"Meaning you would have everyone be free to criticize the government-and the Protector!"
"Only as an official," Dirk said quickly. "They wouldn't have the right to say anything about his private life."
"Stuff and nonsense! How a Protector lives his life affects how well he can govern-and that applies to ministers, reeves, and magistrates, too!"
The ministers glowered and muttered to one another.
The Protector grinned, taking heart from their dislike. "No, I can't agree to that one, young fellows! What else have you to offer me?"
"That everyone has the right to life and safety, and that the government can't take it away from them without a trial by their fellows."
" `By their fellows'?" the Protector demanded sharply. "What nonsense is this? A trial is decided by a magistrate!"
"The magistrate would still decide the sentence, within the bounds of the law," Miles said, "but the jury of fellow citizens would decide whether or not the accused was guilty."
"Oh, really! And what makes a bunch of plowboys better able to judge than one learned magistrate?"
"It guarantees that no one can be sentenced by one man's whim."
"No, he can be sentenced by the whim of a whole mob! And don't tell me there aren't people unpopular enough to be condemned by their fellows even if they're innocent-I've seen gangs turn against one of their own too often for that, and it's the magistrates who have protected them! No, I can't agree to that `right,' as you call it, though I'll be glad to tell you why in more detail some other time!"
"Might it be because the law, by limiting the magistrates, limits the Protector?" Dirk suggested.
The Protector turned red. "I have the best interests of the realm at heart, boy, and of every single person in it! If the rest of your `rights' are as silly as that, you can bring all the mobs you can find, but I'll say no to the last!"
"You haven't heard the last," Dirk reminded him. "Can we, tell you the next?"
"Yes," the Protector snapped, seething.
"No one can be tortured. Not for any reason."
"No torture? How are we to make criminals tell the truth?" the Protector shouted.
"Torture can't do that," Miles told him. "It can only make them tell you what you want to hear."
"Which is that they're guilty, when we know it already! No, I can't agree to that one, either!" The Protector made a chopping gesture, as though cutting off the discussion. "Enough of this! I can see that most of your `rights' are tools to injure the realm, maybe even tear it apart! No, I won't agree to them, nor will any of my ministers! This conference is at an end! Send your mob home!"
"I'm afraid not, sir," Miles said, his voice even.
"Oh, really," the Protector said in a voice as dry as hundredyear-old bones. "What will you do, then?"
"If we have to, sir, we'll arrest you and all your men, and put our own government in this palace in your stead."
CHAPTER 23
The Protector threw back his head and laughed; sharply and harshly. "So now we come to the truth of it! It's not the good of the people that you want-it's my power and my palace! But government isn't that easy, young man!"
"I know," Miles replied. "I've been an inspector-general for five years, and all those men outside have been magistrates for at least a year, some for five.."
The Protector stared,-taken aback. "An inspector-general? At your age?"
"Yes, sir."
"Stuff and nonsense, boy! Who made you an inspectorgeneral?"
"I did, sir. I kidnapped a real inspector-general and took his place."
The Protector stared at him, the blood draining from his face, and his voice was almost a whisper. "And those men in the square?"
"They kidnapped the real magistrates and reeves, Protector, and took their places, too."
"Impossible! You can't become a magistrate without years of training!"
"Months," Miles said. "I studied very hard in private, and so did they."
"Impossible! Who taught you?"
"The Guardian of the Lost City of Voyagend-and Gar and Dirk here."
The Protector's gaze swung to Gar, and his eyes were windows into death. "So. You're the one who has spread this sedition throughout my realm."
"I have that honor," Gar said with a slight bow. "The seed put down roots quickly, for the soil was very fertile."
"Meaning that the people were eager to believe what you told them-but ignorant people are always quick to believe lies! I'll have you hanged from the castle walls, then chop your bones into pieces so that every magistrate can have one for a charm!"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Protector."
"Oh? And why not?" the Protector growled. "I hope you're not counting on that self-taught rabble in the square to protect you from my soldiers!"
"I did have something of the sort in mind, yes."
