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Authors: Steven Brust

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“Well,” said Aerich, “I understand what Your Highness does me the honor of telling me, yet I do not comprehend—”
“I will explain, Duke, for I value your friendship, and, even if you think I am choosing wrong, well, I would still wish for your esteem, and thus I would have you informed of my thinking in this matter.”
Aerich bowed and signified that he was listening.
“I am in rebellion against the Empire,” he said.
“Well, that is true.”
“I have decided that I cannot suffer the insult he has done me, and therefore everything that follows must follow.”
Aerich nodded.
“Yet, there are several possibilities from which I can choose, and several ways in which events may play themselves out in spite of any choices I may make.”
“Your Highness is as clear as the water of Libedu.”
“In the first place, it is possible that I shall simply win against His Majesty—a military victory brought about by mistakes on the part of the Warlord Rollondar, or on the part of His Majesty, or by circumstances unforeseen. Do you know what this would signify?”
“That the cycle has turned, and Your Highness is meant to have the Orb.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I understand.”
“Next, I may be defeated militarily, which would result in either my death or my capture—and, as I am certain you know, capture would mean death, only somewhat delayed and more ignominious, being upon the Executioner’s Star rather than on the field of battle. What, then, would this signify?”
“That the cycle has not turned.”
“We understand each other perfectly.”
“Well?”
“Well, Duke, I give you my word that, in the latter case, I should accept defeat, and the decrees of fate, and not risk unleashing the powers of elder sorcery against the Orb.”
“How, you would not?”
“Never in the world.”
“But then, if I may do myself the honor of putting a question to Your Highness—”
“You may.”
“Why create the spell at all?”
Adron nodded, as if this question were not unexpected. “To begin, I built it in anger—I have been studying these patterns for more years than I can count, yet the idea that such power could be a weapon even against the Orb only occurred to my thoughts when I learned of the insult His Majesty had offered my daughter. I constructed the spell, and then, as it were, I came to my senses; or my rage cooled, as you would have it; and I realized that, insult or no, I would not use such means to take the throne.”
Aerich bowed. “That seems well thought, Your Highness.”
“I have not finished.”
“Well?”
“Consider the issues I first mentioned, those being the state of the Empire, the state of the court, and the signs and portents with which one might be acquainted.”
“Yes, I am considering them, Highness. I am, in the first place, not sufficiently familiar with signs and portents.”
“Well, leave them. What next?”
“The Empire is troubled: The Council of Princes is due to meet, and there is no agreement among any of the Houses about the Imperial Allotment; there are food shortages in the city such that fortunes are being made smuggling grain past the gates, while food sits rotting in the harbors; there is such discontent in the city that the Guard have been alerted to prepare for riots at any time; in the North, the mines—”
“That is sufficient, Duke. What of the court?”
“His Majesty is attempting to rule his own court, but assassinations and conspiracies have deprived him of much of the knowledge he requires to make
decisions. Furthermore, he allows the Consort to influence him in matters regarding the welfare of the Empire.”
“Well, we are in agreement regarding the state of the Empire and the state of the court.”
“I am pleased to be in agreement with Your Highness.”
“What can this mean except that the cycle has, indeed, turned, and I must take the throne?”
“It could mean that we must do our best to rally behind the Emperor in this time of trouble, Your Highness. And it may mean nothing at all.”
Adron sighed. “Both true,” he said. “And exactly my point. That is, you perceive, the difficulty: There are too many possibilities. And yet—”
“Yes? And yet?”
“One possibility, and one that I cannot overlook, is that everything is just as it seems, no more, no less.”
Aerich stared at the Prince, waiting for him to continue. After a moment he did.
“The appearances are that the Empire is in a shambles, the court is in confusion, and His Majesty is turning into the worst sort of tyrant—for it is a tyranny built on ignorance and foolishness, rather than selfishness or even malevolence. If things continue as they are there will be famine in the city while food rots in the harbors of the South, there will be war in the East and rebellion in the West, there will be division and strife in all layers of society, the Imperium insulting the noble, while the noble suppresses the bourgeois, and the bourgeois cheats the commoner. That is the direction in which we are heading, and all evidence that the cycle has turned is speculation, and perhaps nothing more than desire turned to belief. Do you understand what I am saying, Duke?”
“I understand, but—”
“Then consider what it means that I have the power to prevent all of this—that circumstances have worked so that I can prevent great evil—if evil is to come. Or if catastrophe looms—and, Duke, with the anger of the people, the fear of the bourgeois, and the pride of the noble all mixing in the pot which no hand stirs, can you doubt that catastrophe looms?—might this not be the working-out of fate, that I have the chance to prevent it? Could it not be that I am fate’s tool in this?”
“Has Your Highness considered,” said Aerich slowly, “that your efforts to prevent catastrophe may bring it about? For fate, as Your Highness knows, cannot be denied.”
“Fate cannot be denied, but what has ever been accomplished, that is worth the accomplishment, except in spite of or against fate? The struggle is always worthwhile, if the end be worthwhile and the means honorable;
foreknowledge of defeat is not sufficient reason to withdraw from the contest. Nevertheless, what you say is true; it may be that the nobler act is to have this power and not use it.”
Aerich said, “I think I understand.”
