by David Weber
"It will be many fine centuries before a Calirath returns to this city to enjoy this Palace," he had said, "for the Daggers of Bergahl are sharp, and the memories of his priests are long!"
It had not, perhaps, been excessively politic of the current seneschal to remind Zindel chan Calirath of that long ago predecessor's comment, Chava Busar reflected. Of course, the weeks of semi-hysterical pro-Calirath rallies which had preceded Zindel's arrival would have been enough to flick any ruler on the raw, especially here, in this particular city. And the possible consequences of a third-party investigation of a regime as corrupt as that of the current seneschal's might very well prove dire, which couldn't have improved the seneschal's reaction to all those frothing rallies and Ternathian flag-bestrewn demonstrations. Desperation could make even a normally prudent man do foolish things, Chava conceded charitably. Of course few people would have called the Seneschal of Othmaliz particularly prudent these days, but perhaps the seneschal had actually believed Zindel would recognize the implied threat and be cowed by it. Or, at least, sufficiently . . . chastened to declare a quiet moratorium on any potentially embarrassing audits, at any rate.
If so, however, he'd been either an idiot or incredibly ill-served by the spies who should have given him an accurate appreciation of Zindel chan Calirath's character. Chava hated the Ternathian Emperor with a passion so pure it was almost sublime, yet he'd never made the mistake of underestimating his opponent.
"Yes," the seneschal said finally, "it has been too long since a seneschal discussed the burdens and difficulties of rulership with an Emperor of Uromathia."
He smiled thinly, then paused, sipping wine once again, before he lowered the glass once more and cocked his head to one side.
"Am I, by any chance, correct in assuming that it's those burdens and difficulties which you wish to discuss with me this evening, Your Majesty?"
"In many ways," Chava acknowledged. He sat back in his own chair, his elbows on the armrests, his fingers steepled across his chest as he crossed his legs and regarded the seneschal thoughtfully.
"It occurs to me, Your Eminence, that you and I are among the unfortunately small number of delegates to the Conclave who truly recognize what's at stake here. It's regrettable that so many of our . . . colleagues are obviously blind to that reality."
"Indeed." The seneschal sat back, as well, his expression thoughtful. "Precisely which aspects of that 'reality' did you wish to discuss, Your Majesty?"
"It's obvious to me," Chava replied, "that in many respects, this Conclave has been a farce—a façade—from the very first moment. On the surface, it represents an emergency gathering of rulers and heads of state in the face of a potentially deadly inter-universal threat. A spontaneous decision on the part of First Director Limana and the Portal Authority. But you and I aren't children, Your Eminence, to be so easily misled when it comes to the true exercise of power."
"Indeed?" the seneschal inquired politely.
"Your Eminence," Chava said chidingly, shaking his head with a small, world-weary smile, "the point of contact with these 'Arcanans' is forty-eight thousand miles from Sharona. And so far, what have we seen out of them in terms of any significant military threat? Crossbows? Swords?"
The emperor laughed scornfully.
"Oh," he waved one hand in a dismissive gesture, "we've heard about their 'fire-throwers,' and their 'lightning-throwers,' but what happened when the Portal Authority's regular troops finally encountered them? Did those 'magical' weapons of theirs help them then? Could they match the effectiveness of rifles, machine guns, and mortars? Of course not! And since these negotiations have begun, what new terrible threats have they produced? Floating tables? Talking rocks?" He snorted. "Are we infants to be terrified by such parlor tricks? Useful, I'll grant you that, but if they truly had weapons as threatening as those certain delegates to this Conclave had imputed to them, why would they be negotiating with us in the first place? I believe it's obvious, especially in light of the ludicrous ease with which they were bested by properly led and armed regular troops, that they pose no true military threat to us. Indeed, they recognize that they don't. What other reason could they have for negotiating with us over the possession of a cluster of portals of such value as Hell's Gate? Would you have chosen to negotiate in such a case with someone you regarded as your military inferior, Your Eminence?"
