Emperor and Clown (26 page)

“I
should prefer to wait until my husband has made his appeal to the Four,” she
said.

Epoxague
nodded and seemed to relax slightly. “A good response! So Kalkor must delay his
challenge until the Four have heard the case. I must say I dislike the thought
of our cousin of Kinvale being axed to death on his sickbed, and I am sure the
thane is capable of that.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, we can block this
outrageous contest tomorrow. The regent will like that. That is the nugget in
the rockpile!”

The
little man rose and turned to face the company. “I shall present Inos at the
Campus Abnila tomorrow-it must be done in public. Do any of you have any
questions or comments or advice?” He studied the silent faces. “Speak up! I
know this affair could harm us.” Still there was no response. He was pleased. “No?
Well, then I suggest an early night. Mord of Grool fighting Kalkor the raider?
That news must have gone through the city like a tornado, and the streets will
be chaos in the morning.”

Everyone
rose then. The company broke up into groups. The doors were opened, people
began drifting away.

Some
came forward to greet Inos and shake Azak’s hand. He was obviously astonished
at this generous friendship being extended to him through his wife. Inos could
see the doubts and suspicions struggling below the surface-in their own
fashion, djinns were every bit as untrusting as dwarves-but he was being as
gracious as he knew how to be in mixed company. The men’s reaction to him was
so guarded that she mostly could not read it.

The
few women present were all eyeing the sultan in a way she ought to be finding
very pleasing.

Not
a man in the room looked more handsome in doublet and hose. He towered over
them all, even young Tiffy, who had departed and now returned, glumly waving a
note.

“I
am ordered to the Campus by dawn, Grandfather. You’ll have to trust yourselves
to Drummer, I’m afraid. Are your affairs in order, your will up to date?”

“Think
you’ll recognize a dawn when you see one?” the senator countered. Then his
smile faded. “Don’t take this lightly, lad. Half the city is going to turn out
to see the pirate fight the troll. There are going to be crowds like you’ve
never known. And if Inos’s arrival stops the battle-as it should-then there may
very well be a riot!”

Trysting
day:

By
the nine gods he swore it, And named a trysting-day,

And
bade his messengers ride forth, East and west and south and north, To summon
his array.

Macaulay,
Horatius at the Bridge

Pilgrim Soul

At
the same time as he had outlawed gladiatorial contests, Emthar II had also
dismantled the arenas. The greatest of them all, Agraine’s Amphitheater, he had
renamed the Campus Abnila, in honor of his mother. All the stonework had been
torn down and removed, and a great oval of grass installed over sand where
multitudes had bled and died for centuries to amuse the populace.

Being
situated midway between the Opal and Gold palaces, the Campus Abnila was
convenient for martial displays and sports events, but neither of them compared
in popularity with its former glories. A grassy bank enclosed it for the
convenience of spectators, but there were no facilities for handling crowds.

The
regent had chosen the Campus as the site of the Reckoning, and it was a very
logical choice, but the day happened to coincide with the festival of the God
of Commerce, a holiday for most of the populace. The news of the planned
spectacle had rippled out across the city the previous evening. By daybreak,
vast mobs were surging through the streets, bound for the Campus Abnila.

The
weather was cool, the skies drab and threatening. Recalling her prophecy in the
magic casement, Inos had been confident of rain, but so far the showers had
held off. She sat in the great carriage beside Eigaze. Azak occupied two-thirds
of the opposing seat; the senator had the rest. