Emperor and Clown (17 page)

“Sneaking
it through in the middle of the order paper?” the old man said, snorting. “All
over before half the Senate knew what was going on! Oh, I think the wardens may
argue. They’ll want Orosea, you wait.”

A
fanfare drowned him out, and the crowd stilled. Then everyone stood up, so
Shandie did, ‘cept in his case it was more standing down and he could see even
less. The Council was coming in through the south door, dividing at the Blue
Throne to pass around either wall, passing on the outside of the thrones; he’d
never seen this properly, ‘cause he was usually part of it. The hall was very
still, except for a shuffle of footsteps. Half the parade went right by in
front of him, but he didn’t look up to see their faces. He knew when the
marshal came along, though, in his shiny uniform and a smell of new leather. He
liked Marshal Ithy. He told Shandie war stories.

“A
good man,” rumbled the old senator. “Very sound. The Zark thing ... time we
showed those pinkos!” He chortled. “Besides, they’re due to be milked again,
mm? Get those taxes down . . .” Hushing noises ...

The
parade joined again at the north end, and advanced to the center and the Opal
Throne. And here came Ytlibane, striding by in his purple-hemmed toga. The old
senator growled, then winced as if someone had trod on his toe or jabbed him in
the ribs.

They’d
changed precedence! Usually Moms would be last in the left-hand line, just
behind Ythbane, and Shandie last in this line after Consul Uquillpee, going
along the east side on a north day, looping back to meet in the center. And
here was Grandfather, in a carrying chair. Asleep. He slept all the time now.
Oh, dear. He did look old today, and ill.

Someone
sniffed loudly in the senatorial benches above Shandie’s head. “Evil-begotten
shame ... ten years younger than I am, you know ... fought beside him at
Agomone. Good man. Great man.” Sniff! “Evil-take-it shame to see him go like
that . . .”

And
Grandfather was not going to be put on his throne! The chair was placed by the
dais, but then’ the bearers departed. Shandie was surprised, and the old
senator mumbled angrily. So did some others. Now everyone was sitting down
again. Shandie scrambled up on the bench .beside Moms, who looked down at him
and nodded absently. Then she turned her attention back to the action, the men and
a few women standing before the throne, three or four of the very old ones on
chairs.

The
Rotunda was ever so quiet. Even the noisy senator had gone quiet. The dean of
the Senate was being led forward. Marshal Ithy said he was older’n anyone ‘cept
Bright Water. He did something and was led back to his seat.

A
herald began to read out the joint resolution, all whereases and. be it
therefores.

Shandie
felt a yawn coming on, and stopped it, and realized it was quite a while since
he’d needed to yawn. He wished the bench had softer cushions. Leather was hard
and he wasn’t used to sitting still, only standing still. He hoped the
ceremonies wouldn’t go on too long, because he might need some of his medicine
soon.

Thump!
Ythbane had just put the Imperial seal on something. Must be the resolution.
Had he said his usual things about Grandfather accepting it? Shandie had not
been paying attention.

Now
what? Ythbane undressing?

“God
of Whores!” the noisy old senator behind rumbled. “We going to have a whole
coronation ceremony now?”

Ythbane
had taken off his consul’s toga. Shandie glanced up at Moms, but she didn’t
seem upset that he was standing there in just his tunic like a servant. Now
Consul Uquillpee was helping him put on a purple toga. Like Grandfather’s) That
didn’t feel right, somehow.

The
deaf old senator didn’t think so, either. He was getting even louder, going on
about Imperial Honors. But Moms was smiling, so it must be all right.

Ah!
Here came the big moment. Shandie felt a tremor of excitement cut through his
wooziness. One day he was going to do this! One day he would call on the
wardens to acknowledge him as rightful imperor. One day he would put his arm in
the straps on Emine’s buckler like that, and take up that sword, and then walk
all around the throne like that, holding them up for the audience to see. They
weren’t very impressive. The buckler was all dented, and the sword was bronze,
too. Why wouldn’t a great imperor like Emine have had a good steel sword?
Shandie felt cheated, somehow.

Now
Ythbane had completed his circle and was facing the Opal Throne. Suddenly Moms
grabbed Shandie’s hand and squeezed it very tight, and he looked up at her in
surprise. She was chewing her lip, watching Ythbane intently.

