Gene Wolfe: The Wizard

“Few are. People don’t like the idea of a sorcerous ruler. She shows it, shows off and draws their displeasure. He keeps his hidden. If you really know all this, you ought to know I don’t have any such power. None at all. Do you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t know what it’s been like for me.” Her hand found mine and squeezed it. “Husbands are—are bad enough without that. His rages are terrible, and he could spy on me anytime he wanted. I was a queen. I am. A queen in a glass castle. I ran a terrible risk for you when I let you confer with Queen Idnn and Lord Escan. Do you understand that? Do you know how great a chance I took? The gaolers knew, and all those people, but I had to let them see there was nothing between us. Not then.” She squeezed my hand again. Hers was small, and so white it shone in the moonlight.

“You didn’t take it long, Your Majesty.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I couldn’t. You went out on your own, and you were caught. They’d tell him when he came back. They were bound to and I couldn’t stop them. Sometimes he spies and sometimes he doesn’t, but—”

I said, “Suppose he sees us now?”

“He won’t. I spoke to him before I came to see you. He—he won’t. He’s seen the future, Sir Able. And he dies.”

“We all do.”

“Before the new moon. He kills the Caan and the Caan kills him. Can that happen?”

I nodded.

“I’ll be a widow. Your queen and the first of a new dynasty. I’ll need a minister, a strong man who can keep order. I’ll rule wisely and well, but only if they let me rule. And you... Can you be gentle, as well as strong? I’ve never had anyone gentle, never had anyone but him.”

You know what I was tempted to say, Ben. I did not say it, merely saying that her husband was not dead yet, and I needed time to consider. If I had refused, she would have told Lamwell to kill me and I would have had to kill him. I liked him, and we could not spare a single knight.

Ten days, Lothur had said. Knowing they could not be hastened, I did not try to hurry our march south. We had to collect all the food we could along the way, and I had to plan the actions that would violate the oath I would break.

We met them on a cliff-side road overlooking the sea, stranger warriors than I had ever seen, dark, hard-faced men with little eyes. Their armor made them look like bugs, and their shaggy ponies like peasants. They challenged us; and I found that although I understood their speech, no one else did. There were three hundred, perhaps, with a baggage train so long that it wound away down the coast.

Wistan and I advanced under a flag of truce. Their prince wore gold armor; his was hardest hand I ever clasped, and he the only man I have known who smiled all the time. When we met, I thought he simply wanted to assure us we would be well treated if we yielded. Later I learned that his men called him He-who-smiles. Wistan and I settled for Smiler.

He was accompanied by three ministers, middle-aged men of his own race. One carried a horned staff, one a whip, and one a sword with a blade of dragon shape. He would choose one or another of these ministers and whisper to him. The minister would confer with the other two and speak to me. It became tedious; I will abbreviate it as much as I can.

“You are to surrender to us.” This was the minister with the sword. “Give me your weapons.”

Wistan tugged my sleeve. “Why does he talk like that?”

I said, “Because he thinks we might, I guess.”

“Might what? What did he say?”

“We won’t surrender,” I told the minister. “If you’ll share your food with us, we’ll be your friends and lead you to a great victory. If you won’t, we’ll take it.”

The prince continued to smile, gesturing to the minister with the whip. “The Son of the Dragon fears you misapprehend this matter. He is sworn to conquer or die. With him we are all sworn to conquer or die. We conquer or die!”

“Then you’ll die,” I said.

Still smiling, the prince spoke with his third minister, the one with the forked staff. “You are a barbarian,” this minister told me. His tone was fatherly. “You do not know us, nor the customs of civilized men. Do you wish to?”

I said I certainly did.

“That said, you are no longer a barbarian. We are the children of the Dragon, Sirable. For most, by adoption. For the Son of the Dragon, by blood. The Blood of the Dragon is his father.” He fell silent, standing with head bowed. At length he said, “His Sons are Sons of the Dragon. Dragon Blood fills him each time he engenders sons in his wives.” I told him I understood.

“Each would rule. Is he not Son of the Dragon?”

Wistan was tugging my sleeve again. I told him to stop.

“A son may bow to his brother, and be cut. He remains. If no, they fight with magic. Our prince chose to fight.”

Thinking of Arnthor and his sister, I said, “We have a lot of magic. If he contends with us, he will lose again.”

The minister tittered. “No, no! He won. The winner leaves Home Throne to his brother. Do you not understand?”

I confessed I did not.

“It is his glory to extend the Realm of the Dragon. He is permitted five hundred warriors. It is honor to go. The Talking Table is consulted. Always the Talking Table says, ‘Go north! Go west!’ or ‘Go south!’ This is traditional. To east there is much water.”

The minister with the forked staff retired, and the minister with the whip came forward. “Yours is the Land of the East. Obey the Son of the Dragon and prosper. Disobey...” He tapped his own hand with his coiled whip.

“You are in our country,” I told him, though we were well south of Celidon. “You must obey our king. He is King Arnthor, a good and wise ruler. I speak for him now.”

The minister who bore the sword came forward once more. “Will we fight here, on this narrow road?”

“Yes,” I said. “Will you fight me now?” I knew I would have my point in him before he could poise his big blade.

He shook his head. “Our champions will fight. In such a place it must be so.” His voice fell. “My son, you do not know our law. Let me make it plain. When one fights one, three victories are sufficient. Is this clear to you?”

I admitted it was not.

“The first two fight. We win. That is a victory.” I nodded.

“The first of our champions fights your next. That also is a victory, it is two.” I nodded as before.

“The first of our champions fights your third. That is another, it is three. You must accept the beneficent rule of the Son of the Dragon.”

I said, “We will not.”

“If you do not, every man will be put to the sword.”

When we left, I explained to Wistan, who looked very serious. “I’ll fight, Sir Able, but I’m not a champion.” I laughed, and slapped his back.

I was our first, though I had great difficulty securing the position. Arnthor wanted to negotiate further, and sent Beel with me to interpret. We learned more about the Dragon soldiers and their prince; but quickly discovered there was no hope of making them allies, as our instructions required. Neither would they share their food with us (although they boasted of its quantity) or even sell to us.

By Marder’s influence and my own, Woddet was our second champion. Kei was the third. We did not think we would need more than three. As for me, I was determined that neither Woddet nor Kei would have work that afternoon. They looked imposing, and that was enough. Wistan and I made nothing like so good a show, although I learned afterward that the Son of the Dragon had been impressed by the gold rings in my mail, and by my speaking the tongue of his nation.

The Nykr King of Arms went with us to see fair play, the minister with the sword serving a like function on the other side. He objected to Wistan; we explained that he was there only to bear my lance with my pennant, to carry my helm and shield, to help me from the field if I were wounded or to guard my corpse. It was agreed that he would retire one hundred paces before I engaged.