by Peter David
Yet now, gloriously, miraculously, that consideration had been lifted from me. How could I not be giddy with joy? And giddy I was; I could not stop laughing. My laughter echoed through the courtyard, and probably through every hallway in the stronghold. Even Mordant took up the sound, making a bizarre noise from his throat that sounded somewhat like a chortle.
“Back off, gentlemen!” I called loudly … much more loudly than I had to, really, considering I was standing no more than two feet away. “She cannot harm me anymore!” The guards automatically obeyed my orders, partly out of training, and partly because I think they were so stunned by my transformation that they couldn’t wait to distance themselves from me. I could not have cared less. Beings who are incapable of being vanquished did not have to worry themselves over what lesser creatures thought. Sharee was rooted to the spot, staring at me wide-eyed, and I leaned in close to her and whispered with a demented grin upon my face, “This is why you wanted the gem, isn’t it. The true reason. You knew that it had this power, and you wanted it for yourself. But you couldn’t unlock its functions. I succeeded, Sharee, where you failed. Carry that knowledge with you, Weaver. Carry it for a good, long time.”
I stepped away from her, then. Still no one had said a word, stunned as they were by the supernatural drama they were witnessing.
I spoke to them with utter confidence. The notion that they might turn on me or run from me in fright never even occurred to me, and it was very likely that charismatic confidence I exuded that kept them in their places.
“My good and dear friends!” I cried out to them, arms spread wide. My voice echoed throughout the area. And unlike other times where I had spoken without the slightest idea of what I was going to say, here I knew precisely the sentiments to express. “This … is a great day! A joyous day! A miraculous day! You, my loyal followers, have rewarded me with your devotion! With your good will! With your support! But now we see that the gods themselves have chosen to reward me as well! They have bestowed upon me the greatest gift that they can bestow! They have looked down upon your leader, and made me the ultimate source of power in all of Wuin! And do you know in whose behalf I shall wield that power?”
There was a bare moment of hesitation, and then it was the Lady Kate who cried out, “Us!”
“Do you know who will benefit from that power?”
And more people took up the cry. “Us!”
“Whose coffers will become filled to the overflowing?!”
“Us!” cried out everyone within the sound of my voice. Grammatically speaking, it was an inept response—“ours” would have been preferable—but I decided not to point that out.
I picked up the spear that Sharee had hurled at me, and defiantly I snapped it over my knee. It was a waste of a perfectly good spear, but from a dramatic point of view it was most effective as another roar of approval went up. I discarded the broken weapon, and then yanked my sword from its scabbard and held it high. I looked Sharee straight in the eyes and lunged forward with the sword, and she flinched back, certain that I was about to run her through. Instead a wolfish smile spread across my lips. Never had I felt so empowered in all the time I’d known Sharee. Indeed, in all my life. It was a grand and glorious feeling.
I took a step back and pointed the sword first at Sharee, and then at the other prisoners. “Release them!” I shouted. “Release them and let them go!”
The mood of the crowd changed instantly. There were protests, shouts of “No! No! Kill them! They must die! No mercy!” One would have thought that I was the most unpopular lord of any realm that existed in all the world.
Did I concern myself over the turn in the crowd’s response? I most certainly did not. I didn’t have to. What was the worst they could do to me? Kill me? That factor was no longer part of the equation of my life.
I spoke over their shouts, which was not difficult, for I so had them in my spell that all I had to do was open my mouth and instantly they quieted enough so that I could make myself heard. “It has nothing to do with mercy, my people! Rather, it is to make their punishment all the more stinging! They can do me no harm! They know that now! The entire intent of their crimes no longer has purpose! They will be escorted out of Dreadnaught, sent on their way! And when they return to the Cartesian Plains, and others of their ilk ask them how they escaped, they will have no choice! They will have to tell them that the Peacelord of Wuin cannot be destroyed!
“Imagine the word spreading, my people! Imagine the terror that will induce in every village we visit, in every city we sack! Let it be known far and wide that the forces of Dreadnaught Stronghold cannot be stopped! I, your Peacelord, cannot be stopped!” The crowd had turned back to my side once again, the roaring and shouting, building and building to a massive swell of support. And why not? They had actually borne witness to a genuine miracle. How often in a lifetime did such a thing occur?
And even my lieutenants were now caught up in the spirit of the moment as Boar Tooth shouted, “We are the chosen of the gods!”
“The chosen! The chosen!” echoed the crowd.
Slake was striding about the courtyard, slamming his hands together, and the crowd was beginning to imitate him. The applause was literally thunderous. “The gods are on our side!” he cried out.
“Our side! Our side!”
Every humiliation I had ever suffered, every piece of dirt I had ever been forced to swallow in my life, spun away from me as a new tapestry with my boots crushing any who stood in my way came into being. I felt as if I were a hundred feet tall. I wasn’t even bothering to look at Sharee. I was finally rid of her. Even though I was leaving her alive, I had killed the demon of being crippled by her constant disapproval. I was beyond her disapproval, far above it, as far as those glittering stars were above me. Now, finally, my entire life made sense.