"Then come gaze upon your downfall, fool!" The Protector strode over to a set of French windows and threw them wide. Instantly, the chant of "Liberty and rights!" slammed in, but he waded through it, stepping out onto the balcony and pulling a bright yellow scarf from his sleeve. He waved it,.and the edges of the crowd boiled as soldiers charged out from between the buildings. The doors of the palace opened, and a horde of troopers burst out, laying about them with their pikes and halberds. A cry of fright went up from the crowd, and it pulled in from the edges. The soldiers charged in among them.
"Your men may have faked governing," the Protector said, "but they can't fake fighting."
"No," Gar agreed. "They'll have to do the real thing."
Even as he said it, the rebels began to push back, seizing soldiers' halberds and wrestling them for the weapons-but other soldiers turned and began to fight their own men!
Orgoru was in the forefront of the crowd, shaking his fist and shouting louder than any, when the huge oaken door before him burst open, spewing soldiers who ran at him, halberds leveled. Orgoru cried out in dismay and anger, leaping backward into other rebels-but they were giving way, too, and he staggered against them, but stayed on his feet, remembering that they had expected such an onslaught, and how to deal with it.
"Aside!" he bellowed, and pivoted, following his own order. The halberd-blade shot past him, and he seized its shaft in both hands, pulling hard. The soldier staggered, off balance, and another rebel chopped down at the man's hands with an open palm. The soldier yelped with pain. Orgoru twisted and spun away with the halberd in his own hands while the other rebel yanked the soldier's helmet loose, and a third struck with a blackjack.
Another halberd stabbed toward Orgoru. He parried, shoving it aside with his own weapon, and the rebel next to him pushed it down against the cobbles. The spearhead caught in a crack and the butt jammed back against the soldier's belly. He sagged over it with a grunt, and the rebel struck with a blackjack.
Then there were three soldiers all at once striking at Orgoru, and he whirled his halberd madly, all the reflexes of his quarterstaff play coming to deflect their weapons. He didn't succeed fully-blades tore into his robes, and pain streaked his side and his hip, but he kept up his defense while his fellow rebels worked their way in, seizing pikes and striking with blackjacks. Finally the last soldier dropped, and Orgoru sagged, gasping for breath.
"Look out!" someone cried, and another halberd was jabbing toward him. Orgoru managed to bring up his own weapon barely in time, striking the halberd up, and it cut his cheek as the blade hissed by. Shaken, he struck harder with the butt than he had intended, cracking into the side of the soldier's head. He glimpsed blood before the man sank from sight, and Orgoru hoped he wouldn't -e trampled -y his own mates. He faced another soldier-the troopers couldn't get at very many of the rebels, because they were at the edge of a huge crowd. But -y the same token, there were a lot of soldiers, each eager for his chance as the last one fell.
Each rank of soldiers charged into the crowd, and the rebels opened way for them, then closed in from the sides, shoving halberds down with their -are ha
nds and striking with blackjacks and batons. As one rebel wearied, he fell back, and another took his place--ut Orgoru found himself wondering how long they could keep it up. Who would fail first, the soldiers or the rebels?
He heard shouting in front of him, and whirled, then stared in amazement. Soldiers were fighting soldiers! Orgoru cheered, and led rebels in to help.
"Down with traitors!" one soldier cried, and rebels piled onto him.
"Long live the Protector!" cried another, and a rebel kicked his feet out from under him.
But Orgoru -raced himself, waiting, and sure enough, another soldier cried, "Down with the Protector!" but the man he was fighting echoed him: "Down with the Protector!"
"How can we tell which is which, Orgoru?" another rebel asked him, bewildered.
"Take them both," Orgoru answered. "We can apologize later."
They did.
The Protector stared. Then he swung about to Gar, howling, "Traitor! You've suborned my army too!"
"Only half of them," Gar told him, "but as you see, I've also taught my homegrown magistrates to fight. I'd guess your soldiers will all -e bound tightly in fifteen minutes at most."
For the second time, the Protector felt the stab of fear. He tried to ignore it and demanded, "How will you govern if you tear down my government?"
