a few bits, the emperor said, “Please instruct the harbormaster about the danger. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here. It’s a nice day, and my presence might keep the rescue boats from being sunk.”

  The guard clamped his mouth shut and ran back to the city with the ominous news.

  ****

  Abbot Small Voice took a long, circuitous route in his skiff to avoid spirits and storms on the way to his abbey. Seagulls followed them hoping for scraps of bread. When he arrived at the remote island of Muro, his pilot said, “Someone’s coming to greet us, sir. A ferret-faced man in a fancy uniform with a purple dragon over his chest, followed by a lot of soldiers.”

  After the pilot tied up to the docks, he helped the blind sage onto the bamboo planks.

  The sage could hear the heavy boots approach.

  “Is this the abbot?” demanded the man in front.

  “What can I do for you?” asked the sage. “Mister . . .”

  “General Navarra.” The sage heard a scroll unrolling. “Sign this decree, and your people will be spared.”

  “Since I cannot read, you will have to tell me what it says.”

  “Does it matter? Almost four hundred of Sandarac’s soldiers are setting up base camp in your abbey. You’ll sign anything I give you.”

  “I could give camels lessons on stubborn, boy.”

  The skiff pilot cried out as someone knocked his feet from under him and pushed him to the ground.

  “Easy, we don’t need to fight,” said another, softer voice behind the general. “Honored sir, twelve of your people were already injured, two died. We just need you to acknowledge Sandarac as emperor. He already holds most of the world.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You’ll starve until you do!” threatened the general.

  “I cannot because I have already resigned my post at the college in favor of the true emperor—Pagaose.”