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Authors: Steven Brust
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Khaavren shook his head, “It seems as if five centuries have simply vanished, and we are here as we always were.”
Aerich gave the smallest smile, Pel saluted, and Tazendra threw her head back and laughed.
“But go on,” said Pel. “Let us hear this famous plan.”
“Yes, yes,” said Tazendra. “Let us hear it.”
“It is very simple,” said Khaavren. “In the first place, you must know that Lord Adron is a rebel.”
“That is clear,” said Pel.
“And that, if he is defeated, he must be arrested.”
“That follows naturally,” said Pel.
“As Captain of the Guard, it is my duty to arrest him.”
They all nodded.
“His Majesty, in fact, has told me that I am responsible for this.”
They waited.
“What I do not understand,” said Khaavren, “is why it is necessary to await the end of the battle before arresting our friend the Prince.”
“Bah!” said Tazendra. “Does one arrest one’s friends?”
“Sometimes,” said Aerich.
“And yet,” said Tazendra. “To make an arrest, well, it is not much of a plan.”
“Tazendra does not comprehend,” pronounced Pel.
“My dear,” said Khaavren, “I speak of arresting him in the midst of a battle. That is, of finding a way past the lines of fine Dragonlords bent on slaughtering one another, and Teckla waiting to be slaughtered, and then meeting up with Lord Adron, and taking him away.”
“Oh,” said Tazendra. She considered. “That is rather different.”
“Indeed,” said Pel. He smiled. “It will certainly make an adventure, if we can do it.”
“If we can do it?” said Khaavren. “Cha! We are all of us together. What could stop us?”
“Well, I nearly think I agree with you,” said Pel.
“Come, Aerich, what do you think?”
“In truth,” said the Lyorn, “it does not please me to arrest His Highness, a man I revere, and a friend for whom I have no small regard. And yet—”
“Well, and yet?”
“For reasons that I cannot speak of, even to you, my friends, think we not only should, but must get to Adron, and arrest him, before he can—that is, as soon as possible. Indeed, I’d have proposed something like it myself, only, as I am no longer a guardsman, I have no authority to make arrests. But in Khaavren’s company, and with Khaavren as our Captain, well, I no longer have any objection to make.”
Khaavren nodded. Though he wondered at the dire hints contained in the Lyorn’s speech, he knew better than to ask about matters concerning which Aerich preferred to remain mute. He said, “And you, Tazendra?”
“How, me?”
“Yes. Do you like the plan?”
“My dear Khaavren, five hundred years ago, the four of us were near to facing an army of Easterners. Do you remember?”
“Why, yes,” said Khaavren. “As it happens, this event has not escaped my memory. What of it?”
“Well, since that time, I have often regretted that we did not have the opportunity to fight that army; it would have been a glorious thing.”
“And then?”
“This time, instead of an army of Easterners, it is an army of Dragonlords—moreover, an army of His Highness’s crack troops.”
“And so you are for it?”
“With my whole heart.”
“Then we are agreed?” said Khaavren.
“Agreed,” said Aerich.
“Agreed,” said Pel.
“Agreed,” said Tazendra.
“In that case,” said Khaavren, standing, “we must be on our way at once. It is dawn, and we must be past the wall before the battle is joined.”
As the Breath of Fire Battalion forms its ranks, we will turn our attention to a district of the City called Catchman Tower; so called because it was dominated by the slender spire of a tower built during the Twelfth Chreotha Reign by Lord Catchman. The tower, in fact, served no useful purpose, but, made of pale white stone polished smooth as glass, it was not unattractive. The district was not, in fact, in the Underside, but was rather just to the east, bounded by the Street of the Tsalmoth, and it was a short distance from the Street of the Tsalmoth that a group of urchins from the Underside, having ventured out of their district in the excitement of the night, were amusing themselves by throwing stones and other objects at a squadron of four guardsmen of the White Sash Battalion. We are not unaware of the ironic resonance that the contrived riot and the real uprising were instigated similarly—that is, by young people throwing things at the police. Yet it is significant that, in one case, it was the humiliation of rotten vegetables, while in the other, it was the far deeper humiliation of death, for, by chance, one of these stones, thrown by an unusually burly Teckla youth with a good eye, struck a guardsman named Heth square in the forehead with such force that he was killed on the spot.
