Emperor and Clown (40 page)

“A
bumpkin, a yokel.”

“Well?”
the old man thundered. Shandie’s eyes widened in alarm.

“That’s
what I am,” Rap said stubbornly. “You want my help? You take me as I am, or not
at all!” Ythbane had mounted the lower step of the dais. He was one step from
the Opal Throne.

“God
of Fools!” the imperor muttered angrily. “Well, then, let’s go!” He glanced at
the silken bellrope dangling by the bed. “A litter ... there isn’t time for
that, is there? Can you magic us there?”

“Yes,
Sire. But if the wardens are watching, it’ll scorch their eyeballs!”

“Let
it!”

Rap
shrugged. All very well to say so, but how was this done? He remembered Ishist
saying that Lith’rian could move himself around without a magic portal, by
means of sheer brute power. Mmm!

Well,
he obviously must not lose anyone on the way, so he stepped between his
companions to take hold of the imperor’s thin elbow and Shandie’s clammy little
hand. He sharpened his view of the ambience . . . the encircling darkness that
was the Opal Palace ... the twinkling minor magics of Hub beyond ... beacons
shining on high towers in the wardens’ lairs ... occasional flickers beyond the
horizon from sorcerers dwelling in distant lands.

He
concentrated on the looming threat of the great Rotunda, estimating distance
and elevations. “Ready?” he asked his companions. Then he held the three of
them still, and moved the ambience.

Fortune’s
fool:

BENVOLIO:
The Prince will doom thee death If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!

ROMEO:
O, I am Fortune’s fool!

BENVOLIO:
Why dost thou stay?

Shakespeare,
Romeo and Juliet, III i

Sacred Flame

Within
the nested darkness of Emine’s Rotunda, under the myriad little flames and
crystals of two candelabra, the Opal Throne crouched in wisps of many somber
hues, dreaming of the evils it had known.

Before
the throne, the regent stood on the top step, clad in purple toga and armed
with the Imperial regalia. One step down, his wife sat on a chair. An empty
chair on the other side was likely intended for Shandie.

Ythbane.
glanced over his audience, as if counting that no one was missing. Straight
ahead of him, at the end of the tapering indigo mosaic, stood South’s Blue
Throne. Below its single candelabrum, it was a floe of light adrift on a sea of
darkness.

And
then the imperor came striding out of that darkness with his grandson and a
sorcerer. The spectators learned the news first from Ythbane’s face. They
turned quickly to inspect the newcomers.

Holding
his eyes firmly on the usurper, Rap could still scan the company. Inos was there,
of course, and the look she was giving him was quite appalling shameless. Her
dumpy aunt beamed at her side. The pleated gown rather suited her, tactfully
hiding her bulges. All the women looked chilled. The men were better off, in
their heavy togas. Azak was lowering and uncertain-so he should be, wrapped in
that sail. Why couldn’t he have been given djinn costume? A scarlet-crested
helmet located Marshal Ithy, and a man in a purple-hemmed white toga had to be
a consul. Three men in red togas and a woman in a red dress must be senators.
Bare chested and helmeted, Ambassador Krushjor and another jotunn were staying
well back on the north side of the illuminated area. Little Chicken was with
them, also in jotunn breeches. He was the only person smiling, unless you
called that outrageous glazed simper of Inos’s a smile.

Rap
wished he knew more of the politics. Who ought to be present and was not? Which
patiently loyal supporters still waited forgotten in the Emerald Hall? No one
of importance, he suspected. Ythbane was depressingly confident.

The
warlocks were Emshandar’s only hope now. Would they answer the regent’s
summons? Whose side would they take?

As
Rap reached the front of the onlookers, he stopped and laid a hand on Shandie’s
puny shoulder to stop him, also.

Emshandar
went on alone, a gaunt, white-haired wraith of vengeance, a striding skeleton
swathed in purple. He halted before the dais and straightened from his usual
stoop. For a moment he stared at Uomaya, who hung her head and did not look at
her father-in-law. Then he lifted his gaze to Ythbane, who smiled.

Two
men in purple, two rulers where there could only be one.

Under
Rap’s hand, Shandie was rigid-trying to hold himself still, hardly breathing
and yet unable to suppress his trembling.