"Just as we have for the last five years," Miles said. "I told you that we have all taken the places of real magistrates."
"How many of you are there?" the Protector whispered. "Three thousand here, and five hundred more on the way. With the watchmen and soldiers who have joined them, seven thousand in all."
"Five hundred magistrates and reeves! That's half the officials in my realm!"
"Yes, Protector. We can govern with that many."
"What did you do with the real ones!"
"They're our guests, in the Lost City of Voyagend," Miles told him. "We haven't hurt them, but they're very restless."
"And you think they'll -e as glad to govern for you as for me!" the Protector whispered. But the shadow that haunted his face was certainty, for he knew human ambition, and knew the captive magistrates would do just that. He spun about to look out the window again, and saw that the rebels were winning.
"This is how it is throughout the land," Gar said behind him. "The soldiers loyal to you are outnumbered two to one -y those we have persuaded to see the glories of the New Order."
"I think not," the Protector snarled. "Far from this city, they will -e loyal to me, and have triumphed! I have had messengers tell me this within this last hour!"
"They told you only what you wanted to hear," Dirk said. "They were afraid to tell you anything else, for fear you might not promote them."
"You lie!" the Protector snarled, and, to his ministers, "Seize them!"
The ministers threw off their cloaks, and instead of the grayhaired, reverend statemen they had seemed to -e, they appeared as toughened sergeants who drew swords and leaped upon Gar, Dirk, and Miles.
Gar sank to his knees, arms wrapped around his head, and four soldiers fell on him with victorious shouts. Dirk spun about to set his back against Miles's as he whipped out his rapier and Miles pulled a sword and buckler from under his robes. Eight sergeants surrounded them, but paused as the oldest commanded, "Drop your swords, raise your hands, and we'll let you live!"
"Yes, long enough to torture us into telling you everything you already know," Dirk retorted. "Have at you!" He leaped forward, thrusting and slashing, which was very poor tactics, because the soldiers moved to surround him.
Then halted, as a roar filled the chamber. They flicked glances over, astonished, and saw the pile of four of their fellows erupt. Soldiers flew back to strike into the wall and the floor as Gar surged to his feet, shaking them off and drawing his rapier. Before they could recover, he struck the swords out of the hands of two of them, then turned to the third as he scrambled to his feet. The fourth lay unconscious.
Dirk and Miles both struck while their opponents were staring at Gar. Miles's buckler cracked the head of one, and his sword lanced another's shoulder. The man fell back, clutching his wound with a howl as the sword dropped from his fingersbut the other two moved in. Miles backed up-and felt his spine jar against Dirk's, who was facing two men of his own. Two others lay unconscious and bleeding.
Gar struck up the sword of the first man to reach him, then balled a huge fist in his tunic and yanked him off the floor to throw him into his fellow. Both went down with a crash. Gar leaped forward, kicking the sword hands; each man howled with pain, and the blades went flying across the floor. Gar turned to help Dirk.
Dirk wasn't doing too badly. He had managed to catch one soldier with an arm around the throat and hold him as a shield while he parried madly on his right. The other sergeant fell back, clutching a bleeding arm, sword falling from nerveless fingers. Gar yanked both assailants off the ground, and tossed them onto the pile he had started. They landed just as two others were trying to get up, and knocked them back onto the floor.
Miles was already down, bleeding from three cuts, trying frantically to hold off the two blades that darted about him, fending some with his buckler, parrying others. Gar yanked both soldiers off their feet and sent them flying to the discard pile. Two more scrambled to their feet, staggering and woozy, but bringing up swords. Dirk shouted, and they turned to face him. He fenced madly for the minutes it took Miles to scramble to his feet; then Miles shouted, and one of the soldiers turned to face him. He thrust, but Miles parried. He swung his sword up for a cut, but Miles lunged and skewered the man's shoulder. He shouted with pain, and his sword fell. Miles struck his head with the buckler, and the soldier collapsed, out cold. Moments later, Dirk's opponent fell beside him.
