Victor Milan - War in Tethyr

Baron Hardisty stepped forward, clapping his hands. The din subsided, until the only sound to be heard in all the hall was the soft fall of his slippered feet and his solitary applause.

"Very impressive, Countess Morninggold. Your passion is quite commendable. And also sad-inasmuch as it demonstrates that you have become a tool of the forces of anarchy that have so blighted our land. You speak of the impossibility of treason against the nonexistent government of Tethyr, and certainly this is true. But in spreading arms and broadcasting resistance among the populace, you seriously impede the establishment of such just and necessary government, and so, in a real sense, betray the people of Tethyr, whom you claim to help."

"Order and government are not one and the same," Zaranda said.

"You will address the lord of the city as 'my lord,' " Enzo instructed.

Hardisty waved a hand, dispensing of formality.

"The Countess Morninggold has told of the patchwork of governments, self-proclaimed nobles, she encountered on her return to Tethyr. Does this not eloquently bespeak the need for the reunification of the country, under a central government strong enough to suppress such petty tyrannies?"

That provoked dark looks and mutters from the council table, since those self-proclaimed nobles had been comfortable sources of income for no few of the people who sat at it.

"I don't doubt a central government could suppress petty tyrannies," Zaranda replied. "But would that necessarily be an improvement? With all respect, isn't it as likely to produce one big tyranny?"

"Zaranda, Zaranda." Hardisty shook his head sadly. "Such cynicism ill becomes you. I wonder if your soul is altogether free of the taint of evil."

"In my life, I have done much that I regret," Zaranda said, "but little I'm ashamed of. Can everyone present claim as much?"

"Insolence!" hissed Baron Zam. "Intolerable."

"Let's put an end to this farce," demanded Hafzul Gorbon, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull's.

"I'm inclined to agree," said Lady Korun, sprawled at apparent ease in her chair. "Clearly the woman's a subversive. Do we really need to hear more of her babbling?"

"Ladies and gentlemen of the council, of Zazesspur-of all of Tethyr," Hardisty said, turning to address the onlookers, "hear me. Our land has come to a fork in its road. Before you lie two paths: my way, which leads through monarchy to order; hers, which leads to anarchy and ultimately dissolution. The time has come to choose. I trust in you-in all of you-to choose wisely. I believe you will turn away from the false promises of 'freedom' that the countess and her ilk hold out, and give yourselves into the care of those who have your interests at heart, and know how best to serve those interests."

"Those who trade freedom for security in the end get neither," Zaranda said ringingly. "Who honors promises made to slaves?"

Armenides rose from the midst of his white-robed acolytes. "Sir Chairman, if I might address the council?"

The Marquis Enzo glanced at Hardisty. "Very well, Your Eminence."

"The countess speaks with the voice of the past. We speak with the voice of the future. What need have the people of Tethyr for arms or the skill of arms? Such can only increase the burden on their souls. I beg of you, good sirs and ladies, disarm these poor people she has deluded before they do harm to others or themselves."

"Listen to what he's saying!" Zaranda challenged the crowd. "What does this government intend for Tethyr that it need fear a people enabled to defend themselves?"

Enzo pounded the table and shouted for order. The crier grew almost apoplectic. City policemen seized Zaranda by the arms and hustled her from the hall.

"What are they planning to do," she cried, "that they know you'll resist if you can?"

The great bronze doors slammed shut on her words.

Through her barred window, Zaranda watched the blue planet Chandos, so near in its circuit about the sun that it showed not just a disk but a hint of roundness, rise up out of the east. Scarcely had it mounted the sky than the faint light of Anadia began to well up from the horizon. She thought of her observatory tower back home in Morninggold, wondered if she would ever watch the stars and playful planets from it again.

Blinking to keep back the tears, she said, "You seem concerned, Your Grace."

Seated at the table, the most recent of her steady stream of visitors raised his head sharply from his hand, like a man who's caught himself dozing off. "It is nothing, Zaranda Star. Or rather… but I cannot allow personal considerations to cloud my vision of duty to city and country."

"Which is to say the lord of the city pays too close attention to your daughter."

"Enough!" snapped Duke Hembreon, jumping to his feet with alacrity a younger man might envy. "I have taken pains to see that you are treated well, but you are still a prisoner. Do not presume too greatly upon my goodwill."

"Still a prisoner," Zaranda said, "and still charged with nothing."

Hembreon frowned. "As of today charges were formally levied against you in council. I have brought a bill of particulars." He held up a scroll tied with a purple ribbon.

"And why was I not present to answer those charges, as Zazesspurian law requires? I certainly didn't have any conflicting appointments."

He failed to meet her eye. "There were special considerations-extraordinary circumstances…"

"Just keep talking that way," Zaranda said mock-approvingly. "Well make a chaotic of you yet."

The old man's spine stiffened. "These are trying times. It is always easy to see which is the path of righteousness when one isn't actually called upon to make the choice."

"I appreciate that. But are you certain the path you want is the one marked, 'His Royal Majesty, Faneuil I'?"

"He stands for the rule of law. He stands for what Tethyr needs."

"Does he? I say he's unleashed disorder on Zazesspur. And it's due to get worse."

"On what do you base your reasoning, young woman?" He tried to sound sternly dismissive. He didn't quite make it.

Got you, you thin-lipped old pillar of rectitude, she thought. Doubt was her ally. "He wants you to go on and declare him king. Yet various of your fellow councilors already have second thoughts about the wisdom of acclaiming him lord of Zazesspur. Hell perceive that, or Armenides will. He needs some new crisis to catapult him onto the throne, and knows it."

"Crisis?" The duke was too polite to sneer.

"Crisis. I think Zazesspur's due for a dose of civil disorder, sooner rather than later. Something that will make the people cry out for a strong hand to restore order." She tipped her head to the side and tapped one finger against her cheek. "I think he'll use Ravenak's ruffians. They're like boulders balanced precariously on the very brink of a precipice, wanting only the tiniest zephyr to bring the whole mountainside crashing down."

"Preposterous!"

"You think so? Try this thought on for size: did anyone encounter a single darkling on Zazesspur's streets before Hardisty began his climb?"

"Woman, I will not stand to hear our new lord's name besmirched. Good evening. Officer of the watch, I wish to be let out at once!"

Immediately bolts began to slide back on the far side of the door. "All I ask," Zaranda said, "is that you remember what I told you."

He gave her a lambent-eyed look of disgust and went out.

Beneath her the bed turned to viscous blackness; without chance to react, she was swallowed up. And then she was falling, endlessly, endlessly-but not endlessly enough. Below her, vanishingly small but somehow clear, a shadowed shape writhed, greater black against blackness.

No matter how you fight it, no matter what you do, you will come to Me, that hated voice hissed. Why struggle against the inevitable? You might spare yourself no little pain.