The seneschal looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment, then shook his head.
"Of course you wouldn't have!" Chava snorted again, more scornfully even than before. "When the prize is as great as this one, when one's responsibility to secure it for one's own nation is so overriding, a man with strength takes what he must. There will always be time for the diplomats to make everything neat and tidy, but that time comes later, not when the opportunity and responsibility alike lie in the palm of a man's hand!
"But these Arcanans have chosen to negotiate, which tells us a great deal about their perception of our relative military strengths. And yet, this Conclave continues to be driven by panic-mongers. By men—and women—who seek to use the pretext of this somehow imminent threat, despite the forty-eight thousand miles between it and us, to justify a mad rush into some sort of a world empire. I find it remarkably convenient that the Portal Authority, which has always adopted Ternathian models, and which—as you and I both surely know—came into existence in the first place only at the insistence of Ternathia, has charged headlong into this emergency Conclave at which one of its own directors proposed that Ternathia become the lord and master of us all. Of course, Director Kinshe was officially speaking as a parliamentary representative from Shurkhal, wasn't he? And who could possibly doubt the towering honesty of these Glimpses, these visions of dreadful threats and savage destruction, which, of course, only a Calirath can See? Or the 'spontaneity' of the Farnalians' and the Bolakini's rush to second that so-convenient Shurkhali motion to put a crown on the head of one of those same Caliraths?"
Chava's voice dripped derision, and the seneschal's jaw tightened once more. Othmaliz had long coveted Shurkhal, not least because of the Grand Ternathian Canal. Long before the canal's eventual construction, the possibilities it had raised—particularly in conjunction with control of Tajvana itself and the Ibral Strait—had been obvious to everyone . . . including several generations of seneschals. The relatively sparse Shurkhali population had made the notion of a quick, tidy little war of conquest appealing. In fact, that conquest had been attempted on two separate occasions, with a notable lack of success—a fact which went far towards explaining the long-standing hostility between Othmaliz and the desert kingdom.
"I cannot disagree with you, Your Majesty," the seneschal said finally. "Unfortunately, it would appear to be a little too late to rectify the situation at this time. The Act of Unification has already been ratified, and while it might be possible for you to decline to conform with its terms, I, unfortunately, have a parliament to which I must answer."
And very irritating it must be, too, Chava thought sardonically. Especially after so many years of having it automatically rubberstamp any proposal you chose to have your mouthpieces put before it.
"Oh, I agree—both that it's too late, and that it's unfortunate that should be the case," he said aloud. "Nonetheless, as men with responsibilities to those they govern, it behooves us to do what we may to restrain the excesses of the panic-mongers. And while one would never suggest or encourage the adoption of extralegal resistance of what, after all, will be a legitimate, properly approved world government, it also behooves us to resist the potential abuse of power by the cabal which has obviously come together to secure the Ternathian domination of the entire explored multiverse."
"I thoroughly agree that one should eschew 'extralegal' measures," the seneschal replied. "Even when they succeed, they tend to undermine the legitimacy of anyone willing to embrace them. After all, if one is willing to step outside the law in pursuit of one's own goals, then how can one legitimately argue that others are not fully
justified in doing the same thing if their interests conflict with one's own? Of course," he looked directly into Chava's eyes, "that assumes such measures become public knowledge, does it not?"
Chava arched a mental eyebrow. So, the seneschal knew about the covert activities of his own secret police, did he? Well, it had always been unlikely those activities could escape scrutiny forever.
"I'm sure it would . . . assuming, of course, that one had any inclination to resort to them in the first place," he said piously.
"Assuming that, of course," the seneschal agreed politely. Then he pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"Your Majesty, I've greatly enjoyed our conversation, and I appreciate the candor with which you've addressed our common concerns. Still, it occurs to me that you, at least, are in a position from which you will eventually see your grandchild on the throne of that same world-empire. In light of that, it would appear to me that the degree to which our two peoples are likely to suffer under its dominion aren't precisely equal, shall we say?"