Without consultation, the other three guardsmen left him there and set off in pursuit of the urchins, who had begun running upon seeing Heth fall. The guardsmen were faster and the distance was not great, but, turning into an alley, the urchins ducked into the first house they came to, which was shared by six families of Teckla, who worked at the clothing mill by the canal. It happened that the clothing mill had been shut down two days before, and so all of the Teckla were both frightened and angry. Upon hearing the commotion, they opened their door in time to see, not the urchins (who were hiding in a basement storage room) but six guardsmen with weapons drawn and blood in their eyes.
The Teckla, as will happen on occasion, were angrier at the intrusion than they were frightened at the guardsmen, and moreover, counting only those of a
reasonable age, they outnumbered the guardsmen by some twenty-eight to three—they greeted the guardsmen, then, with sticks, brooms, kitchen knives, and whatever else was to hand.
reasonable age, they outnumbered the guardsmen by some twenty-eight to three—they greeted the guardsmen, then, with sticks, brooms, kitchen knives, and whatever else was to hand.
The guardsmen, chased into the street, called for help, and it happened that help was available, for there were two other squadrons of four within earshot.
The Teckla called for help as well, and there were some hundreds of Teckla, as well as no small number of tradesmen of other houses, who were also within earshot.
The Five Hour Uprising had begun.
Which Treats of Uprisings
In General and Specific
With Special Emphasis on Their Effects
On Heroes and Brigands
In Providing Distractions, and
In Making It Difficult to Cross the Street
.
In General and Specific
With Special Emphasis on Their Effects
On Heroes and Brigands
In Providing Distractions, and
In Making It Difficult to Cross the Street
.
I
T IS COMMONLY BELIEVED BY the shallow and the ignorant that human attitude, character, and opinion is immutable. Even those who, in their own lifetimes, observe the wearing away of stone, the eroding of mountains, and the shifting of rivers, will go so far as to say that an entire group of people—a thousand times more volatile than our stone, mountain, or river—is this way or that way, holds these opinions or subscribes to those beliefs; thus not only committing the error of seeing a populace as an organism not made up of countless and vital divisions and differences, but also failing to see that the opinions of masses of people, when subjected to sudden changes in their circumstances, can alter more quickly than the color of the Orb can respond to a change in the spirits of the Emperor. Needless to say, such people have only the most absurd and foolish explanations for the Five Hour Uprising that occurred on the seventeenth day of the month of the Vallista in Dragaera City and her surrounding districts.
T IS COMMONLY BELIEVED BY the shallow and the ignorant that human attitude, character, and opinion is immutable. Even those who, in their own lifetimes, observe the wearing away of stone, the eroding of mountains, and the shifting of rivers, will go so far as to say that an entire group of people—a thousand times more volatile than our stone, mountain, or river—is this way or that way, holds these opinions or subscribes to those beliefs; thus not only committing the error of seeing a populace as an organism not made up of countless and vital divisions and differences, but also failing to see that the opinions of masses of people, when subjected to sudden changes in their circumstances, can alter more quickly than the color of the Orb can respond to a change in the spirits of the Emperor. Needless to say, such people have only the most absurd and foolish explanations for the Five Hour Uprising that occurred on the seventeenth day of the month of the Vallista in Dragaera City and her surrounding districts.
For example, we have heard from one that it was a vast conspiracy on the part of the Jhereg—certain proof that that historian, who shall remain nameless, has yet to become acquainted with the Cycle. Another has suggested certain intoxicants accidentally making their way into the water supply—which gives us to wonder: Where exists this water supply unanimously drunk by Teckla and tradesmen, yet never tasted by the nobility? We have even heard it suggested that Adron himself deliberately worked for this end—Adron, be it understood, who had only the vaguest notion that there even was such a thing as a populace.
But leaving aside such theories, it is certainly the case that to see such a drastic change occur so quickly, and with so little warning, will, no doubt, surprise many readers; in fact, we should not be surprised to learn that some readers have thought that we ought to have better prepared them for so shocking a revelation, and that there are facts of which we have kept the reader
ignorant, and that, in effect, we have ill-used the reader by withholding these statistics. To any such reader we tender our sincere regrets.
ignorant, and that, in effect, we have ill-used the reader by withholding these statistics. To any such reader we tender our sincere regrets.