The
old senator tried a whisper, and in the cavernous silence it came out loud as a
bugle: “One gets you five they won’t show.”

No
one else said a word. Ythbane went up one step. “Won’t honor a mongrel,” the
senator growled. The second step. Ythbane was in front of the Opal Throne.

He
turned to face across at the White.

Why
was he waiting like this? Was he scared, a little, maybe?

Ythbane
struck the sword against the buckler and produced a dull Clank! Shandie felt a
surge of disappointment. He’d expected a bright, ringing Clang! that would echo
away for a long, long time. No wonder the sword and buckler were both so
batteredlooking, if every imperor in three thousand years had bashed them
together like that.

Then
came a long hissing sound from all around the rotunda as the audience drew in
its breath. A lady was sitting on the White Throne.

Well!
She wasn’t so old) Moms looked older’n that. She wasn’t green, either. About
the same middlebrown shade as Shandie himself; maybe a little yellower.
Floor-mat color, coconut. Her hair was black, and coiled up on top of her head.
She wasn’t beautiful, certainly, but not ‘specially ugly. There was something
odd about her chiton, though. It sort of glowed a bit, and the folds were kind
of misty, as if the cloth were flowing fog. It made Shandie woozier, so he
looked away.

Ythbane
saluted with the sword. If Bright Water did anything, Shandie missed it,
because when his eyes went back to the White Throne, it was empty again.

A
rumble of disgust came from the old senator. From several old senators, from
the sound of it. Ythbane had turned to the east now, and Shandie instinctively
froze. He could only see the back of the Gold Throne, anyway.

Again
the Clank! of sword on buckler, and Warlock Olybino answered the summons
immediately. Shandie saw the gold-crested helmet over the back of the Gold
Throne.

Moms
sighed and relaxed. Two was enough, he remembered. Ythbane had been confirmed
as Imperial regent by the Four. Well, that wasn’t much of a ceremony!

The
senator grunted angrily. “Disgusting! A mongrel! Can’t think what the wardens
are thinking of!” But that wasn’t right! Shandie knew. Court Teacher had told
him-all the wardens came for was to show that the candidate hadn’t gotten there
by sorcery and wasn’t a sorcerer. As long as he’d succeeded by mundane means,
they didn’t care if he’d used an army, or poison, or anything. He had Emine’s
buckler and sword, and he wasn’t a sorcerer, that was all. Very rarely in all
history had the Four refused to recognize a new imperor or a regent.

Ythbane
saluted. The warlock rose and responded, and was gone again. Shandie rubbed his
eyes. It was hard to believe that you’d seen something-someone-when they weren’t
there any more and you hadn’t seen them going away.

Now
Ythbane strode round to the back of the Opal Throne. South was an elf. Shandie
had not seen any elves around court for so long that he could hardly remember,
except for a few dancers and singers, and they’d all been very young. No
grown-up elves, except maybe Lord Phiel’nilth, the Poet Laureate, and he didn’t
seem very old, either.

The
other two wardens would certainly come now and make it unanimous-that’s what he’d
been told. It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t. Ythbane was regent now, and poor
Grandfather was going to die soon, and Shandie mustn’t think about that, or he
might start crying and future imperors mustn’t, not ever, ‘specially in public.
He would really get beaten for that, and he’d deserve it, too.

There
was a man sitting on the Blue Throne. A boy? He didn’t look very much older
than Thorog, and no taller. Could that be Lith’rian himself, or had he sent a
grandson or someone in his place? Maybe elves looked like that no matter how
old they were? He was wearing a toga, and an odd blue one, like folds of
captured sky. His golden skin and golden curls were sunshine in that sky, and
his smile was brilliant. His face was very bright and his eyes were . lie odd.
Elvish? Thorog’s eyes were sort of slanted like that, big and queer. Shandie’d
never thought of that before.

With
gold skin and hair like that, an elf really ought to be warlock of the east, so
he could have a throne to match. That was a funny idea! And a red-skinned djinn
to be West, and a jotunn North, ‘cause jotnar were so pale. How about South? No
blue skin, but blue hair-a merman? That would be much tidier, and he’d arrange
it when he got to be Emshandar V. Ythbane had saluted. The boy rose in a
graceful shimmer and bowed very low to him. Shandie’s Deportment Teacher would
have loved to have seen that! That was how a toga should be worn, too. The
audience murmured appreciation-and then surprise, as the warlock sank down on
his throne again, leaning back and crossing his ankles as if preparing to stay
a while. His smile seemed even more rakish than before.

