As for the pass to the West, however, Talis had no knowledge of that.
“The trail I took from the valley came from somewhere—it didn’t just appear at my feet, but I never took it any direction but east. I guess because I assumed that it would peter out when it reached the end of the valley, since I’ve never heard of anyone crossing the mountains. Most people think that their far side rises straight out of the sea, but, just as there are reports of evil spirits on the plateau, you also hear legends of a land between the mountains and the sea where small men live in the trees and leap among the branches like monkeys. I doubt there’s any truth to the stories, but if there is, I suspect the creatures in question are monkeys themselves.”
“I’ve never seen a monkey.”
“Nor have I, but I know they live in the warmer lands to the North—in the region around Cape Galdo.
“But tell me about yourself, Alf. If it’s not improper to ask, how did you become a friend of the young Emperor? You’re not from Kar—I can tell that from your accent.”
“You’re right,” Alf said. No one had ever shown any curiosity about Alf’s life before. But the Emperor trusted Talis, and so why shouldn’t he? And so, to his surprise, Alf found himself telling the old man the story of his life; and in the process he began to feel that he’d made a new friend. And not by accident, but because Talis, for a reason he hoped someday to discover, had singled Alf out for friendship.
▲
Falco and David returned to the southern valley on several occasions, once accompanied by the Emperor. Falco had brought a bow in the wagon and twice he shot deer, which added a welcome variety to their diet, although he was never able to come across a twist horn. Using these hunting expeditions to study the path he believe led over the mountains, David continued to find it promising, although he’d been unable to determine if it went as far as he suspected it did.
Out-of-doors and active, the Emperor now appeared very different from the pale figure Jon and Zoë had met among the books and papers of his study. Over time, the reservations Zoë had initially felt about the man had melted, and she now looked at him with unconcealed admiration, for he was turning into the Emperor she’d always imagined. Perhaps, Jon thought, it was nothing more than his now having a suntan. In any case, he wondered if the Emperor himself grasped what was happening to him and if he understood Zoë’s role in the transformation.
Jon may not have shared Zoë’s belief in a superhuman Emperor, but he liked the man and wanted to think the best of him. Still, not all the changes were for the better. The more the Emperor came to believe in his own fitness for office, the more questionable some of his opinions became.
“People will soon tire of the Chosen,” he announced at dinner one day. “They know how to conquer—I’ll grant them that—but real conquest needs more than brute force, and the superficial zeal they’ve stirred up in their followers can’t last forever. People will eventually lose interest in their religion, and when that happens they’ll welcome us back with open arms.”
Such words may have raised morale, but wasn’t the Emperor once again underestimating his adversaries? The more Jon learned about the old Empire, the more he doubted its ability to recover. Loyalists like the Foresters would stay firm, but their loyalty was only a blind devotion to custom. The Chosen may have promulgated lies, but those they converted must have believed they were committing themselves to a change for the better. In contrast, all the Emperor had to offer was a return to the past. True, some men idealize the past, and that was in his favor, but most pin their hopes on the future. Moreover, once the excitement of their escape from Kar had passed and the books were safely stored, there was little here to do. Jon might not have admitted it, but, he’d grown bored with the place and longed for a change.
▲
One late winter morning Zoë came looking for Jon with the Emperor at her side. She would have said she was in the Emperor’s company, but he was really in hers. “You’ve been keeping too much to yourself lately,” she told Jon. “I don’t want you to grow into a sourpuss.”
Did she realize how patronizing she sounded? Zoë had changed in ways Jon found uncomfortable. Still, he never forgot his duty to her and her family, and listening to the Emperor—even when Jon disagreed with his conclusions—was usually interesting. Years of reading had given the man a fund of knowledge; all it took to keep him going was an occasional question.
Finding a corner where the sun had warmed the rocks, the Emperor seated himself on a stone, while Zoë took a place next to him and Jon found a perch nearby. The air was soft, and a breeze from the North seemed to rouse the spring landscape. Already flowers were blooming—pink lilies that grew in clumps and orange violets that sprang wherever the soil offered a hint of moisture. Jon picked a violet and examined it as the Emperor began yet another of his stories. Looking into the flower, Jon discovered a point that could have been the center of the universe—a pinprick of color from which lines curved out in all directions, growing in intensity as they reached the rim of the petals. Strange so much could come of so little—and all with exquisite order. He decided he preferred this spring flower to the daisies along the road from Kar.
“I’ve been thinking about the buildings here,” the Emperor said. “The recent must have been the work of Axor six hundred years ago, since it’s known he fortified the valley. I’ll give you a tip. If anyone asks who built a ruin, the odds favor Axor. He devoted his reign to construction and he lived to ninety-two.
“It was Axor who ordered the four great highways, including the one you took from the Southland, and those roads determined history—especially the one that connected Kar and the South with Tarnak. By placing it east of the Great River, he encouraged the growth of the eastern provinces, which is why, to this day, few live on this side of the Empire.”
“Did Axor build Bridgetown?” Jon asked.
