Victor Milan - War in Tethyr

A long table occupied a low dais that ran from wall to wall at the head of the hall. Behind it sat the twelve members of the council: Deymos, Hafzul Gorbon, and Marquis Enzo; Anakul, serenely smiling in his robes of black and red and his black silken cowl fitted close to his round head and drawn to a peak between his brows; Malhalvadon Stringfellow, afidget in his chair like a barely continent child; Strombolio, in red and yellow; Jinjivar the Sorcerer-tall, gaunt, and splendid in a pale-blue and purple turban so extravagantly round as to make him resemble an attenuated mushroom; Torvid, Naumos, and Lady Korun; Baron Zam, looking sour; Duke Hembreon, looking even graver than usual, possibly preoccupied by the fact that his daughter Tatrina was nowhere to be seen in the placidly smiling All-Friends contingent. Their seating was controlled by a rigid and deliberately arcane rotation schedule.

At the table's right end stood Baron Faneuil Hardisty. He was simply dressed in green, gold, and brown; his closest approach to ostentation was the silver chaplet he wore around prematurely graying tem-pies, significant of his recent acclamation as lord of the city. Like the late kings of Tethyr, he had no right to sit at the council table, and his very presence was of questionable legality. It seemed to symbolize the radical traditionalist thrust of his program: things will be as theу once were, only different.

At the table's left end the crier stood forward. He wore a tabard sporting the traditional device of lion, gules, rampant on field of gold. No one knew why this was traditional, inasmuch as Zazesspur's emblem was a blue cockatrice on a light-green field. No one knew where that came from, either, cockatrices being exceedingly rare in Tethyr, even since the monarchy's collapse. Some savants theorized that was the reason for the symbol's adoption, that the appearance of such a rarity as a cockatrice in Zazesspur might have been deemed worthy of commemoration. Actually, nobody cared anymore.

"Oyez, oyez! " the crier cried. "Gentles of Zazesspur, attend! The city council is now in session: let all observe the gravest punctilio!"

The groundlings cranked their hubbub down a notch. Despite the crier's most ferocious glare they refused to subside further. After an exasperated moment, he puffed himself up and blared, "The prisoner,

Zaranda Star, may approach the council." Zaranda marched in, flanked by a squad of city po-lice in shiny black carapaces. She wore a fresh white gown. Her hands were manacled before her by discreet steel.

The crowd stirred. The Hairheads jeered and shook their fists. The policemen escorted her to the council table and withdrew to the sidelines.

The crier struck the floor three times with the head high ceremonial mace he carried. "Spectators must re-main silent, or be thrust forth!"

The Marquise Enzo leaned forward. He had a bald-ing head, fuzzy eyebrows, and spectacles perched before perpetually blinking eyes. He occupied the table's mid-die seat, and was consequently chairman for the day.

"Zaranda Star," he said, steepling fingers before his small chin, "you have much to answer for."

"Of what do I stand accused?" she asked. Her voice, though calm, filled the hall.

"Nothing, nothing. Did you not hear? You're not on trial."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"Answering questions, only."

She held up fettered hands.

"Your status remains in doubt," Baron Zam said waspishly. "Your creation of your own private army is notorious."

"And keeping me in irons will prevent me from threatening you with this supposed army?" she asked. Some of the audience laughed.

Jinjivar the Sorcerer leaned forward. His turban wobbled alarmingly, threatening to overbalance him. "Is it true," he asked, "that upon being taken into the custody of Duke Hembreon, you gave your parole to em-ploy no magic in any attempt to escape or otherwise alter the circumstances of your captivity?"

"I did."

"And do you now reaffirm the oaths you swore to that effect?"

"I do. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"So now," the marquis said, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance at the others' horning in, "account for yourself."

She shook back her hair and laughed. The hall fell silent. "That's rather a broad assignment. Would you care to be more specific?"

Burly, black-bearded Hafzul Gorbon slammed a palm on the tabletop. "Impertinence!" He glared around at his fellows. "What more do we have to hear? Let's have her head off and go back to our affairs."

Ravenak's contingent cheered. "I see why I'm not on trial," Zaranda said. "I appear already to have been found guilty and sentenced to death, besides."

Hembreon leaned forward. "Zaranda Star, no decision has been made by this council regarding you. I give you my word."

"Very well," she said. "You want an account of what I've been doing. You shall have it. Many say that Tethyr needs a strong central government. That may be so; certainly the land has fallen on hard times since the monarchy fell.

"Few will deny that the justification for a government's existence is to protect the persons and property of its citizens. Yet when I returned to Tethyr a year ago I found no shortage of governments. Rather I found them everywhere. But I found precious little protection. Rather, as often as not, the self-proclaimed governments were the most rapacious predators."

Malhalvadon Stringfellow jumped up onto his chair. "Must we sit and listen to these slanders?"

"You're welcome to stand," said Anakul in his unctuous voice. "But, pray, be quiet. It is the deponent's time to speak. You'll only protract matters needlessly if you continue to disrupt these proceedings."

Grumbling, the halfling sat back down and Zaranda continued. "My caravan was illegally impounded when I attempted to bring it into Zazesspur. I was left nearly destitute. Under such circumstances, if one doesn't wish to become a beggar or go into crime or government, one must find a service that people need and supply it."

She turned to the colorful multitudes ranked around the huge hall.

"I must insist that the defen-that is, the deponent-face the council-" Enzo said.

Zaranda ignored him. "The people of Tethyr had neither safety nor security. Rivers and roads were blockaded as effectively as by an invading army. I could not set matters right myself; I had no army sufficient to such a task, nor means of raising one. Nor am I sure that way is best, for had I the force to impose order, would I not also possess the means of imposing in other ways, as the robbers who call themselves nobles do?"

"What is all this?" Baron Zam demanded. "What of your sedition? What of your raising the countryside in rebellion?"

"Sedition against whom?" Zaranda asked. "Rebellion against whom? Not the 'duly constituted government' of Tethyr-because it neglects to exist.

"All I have done is attempt to provide the people with the means of defending themselves. That's the only way I know to achieve real security. Seldom in my life have I known safety that I did not provide myself. Who, after all, will care for you better than you уоurselves?"

She turned back to face the council and raised bound hands. "The people of Tethyr have responded. Many of them, it seemed, desired what I and my associates had to offer. There is no 'private army.' There is only a small cadre, my friends and employees, far too minute to threaten a mighty walled city such as Zazesspur. And there are common folk in the farms and villages and out upon the roads, well trained, armed, and organized to protect themselves, but lacking the means to sustain an aggressive campaign.

"And there you have it, Lady Korun, gentlemen. The entirety of my plan, and of my intentions: to help the people of Tethyr free themselves from fear."

Shouts and applause burst from the crowd. Hisses and angry shouts answered from council claques and Hairheads. The crier pounded the butt of his mace on the floor and screamed for order until his face went red.