Yet those who hold these opinions ought to remember, in the first place, that nearly to a man, all of those who dwelt in the city at that time, even those who had—like the drops from the two-minute clock-fountain in the Lyorn Court—been predicting exactly such occurrences for centuries—and predicting them, be it understood, always for some day in the nebulous future—were taken entirely by surprise. Khaavren, in fact, who made it a matter of policy to be in touch with the pulse, as it were, of the city, had not expected the eruption as soon as, or with the violence with which, it actually occurred. The one exception, in fact, was Grita, who lived in the worst area of the city and consorted with all manner of shady characters, and had been working for some time to bring about exactly this result; although, as the reader will discover, even she was amazed at the suddenness and ferocity of the spontaneous outburst against order and decency that took hold of the minds of the population.
In the second place, we beg any of our readers who may be annoyed to remember that we have, in fact, been forecasting exactly this occurrence; beginning with Khaavren’s first conversation with the pastry-vendor, who discussed the effect of the wheat-tax on the citizens, to his latest discussion with this same pastry-vendor, who spoke of the collapse of his hopes in terms that Khaavren, at least, understood to be symbolic of the collapse of the world around him.
These, then, are our excuses, should the reader feel himself to have been misled. As for those who were involved in the Five Hour Uprising, either attempting to quell it or adding fuel, as it were, to the fire, no one was as befuddled as the participants; which circumstance is, in fact, inevitable. There are some historians who, even today, lay the blame at the feet of the short-lived leaders; yet according to all of the evidence, these leaders, as amazed as anyone, were catapulted to the top of the Uprising as it progressed, because, like Plumtree, they expressed themselves in public a little better than their compatriots; or, like Tibrock, they had been expressing themselves in writing and were thus in the public eye; or, like Hithaguard, they made one or two suggestions that were well-received by their fellows and thus were called upon to make more. Certainly, none of the leaders had planned on such an Uprising, or, indeed, had the least idea of where it ought to go; it had, as it were, its own mind, and there was little anyone could do once it had been set on its destructive, and ultimately futile course. To lay the blame on such “leaders” as these is to blind one’s self to the logic of the Uprising.
What was the logic of the Uprising? Or, if the reader prefers, who was actually to blame? Pleasant as it might be, for the value of surprise if for no
other reason, to lay the blame at anyone’s feet but Tortaalik’s, it is difficult to do so. That is, though others may have erred, certainly it was His Majesty’s failure to address the problems of the very city in which he lived that was the direct cause of the people’s exasperation. And yet, one might fairly ask: What could he have done? It is an inarguable fact that, with every day that passed, wheat became scarcer. To replace the wheat with rice from the South would have meant unblocking the harbor and providing the pirates of Elde Island with choice targets upon which to practice their trade; and, even if the Orca had taken it upon itself to rid the seas of these pirates, the cost in transport of the rice would have been greater even than the wheat; all of which does not even consider whether the populace would have been willing to substitute rice patties for bread, a proposition the historian finds dubious at best.
other reason, to lay the blame at anyone’s feet but Tortaalik’s, it is difficult to do so. That is, though others may have erred, certainly it was His Majesty’s failure to address the problems of the very city in which he lived that was the direct cause of the people’s exasperation. And yet, one might fairly ask: What could he have done? It is an inarguable fact that, with every day that passed, wheat became scarcer. To replace the wheat with rice from the South would have meant unblocking the harbor and providing the pirates of Elde Island with choice targets upon which to practice their trade; and, even if the Orca had taken it upon itself to rid the seas of these pirates, the cost in transport of the rice would have been greater even than the wheat; all of which does not even consider whether the populace would have been willing to substitute rice patties for bread, a proposition the historian finds dubious at best.
The price of wheat is, then, as much a culprit as anything, and for this we can lay the blame on—the weather, for had the drought broken, the prices of wheat, flax, maize, harbrand, and lockbean would necessarily have fallen. But, then, why was not the end of the drought brought about by sorcery, as even then lay within the skills of wizards of the House of the Athyra? And here, once more, we are forced to conclude that His Majesty erred—erred in remaining ignorant too long, erred in requesting rather than requiring the Athyra to address the problem, and finally, erred in placing so much import on the Imperial Treasury that he allowed the Athyra, the Dragon, and the Dzur to intimidate him into requesting, rather than requiring, action which he ought to have known was necessary.
