The Shining Ones (34 page)

‘The council will now come to order!’ Pondia Subat repeated.

Ulath broke some more tiles.

‘By command of his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Sarabian, this council is called to order!’

‘Good God, Subat,’ Sarabian groaned, half to himself, ‘will you destroy the floor entirely?’

‘Gentlemen, his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamuli!’

A single trumpet voiced a clear, ringing theme of majestically descending notes. Then another joined the first to repeat the theme a third of an octave higher – then another trumpet another third higher. Then, in a great crescendo and still higher, the musicians all joined in to fill the throne-room with shimmering echoes.

‘Impressive,’ Sarabian noted. ‘Do we go in now?’

‘Not yet,’ Ehlana told him. ‘The music changes. That’s when we start. Pay attention to my hand on your arm. Let me set the pace. Don’t jump when we get to the thrones. Stragen’s got a whole brass band hidden in various parts of the room. The climax will be thunderous. Draw yourself up, throw your shoulders back, and look regal. Try your very best to look like a God.’

‘Are you having fun, Ehlana?’

She grinned impishly at him and winked. ‘There,’ she said, ‘the flutes at the back of the hall have picked up the theme. That’s our signal. Good luck, my friend.’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek and then laid her hand on his arm. ‘One,’ she said, listening intently to the music. ‘Two.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Now.’ And the Emperor of Tamuli and the Queen of Elenia stepped through the archway and crossed with regal pace toward their golden thrones as the flutes at the rear of the hall softly sang the plaintive accompaniment of Stragen’s main theme, set now in a minor key. Immediately behind them came Sparhawk, Mirtai, Engessa and Bevier. Talen, Alean and Itagne, who was still puffing slightly from running through the halls, followed.

As the royal party reached the thrones, Stragen, who was using his rapier as a conductor’s baton, led his hidden musicians into a fortissimo recapitulation of his main theme. The sound was overwhelming. It was not entirely certain whether the members of the imperial council fell to their faces out of habit or were knocked down by that enormous blast of sound. Stragen cut his rapier sharply to one side, and the musicians broke off, slashed as it were into silence, leaving the echoes shimmering in the air like ghosts.

Pondia Subat rose to his feet. ‘Will your Majesty address some few remarks to this assemblage before we commence?’ he asked in an almost insultingly superior
tone. The question was sheer formality, almost ritualistic. The Emperor traditionally did not speak at these sessions.

‘Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I believe I will, Pondia Subat,’ Sarabian replied, rising again to his feet. ‘So good of you to ask, old boy.’

Subat gaped at him, his expression incredulous. ‘But…’

‘Was there something, Subat?’

‘This is most irregular, your Majesty.’

‘I know. Refreshing, isn’t it? We’ve got a lot to cover today, Subat, so let’s get cracking.’

‘Your Majesty has not consulted with me. We cannot proceed if I don’t know what issues are…’

‘Sit, Subat!’ Sarabian snapped. ‘Stay!’ His tone was one of command. ‘You will remain silent until I give you leave to speak.’

‘You can’t…’

‘I said sit down!’

Subat quailed and sank into his chair.

‘Your head’s none too tightly attached just now, my Lord Prime Minister,’ Sarabian said ominously, ‘and if you waggle it at me in the wrong way, it might just fall off. You’ve been tiptoeing right on the brink of treason, Pondia Subat, and I’m more than a little put out with you.’

The Prime Minister’s face went deathly pale.

Sarabian began to pace up and down on the dais, his face like a thundercloud.

‘Please, God, make him stand still,’ Ehlana said under her breath. ‘He can’t make a decent speech if he’s loping around the dais like a gazelle in flight.’

Then the Emperor stopped to stand at the very front of the slightly elevated platform. ‘I’m not going to waste time with banalities, gentlemen,’ he told his government bluntly. ‘We had a crisis, and I depended on you
to deal with it. You failed me – probably because you were too busy playing your usual games of politics. The Empire required giants, and all I had to serve me were dwarves. That made it necessary for
me
to deal with the crisis personally. And that’s what I’ve been doing, gentlemen – for the past several months. You are no longer relevant, my Lords.
I
am the government.’

There were cries of outrage from the ministers and their subordinates.

‘He’s going too
fast
!’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘He should have built up to that!’

‘Don’t be such a critic,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘It’s his speech. Let him make it his own way.’

‘I will have silence!’ Sarabian declared.

The council paid no attention. They continued their excited babbling.

