David Drake - Tyrant

Except Arsule. And you can thank whatever gods there are that she shares his bed every night. If we do manage to keep this man sane, in the years to come, she'll play the largest role in the doing. And the gods help the world if we don't.

Adrian remembered the old Emerald saying: "Whom the gods would cast down into madness, they first raise on high."

you can find that saying, in one variation or another, on all planets and in all times,added Center. it's the derivative of another famous old saw: power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. what people often fail to understand, however, is that the rot strikes at a man's intellect much faster than it does at his morals. gigo, a later time would call it: garbage in, garbage out. a man with the power to punish anyone never hears anything except what he wants to hear. or, what's worse, what his subordinates think he wants to hear — and they don't dare ask him what it is. such, at least, is the tendency — and it is very hard to counter.

Adrian sighed. "Yes, Father, of course. Helga can come on the campaign with us. And the children too. Jessep's already told me he's bringing Ilset — who's got another new baby of her own, you know. So if Helga needs a wet nurse, we'll have one she trusts at hand."

He was not happy about it. Adrian knew perfectly well how difficult it would be to keep Helga far out of any danger. The damned woman—

"Damn girl," chuckled Demansk. But the tone had a certain warmth in it, and the harsh lines in his face seemed to be fading a bit. "I know she'll drive us both half insane, but. ."

Quietly: "I think I might go insane altogether, if she weren't with me along with Olver. This is going to be. . difficult." He placed a hand on Adrian's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "I thank you for this, son."

Adrian nodded. He tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. At some point, he knew, he was going to have to raise openly and straightforwardly with Demansk the dangers of the future. But—

Not now. Let the man finish the job of becoming a tyrant — the task of a titan already — before you start nattering at him about all the ways he should start unraveling his work. That'll be the last thing he wants to hear at the moment, any more than a man feverishly building a dyke to contain flood waters wants someone prattling in his ear about the danger of future droughts.

"I don't imagine you'll have any trouble getting her ready," said Demansk. The chuckle this time was full of warmth. "Even though the expedition leaves tomorrow."

"Not hardly," said Adrian sourly. "Just remove the bolts and chains and armed guards and hexes and amulets and fetishes and — if that stupid spell had worked right — the demons that were supposed to have been keeping her locked safely away in her chambers."

Demansk laughed. "Which spell was it? Druzla probably tried it herself, years gone by. Didn't work, of course."

He lifted the hand of comfort and thanks from Adrian's shoulder and gave it a hearty clap. Exactly the kind of hearty clap on the shoulder which fathers-in-law have given sons-in-law throughout the ages. Well, boy, she's all yours now. Have fun. I'm going to get some rest.

"Tomorrow morning, then," he added as he turned away. "I'll have Jessep and Uther keep an eye on her, Adrian, I swear. And by the time the siege has settled in, you'll have arrived yourself with the guns and the rest of the train."

The last remark had, at least, the virtue of distracting Adrian from his worries over Helga. Fine for his father-in-law to talk serenely about a "siege train." Since Adrian — not he — was in charge of actually getting the thing to the siege.

"Train." Ha! Remind me again, Center, what a train is supposed to look like.

Now and then, Center had flashes of something close to a sense of humor. He gave Adrian, first, an image of a mechanical behemoth snorting its smooth way across a countryside. Then, the piled-up jumble of a trainwreck.

Yeah, what I thought.

* * *

Luckily for Adrian, Center's quasi sense of humor manifested itself but rarely. So, in the weeks which followed, as he struggled and strained and cursed and beat his breast in despair trying to keep huge and ungainly cannons moving — slowly, slowly — across a ravaged countryside in the middle of winter, he was at least not forced to grit his teeth at the computer's witticisms.

Raj Whitehall, of course, was a different matter. Yes, true enough, the former general was also a fount of excellent advice. But Adrian could have done without the jests and wisecracks — much less the disquisitions on the ironies of military life.

— never fails either. Just when the risk of an epidemic ravaging your troops has passed with warm weather, it comes right back again with the hard soil of winter. Nothing soldiers hate worse than digging latrines in winter — grouse about, anyway — but if you don't—

— lucky at that your winters are so mild. On—

And so it went, week after week. Excellent advice, yes; which got Adrian out of many a jam. Complete with commentary.

— can't do that, lad, I'm giving you fair warning. You'll have a mutiny within a week—

— logs as paving. Pile 'em straight down through the muck. It'll work, trust me. I did it during—

— and the time the only good surgeon got too drunk to work, right in the middle of a battle. Let that be a lesson to you, lad. Always—

On and on, week after week. By the time Adrian crested the hill overlooking Vanbert, the siege train coming up behind him, he was desperately trying to figure out a way he could make both Whitehall and Center materialize in front of him. So he could strangle the first and turn the great guns on the other.

His thoughts, of course, were no secret to his would-be victims. Center did not deign to comment. And all Raj had to say, when the sight of the enormous city finally loomed before them, was: A good job, lad. Lost only two of the guns along the way, got here in plenty of time — and even managed not to murder anyone, corporeal or otherwise.

* * *

That praise was modest compared to the accolades which Demansk heaped upon him. Adrian lost count of the number of times his father-in-law used the word "brilliant" to refer to Adrian's exploit at his staff meetings. "Daring" and "dashing" were tossed around freely also. Not that Adrian could, for the life of him, understand how even an Emerald — much less a stodgy Confederate — could possibly apply such terms to an enterprise that had consisted, for the most part, of sheer drudgery.

But. . Adrian didn't really need Raj and Center's commentary to explain it to him. Sieges are a miserable business, under the best of circumstances — which a siege undertaken in winter most certainly was not. Even with their confidence in eventual victory, the morale of Demansk's own soldiers was none too high at the moment. Having Adrian finally show up with the great guns— impressive, they were, to the besiegers who gawked at them as they were hauled into position — gave an enormous boost to their spirits.

And, of course, correspondingly depressed the spirits of the defenders. By now, the arquebusiers whom Adrian and Trae had trained and Demansk had brought with him had inflicted misery enough on the soldiers manning the walls of Vanbert. To see what even unsophisticates such as themselves could immediately recognize as giant versions of arquebuses, training their huge muzzles toward them. .

Finally, Adrian realized, his father-in-law was — as always — seeing to it that the "second string" to his bow was kept taut and ready. Now, as before and in the long years to come, Verice Demansk would be leaning heavily on his family. And if he was about to lose a son, he was reminding everyone that he had gained a son-in-law capable of replacing him. Reminding himself, perhaps, more than anyone.