“Yes. He intended the bridge to control the southern stretch of the River Road and the town was built to control the bridge. Early on, its governors collected a toll, but the toll was less important than the information they gathered about the lands east of the Empire. The countless archives of the palace must contain records of what they discovered—the logs of gatekeepers and the like—for no official documents are ever thrown away, and when one building fills, they simply build another.
“Once he’d completed the River Road from Tarnak to the Southland, Axor went on to build the East and West highways to match it. As you’ve seen for yourself, there wasn’t much west of Kar, but to the East the road went to the edge of the desert, where it met the caravan route from Balabar. Near the border, he constructed another walled city like Bridgetown, but without a river; and he felt compelled to build something similar at the terminus of the West Road—if only for symmetry—and that explains the fortress below us, which otherwise makes little sense.”
“If Axor built the modern buildings here, who built the older ones?” Jon asked. “You told us about the ruins on the plateau, but it’s obvious their builders were more skillful than Axor’s. But who could they have been?”
“More skillful than Axor’s masons? Yes, I guess that’s true.”
The Emperor smiled.
“It’s easy to see you’re no courtier, Jon. Otherwise, you’d have hesitated before calling anything constructed by Imperial command inferior workmanship.”
Was the Emperor’s observation a compliment or a reprimand? Even Zoë seemed uncertain.
“However, as for who might be responsible for the original buildings on this plateau, I’m afraid I can’t help you. It’s not likely to have been one of the early Emperors. Even Morgan would have paid little attention to a place so far removed. My guess is the buildings were erected during the Age of Many Kingdoms, but why we’ll never know. Take the granite cylinders. They must have had a purpose, but it’s not a purpose I can imagine. And even Axor’s buildings are enigmatic. Beyond the fortress, there’s no record of this place, which is peculiar, since he s
aw to it that he got credit for everything he commissioned. There’s a copy of Axor’s Chronicle in the library; it lists his accomplishments in detail—but not these buildings. When I returned from my first visit, I searched for a reference to them, but found nothing. Just ask Lawrence.”
“What happened after Axor?” Jon asked.
“Other emperors followed—his son and grandson Axor II and Thermon, for example. Brilliant men—I wish you could read their memoirs—but they saw their duty as consolidating gains rather than new initiatives and thus established a precedent that eventually sapped the strength of the Empire. At first no one noticed anything wrong. The new roads brought trade and the Imperial City prospered. You saw the mansions the merchant-bankers built south of the palace—each vying to create grander dwellings. It was a great time to be an artisan. Few today appreciate the handicrafts of that period. They ought to be treasured, but they’re relegated to attics or simply discarded.”
“We saw the houses, but they looked empty. Did the merchants and bankers go away?”
“No, they didn’t go away, but the families dwindled, and now few have the means to repair broken windows and leaking roofs. Seeing those vacant houses, you might think that the Empire was bankrupt, but you’d be wrong—at least partly wrong. Kar may have declined, but other cities grew, and the reason is simple. The Emperor who preceded my grandfather passed laws that made it difficult for owners to vacate property in Kar unless a successor assumed the taxes. He must have imagined it a brilliant scheme, but it only encouraged owners to disappear on the sly.”
“I wouldn’t have thought taxes could explain so much.”
“Did you ever pay a tax?” the Emperor asked.
“Well, no,” Jon replied.
“Of course you didn’t. There are no taxes in the lands south of Bridgetown, so you don’t know what it’s like to pay a percentage of your income to the Imperial Treasury.”
Jon nodded in agreement. He knew that the Chosen had taught their followers to stop paying taxes to the Emperor, but he had no personal experience with taxes. In truth, he had little experience with money. Much of what the Emperor was saying was new to him.
“The Chosen claim the Empire became weak because we no longer worshipped their god,” the Emperor continued. “But we never worshipped gods. Years ago, warring states used gods to justify their atrocities, but once peace was established people tried to distance themselves from their past. Axor laughed when missionaries tried to convert him and sent them home with a request that they come no more. ‘My people are happy,’ he told them. ‘They respect one another and they respect the laws of nature. The most you can give anyone is false hope and ultimate disillusionment, and we need neither.’
“There’s a painting in the palace that shows Axor speaking to the missionaries—a wise man giving an audience to barbarians. At least there was such a painting. If they realized its significance, the Chosen must have mutilated it by now.”
“I’d like to have seen that painting,” Zoë said.
“It was stupid of me not to show it to you. But we were in a hurry. If only we’d had an extra hour or two. There’s much in the palace I wish I could have shown you—like the floor of the dragon room that depicts a dragon coiled among storm clouds. I found it frightening as a child. I used to peak around the corner, wanting to see the dragon, but afraid to reveal myself to him.”
Zoë looked at the Emperor.
“When we return to Kar,” she said, “I’ll expect you to show me the dragon room.”
He took her hand and held it.
“That’s a promise,” he told her. “You hear me, Jon? I’ve made a promise to Zoë, and I expect you to help me carry it out.”