“If I have to,” I shouted triumphantly, “I can do anything! I am strong!”
“Strong!” shouted the crowd in response.
“I am invincible!”
“Invincible!”
“I am Apropos!!”
“Apropos! Apropos! Apropos!”
Again and again they shouted my name, and with each outcry I felt as if new strength was being pumped into my veins. I had never been more powerful, more alive. And I had never been more certain that I was going to be able to achieve everything that I had ever wanted. There was nothing I could not do, no goal I could not accomplish.
There was no longer a question of “if” or “how.” The only thing up for discussion was timetable, and I intended to waste no time at all.
I finally did bother to glance in Sharee’s direction as she and her cronies were being led out of the courtyard. You would have thought that she carried within her at least some dregs of gratitude for my generously sparing her life. No. No, not at all. Instead the last I saw of her, she was looking over her shoulder at me and she did not seem afraid or angry or jealous. She seemed …
She seemed to pity me.
I gave it no more thought and set off to conquer the world.
Book Three
Pas De Dieu
Chapter 1
The War of Art
What makes a decent man decent?
What causes people to behave in a moral manner as opposed to an immoral manner? What dictates good and generous behavior over that which would be considered less so? Is it something that is ingrained in each person’s fundamental makeup? Is it inculcated into different people by their parents or their upbringing? Are some people simply born with demons perched upon their shoulders, while others attend to the counseling of heavenly beings?
In short: Why do we do the things we do?
I do not pretend to be a philosopher, or to have easy answers, or any sort of answers, to the many questions that have plagued us throughout the years. But I will put forward to you my theory as it applies to people in general, and you will then comprehend how it in turn applies to me specifically.
I believe that what makes good
and decent people good and decent stems directly from fear of punishment. That without that fear, the baser instincts which sit at the root of mankind’s collective family tree will invariably seize hold.
The fear can take a variety of forms. The most likely of people to “behave” themselves are those who are excessively concerned about whatever punishments might await them once they pass from this mortal coil. They believe that the gods have nothing better to do than watch their every foible, every mistake, every display of human weakness, and add it to a sort of cosmic tote board upon which they will add all the pluses and minuses of an individual’s existence and then pass ultimate judgment. That ultimate judgment will then determine if one spends the afterlife cavorting with celestial beings or writhing in torment. So afraid are these poor souls of whatever nasty business a harsh judgment might inflict upon them, that they spend their lives never wavering from the path of righteousness lest they suffer for it subsequently.
There are others who concern themselves about more mundane punishments. To be caught and penalized for crimes committed against neighbors or spouses or humanity in general. The punishments could be brutal. Thieves might lose their hands. Rapists might lose their … weaponry, or at least so went the law in certain kingdoms that I knew about. And murderers or those committing sufficiently high crimes could lose their lives altogether … although, frankly, if I were the punished rapist, I doubt I’d have all that much interest in living anymore anyway. And so, in order to avoid such earthbound penalties, these individuals likewise make certain not to spend a dishonest day in their lives.
I know, I know … it sounds grotesquely boring.
Then there are those who care not a fig for what happens to them in the afterlife, either because they do not think such a thing exists, or because they have the sort of swaggering confidence that allows them to declare, “Let me be sent to Perdition! Inside of six months I’ll be running the place!” As for what mortal law might do with them should they be called to account for their actions, the response is simple: “Catch me if you can.”
I had always walked a gray area myself between evil and … less than evil. I had been skeptical, to say the least, over the prospect of any sort of afterlife infliction of chastisement. On the other hand, I did not quite possess the bravado to openly challenge the law to come after me. Oh, I had my moments of theft, certainly. But it was not my life’s work, and I was always judicious enough in my endeavors that I was reasonably certain I would not be apprehended. My thieving activities had been small and unambitious enough to avoid any serious attention from knights or other enforcers of the law … which was how I liked it, of course. Generally, though, I preferred to think that my behavior was tempered by my own self-interest … that self-interest consisting of my being interested in keeping myself in one piece. What moments of conscience I might seemingly display, or those instances of my acting in accordance with a higher calling, were all easily ascribable to self-interest mixed with a healthy fear of doing something that would get me killed.
When that concern was removed from consideration …
Well … there’s no gentle way to say it.
I went berserk.
Much of what occurred over the subsequent weeks was, and is, a blur to me. I do not know whether this is because it all happened so fast that I could barely keep track of it, or whether I find it so repulsive in retrospect that I wish to forget it ever happened. But happen it did, and there is no way to continue this narrative without dealing with it in as straightforward a manner as I can muster.
That day when I discovered that I was literally invincible, it was as if I stepped outside of my body entirely. Over the next weeks, as lieutenants came to me with new plans and strategies for new campaigns, my mind became bifurcated. I felt I was on the outside looking in, admiring in an abstract manner everything that was happening. I was amazed at the efficiency with which my organization was run, and the zeal with which I pursued my new endeavors.
