David Eddings: The Shining Ones

It was a warm day in early autumn, but the sunlight streaming in through the window of Sparhawk’s study seemed to grow wan and sickly when Empress Gahenas entered with the stern guardians of her virtue.

She spent an hour lecturing Sparhawk on the gross national product of her homeland in a tone that strongly suggested that she was going to give a test at the conclusion of the lecture. Sparhawk fought to keep from yawning. He was not really interested in production figures or labor costs. What he really wanted from the jug-eared Empress were little details of ordinary life on the Isle to flesh out the series of letters he was writing to his wife—letters which were to be doled out to Ehlana to help sustain the fiction that he and his friends were tracking down ring-leaders and other conspirators who were concealed among the general population.

‘Ah...’ he interrupted Gahenas’s droning monologue, ‘this is absolutely fascinating, your Highness, but could we go back for a moment to the island’s form of government? That really has me baffled.’

‘Tega is a republic, Prince Sparhawk. Our rulers are elected to their positions every five years. It’s been that way for twenty-five centuries.’

‘Your officials aren’t elected for life?’

‘Of course not. Who would want a job like that for life?’

‘No one ever develops a hunger for power?’

‘The government has no power, Prince Sparhawk. It exists only to carry out the will of the electorate.’

‘Why five years?’

‘Because nobody wants to be away from his own affairs for longer than that.’

‘What happens if a man’s re-elected?’

‘That’s contrary to the law. No one serves more than one term in office.’

‘Let’s suppose somebody turned out to be an absolute genius in a particular position? Wouldn’t you want to keep him there?’

‘We’ve never found anyone that indispensable.’

‘It seems to me that the system would encourage corruption. If a man knows he’s going to be thrown out of office after five years, what’s to keep him from manipulating his official decisions to further his own interests—later on, I mean?’

‘Quite impossible, Prince Sparhawk. Our elected officials have no outside interests. As soon as they’re elected, everything they own is sold, and the money’s put into the national treasury. If the economy prospers during their term in office, their wealth earns them a profit. If the economy collapses, they lose everything.’

‘That’s absurd. No government ever makes a profit.’

‘Ours does,’ she said smugly, ‘and it has to be a real profit. The tax rates are set and cannot be changed, so our officials can’t generate a false profit by simply raising taxes.’

‘Why would anyone want to be an official in a government like that?’

‘Nobody wants to be, Prince Sparhawk. Most Tegans do everything they possibly can to avoid election. The fact that a man’s own personal fortune’s in the treasury forces him to work just as hard as he possibly can to make sure that the government prospers. Many have worked themselves to death looking after the interests of the Republic.’

‘I think I’d run away from an honor like that one.’

‘That’s really quite impossible, your Highness. Just as soon as a man’s name’s placed in nomination for a public office, he’s put under guard, and if he’s elected, he remains under close guard for his entire term. The Republic makes absolutely sure that nobody evades his responsibilities to her.’

‘The Republic’s a stern mistress.’

‘She is indeed, Prince Sparhawk, and that’s exactly the way it should be.’

Though his companions chafed at the delay, Sparhawk put off their departure for two more days while he feverishly composed the letters to Ehlana. The progress of the fictitious investigation had to be convincing, certainly, and at least moderately interesting. Sparhawk wove false leads, plots and unsolved mysteries into his account. He became increasingly absorbed in the developing story, sometimes becoming so caught up in it that he lost sight of the fact that the events he was reporting were not actually taking place. He became rather proud of his efforts, and he began to revise extensively, adding a touch here and modifying a poorly phrased passage there, until he unwittingly crossed the line between careful artistry and sheer fussiness.

‘They’re good enough, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said to him after reading through the letters on the evening of the second day. Vanion was rather pointedly wearing the plain tunic and heavy riding boots Pandions customarily put on before making an extended journey.

‘You don’t think it’s too obvious?’

‘It’s fine just the way it is.’

‘Maybe I should rework that third letter. It seems awfully weak to me for some reason.’

‘You’ve written it four times already. It’s good enough.’

‘I’m really not happy with it, Vanion.’ Sparhawk took the offending letter from his friend and ran through it once more, automatically reaching for his pen as he read. Vanion firmly took the letter away from him. ‘Let me just fix that last paragraph,’ Sparhawk pleaded.

‘No.’

‘But...’

‘NO!’ Vanion put the letter back in its proper place, folded the packet, and tucked it inside his doublet. ‘Oscagne’s sending Norkan along with us,’ he said. ‘We’ll give the letters to him, and he can sort of dribble them back here to Ehlana. Norkan’s shrewd enough to space them out just enough to keep her from getting suspicious. The ship’s been ready for a week now, and Emban’s getting impatient. We’ll sail with the morning tide.’

‘I think I know what I did wrong,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I can fix that third letter in no more than an hour or two.’

‘No, Sparhawk. Absolutely not.’

‘Are you sure she’s asleep?’ Sparhawk whispered.

‘Of course I am, father,’ Princess Danae replied.

‘The slightest sound will wake her up, you know. She can hear a fly walking across the ceiling.’

‘Not tonight she can’t. I’ve seen to that.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Danae. She knows every tiny little mark on that ring. If there’s the slightest difference between it and this new one, she’ll notice it immediately.’

‘Oh, father, you worry too much. I’ve done this before, after all. Ghwerig made the rings, and I still fooled him. I’ve been stealing those rings for thousands of years. Believe me, mother will never know the difference.’

‘Is this really necessary?’

‘Yes. Bhelliom’s useless to you without both rings, and you may need it almost as soon as we lift it from the sea-floor.’

‘Why?’

She rolled her eyes upward and sighed. ‘Because the whole world will shift just as soon as Bhelliom moves. When you were carrying it to Zemoch, the world quivered around like a plate of jelly the whole time. My family and I really don’t like it when Bhelliom moves. It makes some of us queasy.’

‘Will our enemies out there be able to pinpoint our location from that?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s too generalized. Every God in the world’s going to know when Bhelliom starts to move, though, and we can be absolutely sure that at least some of them will come looking for it. Can we talk about this some other time?’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Just stand watch at the bedroom door. I don’t like having an audience when I’m stealing things.’

‘You sound just like Talen.’

‘Naturally. He and I were made for each other. It was the Gods who invented theft in the first place.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘Of course. We steal things from each other all the time. It’s a game. Did you think we just sat around on clouds basking in adoration? We have to do something to pass the time. You should try it sometime, father. It’s lots of fun.’ She looked around furtively, crouched low and reached for the bedroom door-handle. ‘Keep a lookout, Sparhawk. Whistle if you hear anybody coming.’