In any event, however, the people of the city began to fear that they were abandoned; that their daily bread was, more than threatened, actually denied to them. As their fear grew, so did the degree to which they listened to the least rumor which offered a hope, or a hero, or, failing these, at least a culprit. Aliera’s action at the bakery had provided a hope; the rumors of Her Majesty siding with the greedy merchants to artificially raise prices (which was never true) provided a culprit. The rebel Prince, through his grievances, in point of fact, had little to do with the danger of famine in the city, became another hero. And thus when rumors abounded that the Emperor was sending the Imperial Army against him, the Emperor became another culprit.
The day before the Uprising—that is, the 16
th
day of the Month of the Vallista, matters reached a certain height; it was impossible to walk half a league anywhere in the city without seeing someone on a street corner declaiming loudly, and publicly, against His Majesty, against Her Majesty, against Jurabin, and against the Guard, who arrested those who so declaimed, which arrests became fresh grievances. Some, frightened by these demonstrations, left the city that day; others left for fear of Adron, whom they were afraid might, in his justified (so they thought) wrath against His Majesty,
slaughter every citizen without regard for politics (indeed, among those who stayed, many put up placards with crude drawings of Adron’s seal, hoping to convince his supposed hundreds of thousands of troops to leave them in peace, and it was these placards, as much as anything else, which drove the fatigued and harassed Baroness Stonemover to such harsh measures against the least sign of disloyalty); still others left out of vague, ill-formed notions that all was not right in the city and would only get worse.
th
day of the Month of the Vallista, matters reached a certain height; it was impossible to walk half a league anywhere in the city without seeing someone on a street corner declaiming loudly, and publicly, against His Majesty, against Her Majesty, against Jurabin, and against the Guard, who arrested those who so declaimed, which arrests became fresh grievances. Some, frightened by these demonstrations, left the city that day; others left for fear of Adron, whom they were afraid might, in his justified (so they thought) wrath against His Majesty,
slaughter every citizen without regard for politics (indeed, among those who stayed, many put up placards with crude drawings of Adron’s seal, hoping to convince his supposed hundreds of thousands of troops to leave them in peace, and it was these placards, as much as anything else, which drove the fatigued and harassed Baroness Stonemover to such harsh measures against the least sign of disloyalty); still others left out of vague, ill-formed notions that all was not right in the city and would only get worse.
These last were, we must insist, exactly right, as the events of the 17
th
proved, although, in two different ways, it was that very panic that indirectly provided what Grita had called “the spark,” as we now propose to demonstrate.
th
proved, although, in two different ways, it was that very panic that indirectly provided what Grita had called “the spark,” as we now propose to demonstrate.
In the first place, with such a sizable portion of the population gone (and estimates have ranged as high as ten out of every hundred citizens), undisciplined youth, especially Teckla, felt free to roam the streets and engage in mischief in a way they would never have dared if the population had not been so diminished.
And in the second, the final impetus that exasperated the population beyond endurance was the closing of the gates of the city before dawn on the 17
th
. To be sure, there was no other choice—Rollondar knew what he had to work with, and knew the speed of the Breath of Fire Battalion—by leaving any gate open except that within which his army assembled was to invite the Prince to attack the Imperial Army’s flank. But, to the people, this was not seen as a military maneuver, but, rather, as a petty, tyrannical gesture intended to prevent them from leaving the city where they faced conditions of starvation and repression. Does the reader wonder that they reacted to this development with either rage or panic—which two reactions, we should say, were indistinguishable by dawn? Here, again, we find the curious inevitability which seems to have followed the Uprising from its beginning to its tragic conclusion.
th
. To be sure, there was no other choice—Rollondar knew what he had to work with, and knew the speed of the Breath of Fire Battalion—by leaving any gate open except that within which his army assembled was to invite the Prince to attack the Imperial Army’s flank. But, to the people, this was not seen as a military maneuver, but, rather, as a petty, tyrannical gesture intended to prevent them from leaving the city where they faced conditions of starvation and repression. Does the reader wonder that they reacted to this development with either rage or panic—which two reactions, we should say, were indistinguishable by dawn? Here, again, we find the curious inevitability which seems to have followed the Uprising from its beginning to its tragic conclusion.