The
confrontation seemed to hold for a month ... and then the imperor broke the silence.
“We relieve you now of your temporary responsibilities, Lord Ythbane.”

Ythbane
shook his head. “We are happy to see that the improvement in your health
continues. Consul?”

One
of the purple-hemmed politicos cleared his throat meaningfully. The imperor
shifted Around to glare at him.

“The
People’s Assembly will be enraptured to hear how your Majesty has rallied and
will certainly vote thanks to the Gods, and a public celebration. Plus prayers
that the remission continues, I shouldn’t wonder.”

The
speech had omitted much more than it included, and Emshandar hadn’t liked it.

“We
congratulate you on your unanticipated promotion, Lord Humaise. Does anyone
know where Consul Uquillpee is?”

Ythbane
broke the silence. “Doubtless he had urgent business elsewhere.”

Rap
scanned. “There is a consul waiting in the Emerald Hall, Sire.” He wondered if
he should bring the man, for he must be an Emshandar supporter, but he was
elderly-the shock might give him a seizure.

The
imperor did not suggest it. With the skill of a lifetime of concealing his
emotions, he looked over the small gathering without expression. “Epoxague,
then? What of the Senate?”

The
man addressed was small and venerable, draped in red. He wore a little
mustache, which was unusual, and he obviously wished the imperor had picked
anyone but him.

“The
Senate will concur in those sentiments, of course.”

“And
rescind the regency?” the old man barked. “It is never easy to predict what the
Senate in its wisdom may decide. But if I had to guess, then I would venture
that the noble senators would lean to the view that resolutions cannot be
juggled to and fro with every up or down of your Majesty’s condition. Of
course, if the remission is long-lived ... If, after six months or so, your
Majesty shows no signs of a relapse, then I feel sure that restitution of your
former standing would be possible.”

His
face told Rap that he did not expect the old man to live that long under any
circumstances. Inos and her aunt were scowling at him. They would be on the
imperor’s side, of course, because Rap obviously was. Everyone else had been
carefully selected from the Ythbane partisans.

Emshandar’s
shoulders had sunk a little. He looked around again. “Ithy?” he said quietly.

As
if he had expected the summons, the marshal removed his helmet and tucked it
under his arm. His hair was short and grizzled, his face leathery and somber.
He paced slowly forward to confront the old man at close quarters, as a bull
might inspect a scarecrow unexpectedly invading its pasture.

“Em!”
he said softly-so softly that many, perhaps, did not hear. “My standing orders
say I report to the regent. But I learned my trade from men you taught, Em. My
commission bears your signet. You administered my oath of office. What exactly
are you asking of me now?”

The
regent frowned, and Rap sensed the first tremor in his confidence, but very
small-a doubt as insubstantial as a cloud of gnats.

For
a long moment the old imperor stared into the soldier’s eyes, and the audience
held its breath. “To uphold the law, Ithy, as you swore.”

The
marshal nodded. He replaced his helmet, saluted smartly, and went marching back
to his former place.

An
invisible corona of triumph seemed to blaze up around the regent, and his
friends were exchanging sly smiles. He made an almost imperceptible gesture
with the short bronze sword, as if challenging the haggard old man to charge up
the steps and take the throne by storm.

Emshandar’s
shoulders slumped further. He glanced despairingly around at Rap.

“Ah,
yes!” Ythbane said. “We thought you’d brought along a gardener, but we remember
now. He’s a sorcerer, isn’t he? How odd that the imperor emeritus would bring a
sorcerer into Emine’s Rotunda! You will of course have an opportunity to appeal
to the Four very shortly. They have been known to overrule the Assembly and the
Senate and the Imperial army-but we cannot recall exactly when the last time
was. And they don’t approve of stray sorcerers meddling in their business!”

The
old man tried to straighten again, his face flushed. He was almost out of
strength.

Ythbane
could tell. His smile was a poison stiletto. “Maya, my dear, your father-in-law
is weary. Why don’t you help him over to the chair we brought for him?” He
pointed with his sword to where a plain wooden stool sat far back, barely
visible in the dark.

His
wife pouted at him and then at her father, her face sour and disagreeable. She
did not move.

Rap
realized with surprise that his hand on Shandie’s shoulder was shaking more
than the shoulder was. The boy seemed to sense this at the same moment, and
glanced up at him questioningly.