"Yes, and no, Your Eminence." Chava sighed. "One would like to think your analysis would be accurate. However, while I would regard any child of this proposed union as my grandchild, Zindel chan Calirath will almost certainly regard that child as his grandchild. And given that the crown will be placed upon Zindel's head, not mine, I greatly fear that under normal circumstances, that grandchild will grow up under Ternathian influence. It may be a child of my blood, Your Eminence, but it will regard Uromathia through Ternathian eyes."
"If that should happen, I would grieve for you, Your Majesty. In the meantime, of course, I will pray to Bergahl on your behalf. He is, after all, a god of justice, and if there is any justice, Zindel's blatant manipulation of this crisis to his own advantage will not prosper."
"I thank you for your prayers, Your Eminence. And I fear you're probably correct—it would take the intervention of the gods themselves to thwart the ambitions Zindel has obviously cherished since well before these 'Arcanans' turned up to provide him with the pretext he required."
"Perhaps so," the seneschal agreed.
"Still," Chava straightened in his chair, smiling brightly, with the air of a man determined to find a bright side so that he could look upon it, "one ought to be willing to extend at least a little trust and faith that the gods will intervene on the side of right. And, of course, it's also possible I'm being unduly pessimistic about how the child of any union between Prince Janaki and one of my daughters would be reared. There could be many influences in such a child's life, after all. That's a point we would all do well to remember. Indeed, it's in my mind that should my daughter become pregnant, and should the child be born whole and healthy, fit to take up the burden of the crown of Sharona in the fullness of time, it would be only fitting for me to make a substantial offering to the gods, both in gratitude for the birth and to petition the gods to keep that child safe and raise him—or her—free of pernicious influences."
"Indeed, Your Majesty," the seneschal agreed once again.
"In fact," Chava continued, obviously warming to his theme, "it would be appropriate, I think, for me to make that offering not simply to Dosaru, but to other gods of justice, as well. After all, that child will one day govern all of us, so surely it wouldn't be amiss to petition all of the gods whose worshipers will be his subjects."
"I would think such a gesture of largess on your part would be deeply appreciated by pious people everywhere, Your Majesty," the seneschal said warmly.
"Well, in that case," Chava's eyes narrowed as they bored into the seneschal's, "I imagine Bergahl's Comforters would undoubtedly receive a significant contribution at such time as that child was declared healthy and fit to rule."
The seneschal's face was very still for a heartbeat or two. Then he nodded slowly.
"I think that would be most appropriate, Your Majesty," he said. "Most appropriate, indeed."
'Chapter Sixteen
"Sit down. Sit down, Klayrman!"
Commander of One Thousand Toralk obeyed Commander of Two Thousand Harshu's ebullient invitation and seated himself across the snow-white tablecloth from him. Harshu's command tent was pitched upwind of the smoke—and smell of seared flesh—rising from what had once been Fort Brithik, but occasional tendrils of that smoke still reached it, and the silver, china, and crystal glittering on the table under the accumulator-powered light globe seemed almost . . . bizarre to the Air Force officer.
"Wine?" Harshu invited, and beckoned to his orderly before Toralk could reply. The orderly poured ruby-colored wine from a bottle whose label had never been printed in Arcana into Toralk's glass, and Harshu smiled.
"Whatever else we might want to say about these people, they seem to be excellent vintners," he observed. "Try it. I think you'll like it."
Toralk sipped obediently, then nodded. It was excellent, rather like one of the better Hilmaran reds.
"It's good, Sir," he said, and Harshu chuckled.
" 'Good'?" The two thousand shook his head. "And here I thought all Air Force officers had an appreciation for the finer things in life! Oh, well, I suppose I can't have everything. I'll just have to settle for the frankly remarkable job you've been doing managing this advance, Klayrman."
"I'm glad you're satisfied, Sir," Toralk replied.