Does the reader wish to know details of the Uprising? Does the reader wish to know how much of Dragaera burned that day? Which buildings were looted? Whose home was invaded, and what became of the dwellers therein? In fact, there were not as many incidents of this type, nor were they as destructive, as many believe; certainly any institution representing the Empire in any way was attacked, and many counting-houses looted and burned; and of course some areas of the Palace, especially the Jhegaala Wing with its long exposed neck, and the isolated pagodas that formed part of the Yendi Wing, were burned and battered. But for the most part, it was the worst portions of the city, such as the Underside, which both provided the berserkers and took most of the damage.
In all, the Five Hour Uprising went through most of the stages of a normal uprising in a compressed time—the sudden, uncontrolled riot, the rising of
leaders, the refusal of the Empire to treat with those leaders, the consolidation of the insurgents and their leaders into what Lord Mikric has termed an “alternate Imperium”—a second, but almost equally effective ruling body, which took as its home, instead of the Imperial Palace, the short, elegant, and practical Pamlar University Administration Building—a fact which some historians have attempted to make symbolic. The Uprising, we should add, was spared the inevitable quarrels over power and policy that accompany success, just as it was spared the inevitable executions and repressions that accompany failure; yet, for all of that, it was a full-scale uprising, complete in nearly every detail and carried through in just under five hours.
leaders, the refusal of the Empire to treat with those leaders, the consolidation of the insurgents and their leaders into what Lord Mikric has termed an “alternate Imperium”—a second, but almost equally effective ruling body, which took as its home, instead of the Imperial Palace, the short, elegant, and practical Pamlar University Administration Building—a fact which some historians have attempted to make symbolic. The Uprising, we should add, was spared the inevitable quarrels over power and policy that accompany success, just as it was spared the inevitable executions and repressions that accompany failure; yet, for all of that, it was a full-scale uprising, complete in nearly every detail and carried through in just under five hours.
We have said this to be certain that the reader has some understanding of the situation in which those we have been following throughout our history found themselves—the background, if we may, against which our history is painted. The precise details of this Uprising, as we hope we have shown, are an endless source of fascination and speculation, but we have no intention of actually spending the reader’s time on any of it beyond this point—in other words, it is only to the degree to which the Five Hour Uprising has an effect on our history that we have chosen to introduce and give a brief synopsis of its life and death.
For our purposes, then, it is sufficient to say that, as the light of day grew on the morning of the 17
th
a haze of smoke was already beginning to form over the city. It was beneath this haze, in the first hours of dawn, that Mario made his way once more to the Imperial Wing of the Palace. This time his methods were different—faster, less elegant, but just as effective. It is not hard to imagine where he found one of the uniform cloaks of the Phoenix Guard—he removed it from a corpse. Whether he found the corpse or whether, if the reader will permit, he
created
the corpse, we cannot know, but certainly with a few dabs of dirt cleverly applied to his face to both conceal his identity and make his features appear more Dragon-like, and with the uniform cloak of the White Sash Battalion, he had no difficulty presenting himself as a guardsman just come from facing the angry rabble; and when he claimed to have an urgent message from Baroness Stonemover to His Majesty, he was treated with every courtesy, and asked, moreover, if the message could not wait until the Palace was open, some two hours hence.
th
a haze of smoke was already beginning to form over the city. It was beneath this haze, in the first hours of dawn, that Mario made his way once more to the Imperial Wing of the Palace. This time his methods were different—faster, less elegant, but just as effective. It is not hard to imagine where he found one of the uniform cloaks of the Phoenix Guard—he removed it from a corpse. Whether he found the corpse or whether, if the reader will permit, he
created
the corpse, we cannot know, but certainly with a few dabs of dirt cleverly applied to his face to both conceal his identity and make his features appear more Dragon-like, and with the uniform cloak of the White Sash Battalion, he had no difficulty presenting himself as a guardsman just come from facing the angry rabble; and when he claimed to have an urgent message from Baroness Stonemover to His Majesty, he was treated with every courtesy, and asked, moreover, if the message could not wait until the Palace was open, some two hours hence.
“How,” said Mario, pretending dismay, “two hours? And yet I am told the message is urgent.”
“Well,” said a well-meaning guardsman, “you must convince me it is urgent enough to disturb His Majesty, who is only now rising from his bed.”
“That decision,” said Mario, “I am loath to make. But come, perhaps I can explain to Lord Khaavren; surely he will be able to advise me.”
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