Ythbane
noticed the movement. He smiled at his stepson as a snake might smile at a
mouse. “And we brought a chair for little Shandie, also! Come and sit here by
us, son.”

A
shiver ran through the prince and the sorcerer both.

“I
have a question!” Rap barked. “Did you beat this boy?”

“I
always beat him after formal ceremonies,” Ythbane said in a toneless voice. “Nearly
always.”

Rap
had spoken on impulse and compelled a reply almost unconsciously. Puzzled by
that reply, he pressed harder. “For what reason?”

“I
tell him he has been fidgeting, but in fact I want to make him fear and hate
formal ceremonies of any kind, so that when he comes to his majority, he will
be happy to leave the conduct of state business to me.”

The
faun in Rap shrank back in horror, and the jotunn part of him clenched like a
fist. He said harshly, “You enjoy it?”

“Yes,
I do.” The words were a stench in the ambience.

“And
what was the medicine you gave him?”

“Another
precaution, an elvish draft of poppy and narcotic, guaranteed to be
habit-forming and debilitating. He is already addicted, and will remain easily
controlled by it, even as an adult.”

Evil
of evils! Rap glanced triumphantly over the audience to see what effect this
odious confession had produced.

Almost
none. So a boy had been whipped? Every man present had been beaten often enough
in his youth; none of them had seen Shandie’s injuries. Epoxague was frowning,
and a few of the others, but they were not about to change their political
views because of something said in the presence of a sorcerer.

Released
from his truth trance, Ythbane was flushing furiously.

“We
expect the wardens will be interested in what was just done!” he snapped. He
raised the sword to strike at the small shield on his left arm. Then he
hesitated, eyes glinting. “Come here, Shandie!”

Shandie
twitched. Rap tightened his grip to prevent him moving.

“Very
well!” Ythbane said. He started to swing the sword.

This
was the human reptile who had provoked Rap’s foolish outburst of sorcery in the
first place, and that stupidity had done no good at all. Indeed the day’s
events had likely strengthened the regent’s position. Now he was glorying in
his evil ways, likely to triumph completely, even winning back Shandie, that
innocent pawn, prize, puppet .. .

Intolerable!
Rap struck magic at Ythbane as a man might swing a stick against a tall weed.
The regent passed right over the lower dais and crashed to the floor beyond.
The shield clanged, the sword went clattering away into the darkness. Uomaya
screamed, and a few others cried out. Shandie whooped and jumped joyfully.

Ythbane
tried to rise, and Rap struck him again, knowing he must knock the man
unconscious quickly, or in his jotunn madness he would surely kill him.

The
regent lay still, blood trickling from his mouth.

Better]

The
audience was petrified.

Inos
glared furiously at Rap. Idiot! said her eyes, Now you have really done it, my
lad. She definitely had a point there. Striking the ruler from his thronein
three thousand years, there could have been no worse desecration of Emine’s
Rotunda.

Emshandar
was the first to move. He shuffled over to the prostrate Ythbane and bent to
tug at the shield until it came loose from the limp arm. Then he headed out
into the shadows to retrieve the sword. He came hobbling back, flashing Rap a
glance of jubilation.

He
climbed the two steps until he stood before the Opal Throne. His
daughter-in-law stared up at him in terror, but Shandie was grinning. So were
Inos and her aunt. Everyone else was shocked into silence, most of them staring
in confusion at the thrones of the wardens, still inexplicably deserted.

The
imperor spoke first to Uomaya. “Be gone from my sight]” he said hoarsely,
pointing with his sword at the outer darkness. She slid sideways from her
chair, gaping at him as if expecting to be cut down. Then she turned and fled.

The
old man sank wearily onto the throne that had been his for a generation. For a
moment he just panted quietly, looking over the assembled witnesses with
evident satisfaction, displaying the teeth that seemed so oversized for his
wasted features. Legally nothing had changed, Rap knew. Legally Ythbane still
reigned. But men were ruled by their hearts as well as by laws, and Emshandar
seated on the throne of his forefathers and holding the state regalia was not
the friendless petitioner who had been spurned so lightly a few minutes ago.
Now he could rule hearts, and minds must follow.