The
regent hesitated. The elf waved a hand in a carry-on gesture and then crossed
his arms also. He was smiling, perfectly at ease. Why not? Whoever would beat a
warlock if he misbehaved? And the great Warlock Lith’rian looked as devilishly
mischievous as any cheeky upstart page at the moment.

Ythbane
was so obviously at a loss that Shandie wanted to giggle. Then the regent moved
around to face west. Clank!

Silence.

And
more silence ...

“So
he’s only got three!” the old senator muttered. Still nothing had happened,
Ythbane facing the Red Throne, and the Red Throne remaining stubbornly empty.
Warlock Lith’rian put a hand in front of his mouth to smother a graceful yawn.

“Elves
and dwarves!” the senator muttered. “It’s not the merman, it’s the elf, mm?”

Ythbane
gave up. With a guarded scowl at South’s obvious enjoyment, he stamped around
to the front of the Opal Throne and sat down. Shandie was watching Lith’rian,
and he vanished at the exact same instant. The audience rose to its feet and
cheered the new regent.

After
the cheering came the speeches, and they went on a long time, and Shandie
wished it would all stop so he could go and take a mouthful of medicine,
because he was starting to feel scratchy-twitchy.

At
the top of the slope the foremost riders were reining in. Here the trail
emerged from trees, onto a grassy ridge. Gratefully Inos reined also, and
slowed her sleek bay mare to a walk and then a halt. Its breath blew white in
the high air, and she felt the wind chilling her heated skin. She looked out
over yet another garden landscape: fields and farms and lakes, glowing in
evening sun. All of Ilrane seemed to be one great picturebook.

She
had ridden with an Imperial army across taiga and tundra in winter. She had
crossed the Central Desert on a camel in summer and the Progistes Range on a
barrel-ribbed mule. Yet she had never known a ride like this one. Four days of
almost uninterrupted canter ... horse after horse, in relays ... meals snatched
in the saddle, and brief, brief nights when she had lain like a stone in straw
or under a blanket in some cedar-scented attic ... Every bone ached, and she
was raw from hips to ankles. Elves did nothing by halves.

The
only good thing about her numbing daze of exhaustion was that it blanked out
any chance to brood on her terrible error.

Then
she saw what had caused the halt. Very far off, beyond the hills, a pinecone
shape stood faint against the sky. One side gleamed brilliant, sparkling, the
other was blue with the haziness of great distance. It was the closest she had
yet seen a sky tree. Even fainter, beyond it, shone peaks that must be the
start of the Nefer Range.

“Valdoscan,”
said a voice.

It
was Lia’, the leader of this strange expedition. In her trim silvery leather
riding clothes she seemed no older than Inos herself, and yet two nights back
she had mentioned her grandchildren. Only her obvious fatigue hinted now at her
true age. Then Inos remembered her full name-Lia’scan.

“Your
home?”

The
girl-woman-smiled wistfully and cupped a hand to the brim of her cap to see
better. “Indeed) I was not born there and have visited it but rarely . . . but
every elf belongs to a sky tree, as a bee belongs to a hive.”

“Some
day I should love to see a sky tree.”

“Few
indeed are the nonelves who have ever visited one. But if that is your wish,
Inosolan, then it may be so.”

Startled,
Inos paused to think. She looked over the rest of the company. In Elmas the
elves had agreed to help after all-help her. And they had not merely granted
the visitors right of passage, they had escorted them posthaste, although they
had rejected Azak’s private army, limiting him to three men. He had chosen
Char, Varrun, and Jarkim, sending Zana and the rest off with Gutturaz to find
their way back unscathed to Zark and the coming years of glory-or so it was to
be hoped.

Inos
and the four djinns rode unarmed, while their elvish escort bristled with shiny
swords. They might be slight, but they all moved like hummingbirds. Half of them
were women. They rode like swallows on the wind. Azak was still more sulky than
grateful.

“My
lady,” Inos-said, “I don’t think I understand. We are on our way to the Impire,
are we not?”