Robert Silverberg - Valentine Pontifex

“The Coronal, you have just told me, will be the supreme commander.”

“No, my lord. The Pontifex must be the supreme commander.”

The silence that followed seemed to endure for a thousand years. Lord Valentine stood almost motionless: he might have been a statue, but for the slight flickering of his eyelids and the occasional quiver of a muscle in his cheek. Hissune waited tensely, not daring to speak. Now that he had done it, he felt amazed at his own temerity in delivering such an ultimatum to the Coronal. But it was done. It could not be withdrawn. If Lord Valentine in his wrath were to strip him of his rank and send him back to beg in the streets of the Labyrinth, so be it: it was done, it could not be withdrawn.

The Coronal began to laugh.

It was a laughter that began somewhere deep within him and rose like a geyser through his chest to his lips: a great bellowing booming laugh, more the sort of sound that some giant like Lisamon Hultin or Zalzan Kavol might make than anything one would expect the gentle Lord Valentine to let loose. It went on and on, until Hissune began to fear that the Coronal had taken leave of his senses; but just then it ceased, swiftly and suddenly, and nothing remained of Lord Valentine’s bizarre mirth but a strange glittering smile.

“Well done!” he cried. “Ah, well done, Hissune, well done!”

“My lord?”

“And tell me, who is the new Coronal to be?”

“My lord, you must understand that these are only proposals—for the sake of the greater efficiency of the government in this time of crisis—”

“Yes, of course. And who, I ask you again, is to be brought forward in the name of greater efficiency?”

“My lord, the choice of a successor remains always with the former Coronal.”

“So it does. But the candidates—are they not proposed by the high counsellors and princes? Elidath was the heir presumptive—but Elidath, as I think you must know, is dead. So, then—who is it to be, Hissune?”

“Several names were discussed,” said Hissune softly. He could scarcely bear to look directly at Lord Valentine now. “If this is offensive to you, my lord—”

“Several names, yes. Whose?”

“My lord Stasilaine, for one. But he at once declared that he had no wish to be Coronal. My lord Divvis, for another—”

“Divvis must never be Coronal!” said Lord Valentine sharply, with a glance toward the Lady. “He has all the faults of my brother Voriax, and none of his merits. Except valor, I suppose, and a certain forcefulness. Which are insufficient.”

“There was one other name, my lord.”

“Yours, Hissune?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Hissune, but he could get the words out only in a choking whisper. “Mine.”

Lord Valentine smiled. “And would you serve?”

“If I were asked, my lord, yes. Yes.”

The Coronal’s eyes bore down intensely on Hissune’s, who withstood that fierce inquiry without flinching.

“Well, then, there is no problem, eh? My mother would have me ascend. The Council of Regency would have me ascend. Old Tyeveras surely would have me ascend.”

“Valentine—” said the Lady, frowning.

“No, all is well, mother. I understand what must be done. I can hesitate no longer, can I? Therefore I accept my destiny. We will send word to Hornkast that Tyeveras is to be permitted at last to cross the Bridge of Farewells. You, mother, you finally may put down your burden, as I know you wish to do, and retire to the ease of the life of a former Lady. You, Elsinome: your task is only beginning. And yours, Hissune. See, the thing is done. It is as I intended, only sooner, perhaps, than I had expected.” Hissune, watching the Coronal in astonishment and perplexity, saw the expression on his face shift: the harshness, the uncharacteristic ferocity, left his features, and into his eyes came the ease and warmth and gentleness of the Valentine he had once been, and that eerie rigid glittering smile, so close almost to a madman’s, was replaced by the old Valentine-smile, kind, tender, loving. “It is done,” said Valentine quietly. He raised his hands and held them forth in the starburst sign, and cried, “Long life to the Coronal! Long life to Lord Hissune!”

Three of the five great ministers of the Pontificate were already in the council-chamber when Hornkast entered. In the center, as usual, sat the Ghayrog Shinaam, minister of external affairs, his forked tongue flickering nervously, as though he believed that a death sentence was about to be passed not on the ancient creature he had served so long, but on himself. Beside him was the empty seat of the physician Sepulthrove, and to the right of that was Dilifon, that shriveled and palsied little man, sitting huddled in his thronelike chair, gripping its armrests for support; but his eyes were alive with a fire Hornkast had not seen in them for years. On the other side of the room was the dream-speaker Narrameer, radiating dark morbidity and terror from behind the absurdly voluptuous sorcery-induced beauty with which she cloaked her century-old body. How long, Hornkast wondered, had each of these three been awaiting this day? And what provision had they made in their souls for the time of its coming?

“Where is Sepulthrove?” Hornkast demanded.

“With the Pontifex,” said Dilifon. “He was summoned to the throne-room an hour ago. The Pontifex has begun to speak once more, so we have been told.”

“Strange that I was not notified,” said Hornkast.

“We knew that you were receiving a message from the Coronal,” Shinaam said. “We thought it best you not be disturbed.”

“This is the day, is it not?” Narrameer asked, leaning tensely forward, running her fingers again and again through her thick, lustrous black hair.

Hornkast nodded. “This is the day.”

“One can hardly believe it,” said Dilifon. “The farce has gone on so long it seemed it might never end!”

“It ends today,” said Hornkast. “Here is the decree. Quite elegantly phrased, in truth.”

Shinaam, with a thin rasping laugh, said, “I would like to know what sort of phrases one uses in condemning a reigning Pontifex to death. It is a document that will be much studied by future generations, I think.”

“The decree condemns no one to death,” said Hornkast. “It issues no instructions. It is merely a proclamation of the Coronal Lord Valentine’s grief upon the death of his father and the father of us all, the great Pontifex Tyeveras.”

“Ah, he is shrewder than I thought!” Dilifon said. “His hands remain clean!”

“They always do,” said Narrameer. “Tell me, Hornkast: who is the new Coronal to be?”

“Hissune son of Elsinome has been chosen.”

“The young prince out of the Labyrinth?”

“The same.”

“Amazing. And there is to be a new Lady, then?”

“Elsinome,” said Hornkast.

“This is a revolution!” cried Shinaam. “Valentine has overturned Castle Mount with a single push! Who can believe it? Who can believe it? Lord Hissune! Can it be? How do the princes of the Mount accept it?”

“I think they had little choice,” Hornkast replied. “But let us not concern ourselves with the princes of the Mount. We have our own tasks to carry out, on this our final day of power,”

“And thanks be to the Divine that it is,” said Dilifon.

The Ghayrog glared at him. “You speak for yourself alone!”

“Perhaps I do. But I speak also for the Pontifex Tyeveras.”

“Who seems to be speaking for himself this day, eh?” said Hornkast. He peered at the document in his hand. “There are several curious problems that I must call to your attention. For example, my staff has so far been unable to locate any description of the proper procedure for proclaiming the death of a Pontifex and the ascension of a new one, it having been so long since such an event has occurred.”