Daniel Abraham - The Dragon's Path

A servant girl came in with a brush and dustpan and cleared away the broken glass. Geder barely looked at her. The air that seeped in through the broken pane was chilly, but he didn’t call for anyone to repair the window. He had his leather cloak on. He was warm enough. And if he wasn’t, it hardly mattered.

The light shifted along the wall, reddening as the sun completed its arc. A Firstblood man came in, hesitated, and then remade the fire in the grate. Geder’s legs ached, but he didn’t move. The same man returned a short time later with a sheet of leather that he tied over the broken window. The room grew darker.

It was unfair that Ternigan wouldn’t pay the price of this. He was the one who’d put Geder in command without the guidance or loyal men to back him. If anyone deserved to be shamed over the state of things in Vanai it was the Lord Marshal. But of course, that would never happen. Because if Ternigan deserved blame for putting his faith in Geder, then King Simeon would deserve blame for naming Ternigan to command. No, the blame would be Geder’s to eat, and Geder’s alone.

Still, he couldn’t imagine what Ternigan had been thinking. Everyone had been dumbfounded by the appointment. Even Geder himself had needed Jorey Kalliam’s insight to find a plausible reason for the elevation. No one had thought the choice wise. The only two who’d had any faith in it at all were Geder and Lord Ternigan. They were the only two men who’d thought it possible, and even then…

Or perhaps not. What if no one had thought it possible? Not even from the start.

“Oh,” Geder said to the empty room.

When he turned, his knees buckled. He had stood unmoving for too long. He limped to the couch nearest the fire, his mind turned the problem over of its own accord. How many times had he heard it said that Vanai was a small piece played in a much larger game? And he hadn’t understood until now.

First point: as much as it stung to admit, Geder was in no sense equipped to manage the city.

Second point: Ternigan had put him in control of it.

Third: Ternigan was not a fool.

Therefore Ternigan—for whatever reasons and by whatever conflict of loyalties— wanted Vanai to fall into chaos. Geder was an acceptable sacrifice.

When he smiled, his injured lip split again. When he laughed, it bled.

Your Majesty, the letter began, in my role as Protector of Vanai, I have been forced to conclude that the political environment within the greater court makes long-term control of the city impossible.

Geder ran his eyes down the page again. He’d written half a dozen versions of the thing in the course of the night. Some had been angry screeds, others abject apologies. The form he’d finally adopted was modeled closely on a letter sent by Marras Toca to the king of Hallskar several centuries earlier. The full text was reproduced in one of his books, and the rhetoric of it was both moving and understated. Geder had changed enough to clear his conscience of any taint of plagiarism, and still the structure of the thing shone through. Geder sewed the letter, marked the exterior page, and pressed his seal of office into the purple wax. The essay with Marras Toca’s letter rested on the table, and Geder paged through it again, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. He found the passage he was looking for, and paused to underline the critical phrase.

… the destruction of Aastapal was done by Inys as a tactical gambit to keep it from Morade’s control…

The notation in his own handwriting caught his eye. Looking at ripples to know where the stone fell.

Oh yes. Once he’d gone back to Camnipol, there would be time for that. Alan Klin might not realize that he’d lost his protectorate by betrayal. Geder, on the other hand, was perfectly aware of it, and he cast his grudges in iron. He would understand Ternigan’s decision and all that lay behind it. But that would come later.

The night had been a trial. The long dark hours had been filled with his mind’s constant drumbeat of how he had been used. How he had been created as a failure, and what the price of it would be. He had wept and he had raged. He’d read his books and the reports of his men and the history of Vanai. Briefly, he’d even slept.

“My lord,” his squire said. “You called for me?”

“Yes,” Geder said, rising to his feet. “There are three things. First, take this letter and find the fastest rider we have. I want this in Camnipol as soon as it can be accomplished.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Second, take that purse there. You know the scholar I’ve been working with? Buy all the books he has. Then bring them back here and pack them with my things. We’ll be leaving Vanai, and I’ll have them with me.”

“Leaving, my lord?”

“Third, send word to my secretaries. I will meet with them in an hour. Any man who comes late, I’ll have whipped. Tell them so. Whipped and salt poured on the wounds.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Geder smiled, and it hurt less now. His squire bobbed a quick bow and scurried out. Yawning and stretching, Geder left his rooms in the palace of the prince of Vanai for the last time. His step was light, his mood undiminished by a night without rest. The air smelled of the subtle promise of spring, and the thin light of morning spilled across the stones where the rioters had been the day before. At the far end of the square, some daring local had hung an effigy of Geder. The dummy had an immense belly, a black cloak that mirrored his, and an expression on the dried gourd of a head that was a masterwork of idiocy. A sign hung around the thing’s neck: FEED US OR FREE US. Geder nodded at his other self, a brief and uncharitable salute.

His men sat in the same seats where he’d first addressed them. Many looked tousled from sleep. Jorey Kalliam was among them, his brow set in furrows. Gospey Allintot stood at the rear, his arms crossed and his chin held high. He likely thought he was going to be called to account for the previous day’s riot. Geder stepped to the front of the former chapel. He didn’t sit.

“My lords,” he said sharply. “I apologize for the hour, but I thank you for coming. As Lord Protector, it is my duty and privilege to command you all in this, our final day in the city of Vanai.”

He stood for a moment, letting the words sink in. Eyes brightened. Confusion softened the frowns and loosened the necks. Geder nodded.

“By nightfall, you will have your men outside the city gates and prepared for the march to Camnipol,” Geder said. “I understand food is somewhat scarce, so be sure that gets packed before we pile on any last looting. This isn’t a sack.”

“Then what it is?” Alberith Maas said.

“Don’t interrupt me again, Maas. I’m still in charge here. Sir Allintot, if you would be so good as to see that the canals are shut? We’ll leave those beds dry, I think. And the street gates will need to be shut.”

“Which street gates?”

“The iron ones at the street mouths,” Geder said.

“Yes, sir. I know them. I meant which of them did you want shut.”

“All of them. Lord Kalliam, I would have you guard the city gates. No one comes into the city, and no one besides ourselves leaves it. It is very important that no one escape.”

“We’re leaving?” Maas said.

“I have been forced to conclude,” Geder said, “that the political environment within the greater court makes long-term control of the city impossible. You’ve all seen Sir Klin’s best efforts, and what they came to. I’ve read the histories of Vanai. Do you all know how many times it’s been Antean? Seven. The longest was for ten years during the reign of Queen Esteya the Third. The shortest was three days during the Interregnum. In every case, the city had been given away by treaty or sacrificed in pursuit of some other goal. Which is to say, Vanai has been lost to politics. Given the situation in Camnipol, we are in the path to do so again.”