The Emperor opened his mantle to reveal his Elene clothing, and then he drew his rapier. ‘I said
SILENCE
!’ he roared.

All sound ceased.

‘I’ll pin the next man who interrupts me to the wall like a butterfly,’ Sarabian told them. Then he cut his rapier sharply through the air. The whistling sound of the blade’s passage was as chill as death itself. He looked around at his cowed officials. ‘That’s a little better,’ he said. ‘Now stay that way.’ He set the point of the rapier on the floor and lightly crossed his hands on the pommel. ‘My family has depended on the ministries to handle the day-to-day business of government for centuries,’ he said. ‘Our trust has obviously been misplaced. You were adequate – barely – in times of tranquility, but when a crisis arose, you began to scurry around like ants, more interested in protecting your fortunes, your personal privileges, and perpetuating your petty interdepartmental rivalries than in the good of my
Empire – and that’s the one thing you all seem to forget, gentlemen. It’s
my
Empire. My family hasn’t made a great issue of the fact, but I think it’s time you were reminded of it. You serve
me,
and you serve only at
my
pleasure, not at
your
convenience.’

The officials were all gaping at the man they had thought to be no more than a harmless eccentric. Sparhawk saw a movement near the middle of the throne-room. His eyes flicked back to the front, and he saw that Teovin’s chair was conspicuously empty. The Director of the Secret Police was more clever and much quicker than his colleagues, and, throwing dignity to the winds, he was busily crawling on his hands and knees toward the nearest exit. Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon, thin, bloodless and wispy-haired, sat beside Teovin’s vacant chair, staring at Sarabian in open terror.

Sparhawk looked quickly at Vanion, and the Preceptor nodded. Vanion had seen the crawling policeman too.

‘When I perceived that I had chosen little men with little minds to administer my Empire,’ Sarabian was saying, ‘I appealed to Zalasta of Styricum for advice. Who better to deal with the supernatural than the Styrics? It was Zalasta who recommended that I submit a request directly to Archprelate Dolmant of the Church of Chyrellos for assistance, and the very core of that assistance was to be Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. We Tamuls pride ourselves on our subtlety and our sophistication, but I assure you that we are but children when compared to the Elenes. The state visit of my dear sister Ehlana was little more than a subterfuge designed to conceal the fact that our main purpose was to bring her husband, Sir Sparhawk, to Matherion. Queen Ehlana and I amused ourselves by deceiving you – and you were not hard to deceive, my Lords – while Prince Sparhawk and his
companions sought the roots of the turmoil here in Tamuli. As we had anticipated, our enemies reacted.’

There was a brief, muted disturbance at one of the side doors. Vanion and Khalad were quite firmly preventing the Director of the Secret Police from leaving.

‘Did you have a pressing engagement somewhere, Teovin?’ Sarabian drawled.

Teovin’s eyes were wild, and he looked at his Emperor with open hatred.

‘If you’re discontented with me, Teovin, I’ll be more than happy to give you satisfaction,’ Sarabian told him, flourishing his rapier meaningfully. ‘Please return to your seat. My seconds will call upon you when we’ve concluded here.’

Vanion took the Director of the Secret Police by one arm, turned him round, and pointed at the empty seat. Then, with a none too gentle shove, he started him moving.

‘This windy preamble’s beginning to bore me, gentlemen,’ Sarabian announced, ‘so why don’t we get down to cases? The attempted coup here in Matherion was the direct response to Sir Sparhawk’s arrival. The assorted disturbances that have kept the Atans running from one end of the continent to the other for the past several years have had one source and only one. We have a single enemy, and he has formed a massive conspiracy designed to overthrow the government and to wrest my throne from me, and as I probably should have anticipated, given the nature of those who pretend to serve me, he had willing helpers in the government itself.’

Some of the dignitaries gasped; others looked guilty.

‘Pay very close attention, gentlemen,’ Sarabian told them. ‘This is where it begins to get interesting. Many of you have wondered at the long absence of Interior Minister Kolata. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know that Kolata’s going to be joining us now.’

He turned to Ulath. ‘Would you be so good as to invite the Minister of the Interior to come in, Sir Knight?’ he asked.

Ulath bowed, and Kalten rose from his seat to join him.

‘Minister Kolata, as the chief policeman in all the Empire, knows a great deal about criminal activities,’ Sarabian declared. ‘I’m absolutely sure that his analysis of the present situation will be enlightening.’