"I'm a lot more than just 'satisfied,' " Harshu told him. "So far, you've hit every objective ahead of schedule. Your SpecOps teams have done a remarkable job of cutting the Voice chain ahead of our attacks, and we haven't lost a battle dragon since the swamp portal. I'm very pleased, Klayrman. Very pleased."
"Thank you, Sir."
Toralk started to say something else, then stopped and sipped more wine instead.
"Something troubling you, Klayrman?" Harshu asked, and the Air Force thousand looked up. He'd hoped Harshu hadn't noticed his hesitation, but he should have remembered just how sharp, how observant, the two thousand was.
"Well, as a matter of fact, Sir, there are a couple of things that . . . concern me," Toralk admitted.
"Spit them out, then," Harshu invited, and snorted a chuckle. "You've got a lot of capital with me just now, Klayrman. You might as well use some of it, so trot out whatever's on your mind."
"Sir, it's just that I'm not . . . entirely comfortable about some rumors I'm hearing. Rumors about POW treatment."
Toralk met the two thousand's eyes levelly, and Harshu frowned ever so slightly.
"I assume you're referring to Five Hundred Neshok," the expeditionary force commander said after a moment.
"His name has come up in some of the rumors that concern me. On the other hand, it isn't the only name that's been mentioned to me, Sir."
"What kind of rumors are we talking about, exactly?" Harshu asked, then sipped from his own wineglass.
"From what I've been hearing, Sir, I'm afraid we're having a lot of Kerellian Accord violations. I'm hearing about prisoners who never make it back into confinement. Who 'mysteriously disappear' between the point of their capture and the POW cage they're supposed to be marched off to. And I'm hearing about other prisoners who are badly beaten, systematically, by their guards. A lot of it, I think, is the result of the stories about what happened to Magister Halathyn. The fact that Intelligence hasn't been able to confirm or deny those stories bothers me, Sir. It bothers me a lot. And in addition to that . . . inability—" Toralk met Harshu's eyes again "—there are those rumors about Five Hundred Neshok and his . . . mistreatment of prisoners undergoing interrogation."
The Air Force officer sat back in his chair, waiting, and Harshu turned his wineglass under the light, gazing into its crimson heart as if it were a scrying crystal. He stayed that way for several moments, then returned his attention to Toralk.
"I've heard some of those same rumors," he said finally, his voice quieter and less ebullient than it had been. "Some of that, I imagine, is inevitable. And, to be completely honest, I'd rather see that than a reluctance to engage the enemy. But I have to agree that from what I've heard fr
om certain sources, there have been significant violations of the Kerellian Accords."
Toralk started to say something, then made himself sit silently, waiting, and Harshu shrugged.
"I don't like the thought of casually mistreating prisoners of war, Klayrman. It's a violation of the Articles of War, it's conduct unbecoming the Arcanan armed forces, and—ultimately—it's prejudicial to good discipline. Nothing turns first-line soldiers into their own worst enemies quicker than developing a taste for atrocities.
"But we're in a peculiar position right now," the two thousand continued. "We don't really know these people, and they don't know us. We don't know what their equivalent of the Kerellian Accords may be. And we still don't know how deep we have to go to find the sort of readily held bottleneck we need to provide defensive depth for Hell's Gate."
"But, Sir," Toralk said quietly when the two thousand paused, "if we don't know what their equivalent of the Kerellian Accords are, then wouldn't it be wiser of us to be sure that we adhere as closely as possible to our version? As you say, we don't know how deep we have to go, or how long we may end up fighting these people. In the long run, isn't it important for us to establish from the beginning that we're not going to be responsible for—or permit—any 'atrocities' from our side, if we expect to avoid any from their side?"
"There's some of this in any war, whatever we might wish, or whatever the Articles of War or some neatly sanitized history might suggest to the contrary," Harshu said. "It always happens, Klayrman, even with the best troops. And at the moment, given the fact that we've attacked them while we were still negotiating with them, I doubt very much that we're likely to find any Sharonians cherishing warm and fuzzy thoughts where we're concerned, however closely we might adhere to the Accords."