Adron nodded. “So, to summarize, if the cycle has turned, the spell will never be used, except insofar as it can be used as a threat—which use is not inconsiderable. But if the cycle has not turned, then I shall not use this spell in any case, unless—”
“Yes, Your Highness? Unless?”
“Unless matters become so desperate that I must
force
it to turn, because one man, Emperor or no, cannot be permitted to cause such destruction as I foresee if it can at all be stopped; and, Duke, I apply this rule to myself as much as to His Majesty—more so, in fact.”
“Will Your Highness then allow yourself to be defeated, without using those powers?”
“I will,” said Adron, looking steadily at the Lyorn.
“Yet Your Highness will keep this spell in readiness against a circumstance scarcely subject to definition, and which, if it occurs, will cause Your Highness to unleash a spell which might risk the existence of the Orb itself?”
“I will.”
“Will Your Highness deign to explain why? For I do not yet understand.”
“It is because I fear, Duke. I fear that this Emperor, unable to face the consequences of his actions, and his inactions, will threaten such tyranny that any risk will be justified, and, moreover, he will do so with such strength and determination that great effort will be required to prevent his success. If, at the moment of decision, I have seen no evidence, than I shall not use the spell, even if it means my own death.”
“Do you truly think him so evil?”
“I fear he is so weak.”
“But who will decide when the petty injustices of a monarch become the evil of a tyrant, or when circumstances have reached the point where such desperate measures are required?”
“I will,” said Adron. “I can trust no one else.”
Aerich looked at the round, neat, glossy purple stones, and said, “Pride.”
Adron looked at him for a long moment, then turned his own eyes to the mosaic. “Perhaps,” he said.
These purple stones were also the subject of a brief discussion between Aliera and Sethra, as they rode, knee to knee, toward the Imperial Palace. They had just left the first post-station when Sethra said, “You are aware of the mosaic of purple stones your father has constructed?”
“I am indeed.”
“Do you know how they work?”
“I am not unacquainted with elder sorcery.”
“Do you know what the spell is intended to do?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
“How, that is all you have to say?”
“Yes. That is all.”
They rode at a good speed to the next post-station, where, after exchanging signs with the officer, they were given fresh horses, and so continued.
“Ahead of us,” remarked Aliera, “is the Flower Road, though I’ve never seen any flowers on it. In any case, it leads to the Gate of the Dragon, and so we are nearly there.”
“You do not know how the road came to be named?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“If you like, I will tell you.”
“I should like nothing better.”
“Here it is, then.”
“I am listening.”
“It is said that in the Ninth Reign of the Issola, the Warlord, Markon e’Lanya, had just won a decisive battle upon the Lockhair Plains, through which we have just passed, during the Smallflute Uprising. The people of the village of Lockhair lined this road and covered him with flowers to mark his passage. He slowed down to acknowledge them, which gave other citizens of the region time to gather flowers with which to perform the same courtesy, so that he was addressed in this manner all the way to the gate of Dragaera City, which was, by the way, then named the Dragon Gate in his honor.”
“It is a good story.”
“Is it not?”
“But I heard you say, ‘it is said.’”
“Well, and if I did?”
“It makes me wonder what truth there is in the story.”
Sethra smiled. “Very little. In fact, there was a cart of flowers on the road, and, in trying to move it hastily, the owner, a Jhegaala whose home had been saved by Markon’s army, tipped it over, and to cover his embarrassment he made some remarks about how honored he was that Markon should ride over the flowers—remarks that would have served better had he not stuttered so horribly in delivering the speech. Still, it is true that Markon did win the battle—and cleverly at that—and that the Dragon Gate was named in his
honor. The road did not change its name for some years, until the story had grown enough that even those who had seen the event believed the story rather than their own memories.”
Aliera smiled. “He won the battle, you say—and yet, in truth, did he do so without your help?”
Sethra laughed. “Entirely. I was on the other side, though in no important capacity.”
“How, you took arms against the Empire?”
“I’ve taken arms against the Empire, my love, nearly as often as I’ve taken arms
for
the Empire.”
“Well, then, why will you not help my father on this occasion? You could do so, you know. It may be that the Lavodes would decide the issue.”
Sethra was silent for some few minutes, then she said, “It is true that I have taken arms against the Empire, but I have never taken arms against the Cycle.”
“I do not understand the difference.”
“I am not certain I do either, Aliera e’Kieron. Yet I know that, in this case, I cannot but oppose him. If that makes me your enemy, we can now dismount and settle matters, as we have come close to doing so often this last five-day.”
Now it was Aliera who fell silent, and so they rode for some distance, until she at last said, “No, for my part, this is no cause to quarrel. When you make a remark that annoys me, or when you laugh at a time that displeases me, or when you give me a look that seems to hide a sneer, then I can fight you, and still might. But I cannot fight when you speak of your duty and your willingness to act in the way that seems right to you. But come, are there not an appalling number of Teckla on the road? What does this mean?”
“They are not only Teckla; I see some bourgeois. It means, I think, that all is far from well in the city—you perceive how many wagons there are? Many of these citizens consider this a good time to be away from the city; and, come, do you think them wrong?”
“Not in the least. Is that not the post-station ahead? The last one, I think, which means that we shall be in the Imperial Palace in an hour, and see what we shall see.”
BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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