Kalten and Ulath returned with the ashen-faced Minister of the Interior between them. It was not the fact that Kolata was in obvious distress that raised the outcry from the other officials, however, but rather the fact that the chief policeman of the Empire was in chains.

Emperor Sarabian stood impassively as his council members shouted their protests. ‘How am I doing so far, Ehlana?’ he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

‘I’d have done it differently,’ she told him, ‘but that’s only a matter of style. I’ll give you a complete critique when it’s all over.’ She looked out at the officials who were all on their feet talking excitedly. ‘Don’t let that go on for too long. Remind them who’s in charge. Be
very
firm about it.’

‘Yes, mother,’ he smiled. Then he looked at his government and drew in a deep breath. ‘QUIET!’ he roared in a great voice.

They fell into a stunned silence.

‘There will be no further interruptions of these proceedings,’ Sarabian told them. ‘The rules have changed, gentlemen. We’re not going to pretend to be civilized any more. I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to do it. I’d like to remind you that not only do you
serve
at my pleasure; you also continue to
live
only at my pleasure. The Minister of the Interior is guilty of high treason. You’ll note that there was no trial. Kolata is guilty because I
say
that he’s guilty.’ Sarabian paused
as a new realization came to him. ‘My power in Tamuli is absolute.
I
am the government, and
I
am the law. We are going to question Kolata rather closely. Pay attention to his answers, gentlemen. Your positions in government – your very lives – may hinge on what he says. Foreign Minister Oscagne is going to question Kolata – not about his guilt, which has already been established – but about the involvement of others. We’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all. You may proceed, Oscagne.’

‘Yes, your Majesty.’ Oscagne rose to his feet and stood a moment in deep thought as Sarabian sat again on his throne. Oscagne wore a black silk mantle. His choice of color had been quite deliberate. While black mantles were not common, they were not unheard of. Judges and Imperial Prosecutors, however,
always
wore black. The somber color heightened the Foreign Minister’s pallor, which in turn accentuated his grim expression.

Khalad came forward with a plain wooden stool and set it down in front of the dais. Kalten and Ulath brought the Minister of the Interior forward and plopped him unceremoniously down on the stool.

‘Do you understand your situation here, Kolata?’ Oscagne asked the prisoner.

‘You have no right to question me, Oscagne,’ Kolata replied quickly.

‘Break his fingers, Khalad,’ Sparhawk instructed from his position just behind Ehlana’s throne.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Khalad replied. ‘How many?’

‘Start out with one or two. Every time he starts talking about Oscagne’s rights – or his own – break another one.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Khalad took the Interior Minister’s wrist.

‘Stop him!’ Kolata squealed in fright. ‘Somebody stop him!’

‘Kalten, Ulath,’ Sparhawk said, ‘kill the first man who moves.’

Kalten drew his sword, and Ulath raised his axe.

‘You see how it is, old boy,’ Oscagne said to the man on the stool. ‘You’re not universally loved to begin with, and Prince Sparhawk’s command has just evaporated any minuscule affection anyone here might have had for you. You
will
talk, Kolata. Sooner or later, you’ll talk. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the other way, but you
are
going to answer my questions.’ Oscagne’s expression had become implacable.

‘They’ll kill me, Oscagne!’ Kolata pleaded. ‘They’ll kill me if I talk.’

‘You’re in a difficult situation, then, Kolata, because
we’ll
kill you if you don’t. You’re taking orders from Cyrgon, aren’t you?’

‘Cyrgon? That’s absurd!’ Kolata blustered. ‘Cyrgon’s a myth.’

‘Oh, really?’ Oscagne looked at him with contempt. ‘Don’t play the fool with me, Kolata. I don’t have the patience for it. Your orders come from the Cynesgan Embassy, don’t they? – and most of the time, they’re delivered by a man named Krager.’

Kolata gaped at him.

‘Close your mouth, Kolata. You look like an idiot with it hanging open like that. We already know a great deal about your treason. All we really want from you are a few details. You were first contacted by someone you had reason to trust – and most probably someone you respected. That immediately rules out a Cynesgan. No Tamul has anything but contempt for Cynesgans. Given our characteristic sense of our own superiority, that would also rule out an Arjuni or an Elene from any of the western kingdoms. That would leave only another Tamul, or possibly an Atan, or…’ Oscagne’s eyes suddenly
widened, and his expression grew thunderstruck. ‘Or a
Styric
!’