Robert Sawyer - Fossil Hunter

Afsan’s teeth touched together gently. “I’m sure your first point is the one that really concerns you, my friend. You’re afraid that in such a test, you would not be the winner.”

“Well,” said Dybo, “even if the odds were even, I’d only have a one-in-eight chance of survival—assuming, that is, that the blackdeath could be stopped somehow before it devoured all of us, not to mention everyone else in the vicinity.”

“A one-in-eight chance is all a newborn Quintaglio gets.”

“Yes, but—

“The species grows strong because only the best survive.”

“I know that, but—”

“But you doubt that your odds are even one in eight? You are not in the best of shape.”

“Thank you.”

“I know only what they tell me. I haven’t seen you in kilodays.”

“Frankly,” said Dybo, “I came to you hoping for a solution that would leave me in power.”

“I, too, would like to see you remain Emperor.”

Dybo was bitter. “It doesn’t sound that way.”

“Dybo, I fought long and hard to convince you of the truth about our world.” Afsan clicked his teeth. “It’s not easy breaking in a new Emperor.”

Dybo spread his hands. “But if I were to go up against a blackdeath, I wouldn’t survive.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“I’d prefer to hear something a bit more definite than that.”

Afsan slid from his rock and stood over the sleeping Gork, who was hissing softly in the boulder’s shade. “You’re missing the obvious, Dybo. An eggling’s only hope of surviving the culling is to run the fastest and thus avoid being gulped down by the bloodpriest. But you are an adult. You have your intellect to aid you.” He reached down and stroked the sleeping lizard’s hide. “Remember Lubal’s dictum: ‘A great hunter has not only sharp tooth and polished claw but a keen mind as well, for it is cunning that will save all when the predator becomes the prey.’ ”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I will be your trainer.”

“Just what I need. A blind person telling me how to fight.”

Gork awoke and pushed its belly up off the grass. “Have you forgotten who I am?” said Afsan. “The best hunters in all of Land called me The One in my youth. Was it not I who felled the largest thunderbeast ever seen? Was it not I who dispatched the water serpent Kal-ta-goot?”

Dybo bowed and then, feeling silly doing so but doing it nonetheless, said out loud, “I am bowing.” He added a moment later: “You are indeed a great hunter.”

Afsan returned the bow. “There is a way for one Quintaglio to survive against a blackdeath.”

“And that is?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet. But I’m confident that I can find a way.”

“Confident enough to bet my life on it?”

“I’ll do the best I am able,” said Afsan.

“It’s more than just my life, Afsan. You enjoy the support of the Emperor. You want for nothing under my leadership, and your dream of getting us off this world is pursued because of me. If I lose, you lose.”

“I know that. But, forgive me, it seems as though your reign will soon abruptly end unless you consolidate your power, unless a stop is put to this challenge to your right to rule. We are a hunting society; no one knows better than I how strongly our people revere those with skill at the hunt.” Gork rubbed gently against Afsan’s legs. “If you could survive against a blackdeath, you would by definition be the greatest hunter in all of Land. That, in and of itself, would be enough to make most people willing to accept your right—your earned right—to rule.”

“I am Emperor now,” said Dybo, “because my mother died young. And Rodlox is a governor, because his predecessor likewise met an unexpected death. The rest of my putative siblings are merely apprentice governors.”

“True.”

“But the governors they are apprenticed to are also my relatives, if one believes Rodlox. They are my mother’s brothers and sisters.”

“And they are old,” said Afsan simply.

“So?”

“So, respect for elders runs deep. People may grumble about their right to hold high office in light of what Rodlox has said, but I doubt anyone will seriously call for their replacement. First, to be blunt, they’ll all die of old age soon enough anyway. And most of them have governed since long before you or I were born. In those many kilodays they’ve earned the right to continue administering their provinces, earned it by deeds. If the question of rightful Emperorship is solved, I suspect the issue of who should be governing the outlying provinces will fade into the background.”

“Very well,” said Dybo. “But members of The Family are not the only ones to have avoided the test of the bloodpriest. You and Novato had eight children, and all of them, except poor Helbark, are still alive.” Helbark had succumbed to fever shortly after his birth.

Afsan shook his head. “My children lived because of the wishes of the people, not despite them. I knew nothing about them being alive until the Dasheter returned to Capital City sixteen kilodays ago. The bloodpriests and the people chose to make a special dispensation.”

“Because they thought you were The One, the great hunter foretold by Lubal.”

“Indeed.”

“But you are not The One. You may indeed be a great hunter, but you are not The One.”

“Perhaps not.”

“I know you are not.”

“I have never made a claim either way.”

“You know you are not.”

Afsan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I don’t play up the suggestion, but if some support the exodus because they feel that it is the great hunt foretold by Lubal, I do nothing to dissuade them. Regardless, my children were a special case, made with full public knowledge. The deceit practiced by The Family was something quite different: an attempt to control all of Land. But the circumstances were reversed. The palace advisors deceived The Family, in an attempt to wrest control from Larsk’s descendants and vest it in themselves. You now have a chance to rectify that: to put an end to the deceit, to eliminate the advisors who have corrupted the government, to establish once and for all your right to lead.”

“What you suggest is radical.”

“This is not the first time I’ve made a radical suggestion.”

“No, no, I suppose not.” Dybo leaned against one of the boulders, weary. “There is no other way?”

“The only alternative is the one you’ve already mentioned. You could abdicate. Let Rodlox take over. It would mean the end of our people, though—the death of our race.”

Dybo looked thoughtful. “I try to keep the welfare of all Quintaglios in mind, of course,” he said quickly, “but, um, what do you suppose would become of me if I did choose to abdicate?”

“You’d be sent into exile, I’d imagine,” said Afsan. “There’s plenty of land on the southern shore of Edz’toolar where you could hunt and live and study in absolute peace.” A pause. “Or so High Priest Det-Yenalb once told me.”

“What?”

“Kilodays ago, when you had me held prisoner in the palace basement, Yenalb came to visit me. He offered me safe passage from the Capital, under his protection, if only I would disappear and never again speak my so-called heresies.”

“I didn’t know about that. And you turned him down?”

“Yes.”

“This was before…?”

“Before my eyes were put out? Yes.”

“You turned down a safe way out?”

“I had no choice. The world’s survival depended on making the people understand what I’d come to know.”

“Yenalb’s offer must have tempted you.”