"A little help here," Gar called. He was standing by the discard pile, catching soldiers as they scrambled up, and throwing them back. Miles and Dirk came running, and as the next two soldiers stumbled to their feet, they found themselves staring at the tips of two blades. They froze, and Gar knocked their heads together. They slumped, unconscious. Two more of their fellows were also out, their heads having struck the floor instead of a fellow soldier's stomach. The others, seeing the odds against them, hesitated.
"Surrender," Gar said quietly. "You haven't a chance, anyway."
Slowly, the men held up empty hands.
"Lie down on your bellies with your hands behind your back," Dirk directed. "Miles, tie them up."
Miles pulled the men's belts off and began to tie them, wrist and ankle. Dirk joined him, then looked up at a sudden thought. "Where's the Protector?"
Gar looked around at an empty room. "Dirk, finish the job," he snapped. "Come on, Miles."
Miles looked up, startled, then ran after Gar. Distantly, he knew he'd been wounded, but also knew he couldn't let that stop him.
Through the corridors they charged, bowling aside footmen and butlers who squawked with surprise and fear. Down the stairway they galloped, two at a time, out the huge doorway and into-
A melee of soldiers fighting soldiers.
"Through them!" Gar shouted. "Don't stop to fight!"
They twisted and turned their way between battling men, barely managing to escape edged weapons, and thrust their way into the crowd, where they were surrounded byRobes.
They stared around them, appalled. Then Miles cried out. "How are we to find him? Everyone's wearing official's robes!"
"His are richer, and his chain is more massive," Gar called back, "and his robes are purple instead of red or blue!"
Miles called, "How can we find purple among all these blue and red?"
"The other rebels will recognize him as one they don't know!"
"Recognize him?" Miles protested. "There .are so many of them from so many different towns that they don't even recognize each other!"
It was true; Miles had done his work too well. Unless some rebel stopped to think what the purple robes meant, the Protector was hidden in a sea of his enemies-and with the fight against the s
oldiers foremost in their minds, the rebels weren't likely to pay much attention to the color of their neighbors' robes!
"One side! One side!" Gar thrust his way through the crowd, seeking, searching-but in the turmoil of the fight, he couldn't see anything but red and blue. To the center of the crowd he waded, crying, "The Protector! The Protector! Look for purple robes!"
Soldiers looked up and froze in alarm, staring at the giant looming over them. They recovered quickly and turned to fight again-but Gar was already past them, still calling, "The Protector!" Rebels who had never seen Gar, saw and drew back, recognizing him from what they'd heard about the mythical beginner of their revolution. But nowhere did he find the purple robe.
Then a thin cry went up-thin, but echoed and amplified by a dozen voices, then fifty. Gar turned and plowed straight for it. A lane opened for him, rebels pulling back, thrusting soldiers away with their own pikes, straight to the Protector, struggling in the arms of a grizzled sergeant.
Gar plucked him up and held him high, crying, "We have your Protector! Put down your weapons, or he dies!"
All over the square, soldiers looked up in astonishment to see their Protector writhing high above their heads-and the rebels they were fighting struck them down. Then the rebels,, too, realized what was happening, and drew back, giving the soldiers a chance to surrender. The soldiers saw the Protector and moaned. Pikes clattered on the paving stones, and soldiers cried, "I surrender! I surrender!"
Gar lowered the Protector to the ground. "You shall be our honored guest for a few days, Protector."
"Yes, until you can work up the courage to hang me!" the Protector snarled, and turned on the man who had caught him. "You, Sergeant Alesworth! You, who were one of my personal guard for fourteen years! Why have you turned against me now?"
The sergeant stared back at him, stone-faced. "Do you remember that I loved my wife, Protector? And that she died?" The Protector went pale. "Yes. I remember."
"And remember that three months later, you made me marry again?"
"It was for the best! Best for you, and for the realm!" Alesworth shook his head. "We made each other miserable, Protector, and she turned her misery against my children-but you didn't know about that, did you? No, nor care."
A Wizard In Peace Page 27