The question is whether the responsibilities for the sins that followed should be laid at my door or not. It was unquestionably I who did the deeds. My mouth cried “Attack!” My eyes blazed with the fire of the truly demented and power hungry, my sword arm swung down and around and slew mine enemies. It was all me … or at least an aspect of me. An aspect that had been unleashed like a ravening dog long chained that had finally slipped its collar.
I wish I could tell you that I was torn in some sort of inner struggle, that there was some part of me crying, “Enough! Hold enow!” There wasn’t, however. In retrospect … I wish there had been. I’m not saying that matters would have turned out differently. In truth, they probably wouldn’t have. But at least it might provide some additional, interesting shadings to the study of the mind, or minds, behind the great path of slaughter that my forces carved across the land.
What I’m saying, really, is that I do not know even to this day whether to be proud of what happened … or ashamed … or neutral. Neutral would seem the easiest. To say, “I was not in my right mind, I accept no responsibility.” Or, even better, “I received poor advice by power-hungry underlings; they have been disposed of. Sorry for the inconvenience.” That last is a very popular angle to take, particularly among kings. I, however, choose not to take that tack. Instead I tell you, as I have sworn to do, the simple and unvarnished truth: I don’t know how to feel about it. I wish I did, but I do not. Both Sharee and, later, the mentor I eventually met in Chinpan, said the same thing: The first step to true wisdom is the acknowledgment of how little you know. If that is all it takes, then I may be well on my way to being the wisest man in all the world.
The simplest thing would be for me to back away from it entirely, to repudiate it utterly. But I cannot do that. Because what happened stemmed from me. From my anger, my frustration, my darkness and rage. From all the times that I had seen people who had power over me and resented them for it. From all the times that I had seen people overflowing with more wealth than they knew what to do with, and I found myself wondering, “Why them? Why not me? Why do I, who started with nothing, continue to have nothing, while they who started with so much just get more and more?”
The realization that I was invincible—that I could laugh off whatever wounds weapons might inflict upon me—unshackled not only my inhibitions, but every negative or hostile thought I had ever had in my life. And believe me when I say … that is a goodly share of hostility.
In short order I had assembled my top men, and we studied the maps of the area with the intention of rewriting them in my image. Although I had made a great show of parading my power, I had in fact been confining my raids and attacks to those targets which I was reasonably sure would be vulnerable to us. I had never endeavored to attack anyone larger than our own forces. In short, I had acted as a bully, focusing on those who could not effectively strike back.
As a result, this left a sizable number of larger cities as rich in possibilities.
It didn’t take long for us to zero in on the likeliest and most enticing of potential conquests. Due south of the Cartesian Plains was a vast area of steppes … semi-arid, grass-covered plains, lightly wooded. For some time the area had been subject to intense battles and rivalries between assorted tribes—some thirty-nine of them—and had been beset by civil war. However, about fifty years ago a confluence of events combined with hard work by a handful of aggressive peacemakers had finally brought a cease-fire to the area. It took a good deal of maneuvering and compromise, but ultimately the steppes had been divvied up and a loose confederation of tribes had been formed, known collectively as the Thirty-Nine Steppes. Working sometimes independently and sometimes together, they had created an impressive array of mighty cities scattered throughout the Thirty-Nine Steppes. They were grand and proud achievements, and the tribesmen were fierce and dedicated fighters who would unhesitatingly have laid down their lives to protect all that they had accomplished.
Well, if self-sacrifice was their intention, then the P
eacelord of Wuin was more than happy to accommodate them.
Freed from guilt, freed from fear from death, freed from conscience, I led my troops into a full-bore attack upon the Thirty-Nine Steppes.
For days I worked with my lieutenants, planning troop movements, ensuring supply lines, determining the best way to proceed. And somewhere during the planning stage, I underwent a most curious mental process.
I forgot who I was.
I don’t mean to say I had amnesia. I did not find myself staring into the mirror blankly and asking the identity of the individual looking back at me. No, I never lost sight of the fact that I was Apropos. I knew at all times that I was the Peacelord of Wuin, a mighty conqueror who swept away all those who opposed him as casually as one might swat away a worrisome fly.
What slowly became affected was my knowledge of where I had come from. Actually, not my knowledge so much as my awareness. It seemed to me on some level that I had always been Apropos, Peacelord of Wuin. I knew in a sort of abstract way who and what I had been before that time. But it began to dim to unimportance, and as time passed, I remembered my previous life as if it had happened to someone else. As if it were the faraway recollections one has of things one has done in childhood, viewed through a pleasant haze of nostalgia. Or perhaps my activities in days gone by did not happen to me at all, but instead to a distant relative of Apropos, whom I didn’t really hold in very high esteem. In either case, it wasn’t terribly relevant to the Apropos that existed in Wuin.
Apropos of Nothing had been filled with doubts, fears, duplicity, and anger. Apropos of Wuin brimmed with confidence, feared nothing, and said exactly what was on his mind since he was not the least concerned that anyone would gainsay him. All the two creatures had in common, aside from their given name, was the anger. But although the anger simply informed the decisions made by Apropos of Nothing, Apropos of Wuin was fueled by it. He nurtured it, embraced it like a lover, and savored every last black drop of it.