What was he supposed to say? Did the man believe he’d soon be giving Zoë a guided tour of the Imperial Palace? It was time to revert to an earlier subject of conversation.
“If it had nothing to do with religion and only partly to do with taxes, “ Jon asked, “then why did the city decline?”
The Emperor released Zoë’s hand.
“Weather. That’s what I think it was. The Empire has grown steadily warmer during the past century. At least in Kar, where records have been kept. Spring has come sooner; summer has brought hotter weather with less rain. And there is other evidence of change. The road across the eastern desert used to pass through oases, but, one by one, the wells have dried, and the sand has moved westward, covering what was once arable land. Only a daring man would travel the desert road today.”
So John’s account of the desert road had been right.
“What about the southern route?” Jon asked.
“Yes, being a Southerner, it is natural for you to ask that question. But it’s difficult to understand what happened in the South. The southern route across the continent was longer than the road across the desert, but it was safer and water posed no problem. However, decades ago marauders appeared. No one knew where they came from, but I suspect their presence can also be explained by the weather. Tribes migrate because wells go dry and crops fail. But, wherever their origin, they held travelers fair game, so now no merchants take that route. If you want to travel to Gort or Balabar, you must take the longest route of all—by sea. And it has its own dangers.”
The Emperor looked out at the far side of the valley below them.
“And Kar became a version of that village in the valley below us, mining its past for building materials. The city had always thrived on an influx of newcomers. As Kar grew less vital, it ceased to attract them, and that in turn made it a less attractive city. So it turned in on itself. Eating itself up, you might say. Living off its past and creating nothing new to invigorate its life’s blood.
“I wish my father had tried to stop the cycle of decay. It wouldn’t have been difficult to bring people back to the Imperial City. Many hate provincial life—you must know that from experience—and Kar, despite its decline, remains an exciting place. Or so I’m told—for a prince isn’t given the opportunity to sample nightlife.”
“It must be a wonderful place,” Zoë said.
“You saw it,” the Emperor reminded her. “Did it seem wonderful to you?”
The question troubled her.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It was all so different, and we were only there a few hours.”
“But why would closing the southern road and the growth of the desert make such a difference?” Jon asked. “The merchants brought back ivory and precious stones—but nothing necessary for life.”
“Ah, yes. The diamonds and ivory of Balabar and the colored gems of Fessen. But they brought back more than ivory and precious stones. They brought scientific instruments and works of art; and, most important, they brought back ideas,” the Emperor replied. “And without ideas life withers. Day by day, the fire dies, and without it what’s the point of living?”
He’s right, of course, Jon thought, but does he fully recognize what he just said? For this withered life was all that the Emperor held out as an alternative to the Chosen. Seeking a polite way to frame that question, Jon was interrupted by an unexpected arrival.
“The Chosen,” Falco announced breathlessly. “A troop of the Chosen has reached the village.”
▲
The troop was small—six men on horseback—and not soldiers but census-takers. They’d greeted the villagers courteously and asked a list of questions about the valley and its inhabitants. The Emperor had instructed the villagers to tell no lies on his behalf, and so, when asked about the fortress, one man deemed he had no choice but to tell the truth. Surprised, the census-takers hurried over to appraise the tower—one even made a brief sketch of it in his notebook—and then they left the valley.
“Census takers?” the Emperor asked in amazement. “Those people waste no time.”
“But isn’t it what you’d do yourself, if you took possession of a new territory?” Zoë asked.
He simply smiled. It had been centuries since an emperor had taken over any new t
erritory.
“Well, now the Chosen will send an army after me. It’s nice they’ve announced themselves in advance, but they’ll soon learn they’re not as clever as they think.”
“They had no idea you were here,” Zoë pointed out. “They must have heard the rumor that you were heading north.”
“That’s likely,” he said.
Only now did Jon learn the full details of the Emperor’s current plan for their escape. He was no longer contemplating a mysterious disappearance. They’d present a show of defense and then make it appear that they’d lost their lives in the siege. At the same time, they’d permanently block the spiral. Afterwards, they’d escape by David’s route through the valley to their south.
To Jon, it seemed unduly complicated—and more than a bit melodramatic. In comparison, the mysterious-disappearance scenario looked less dangerous. However, this was the Emperor’s plan, and everyone else found it a triumph of ingenuity.
Quickly, Falco’s men put a final seal on the chamber where the books were hidden. Smeared with mud and shit, the new wall looked as if it had been there a hundred years, and, with loose stones and rubble piled against it, the structure disappeared among the other ruins. Couldn’t they have done something comparable to conceal the door to the stairway? Jon asked himself. Disguised on the exterior and blocked from within, no one would suspect its existence. The villagers would be telling the plain truth when they reported that the Emperor had fled. The Chosen would go in search of him, but they’d have no idea what direction to take, and, even if they hit upon the right one, it would be easy to put them off the trail. (Foresters were good at that, weren’t they?) Such a course would be both simpler and less risky than the Emperor’s new plan. But Jon saw no reason to propose it. He was sure to be overruled by Zoë and Falco.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 35
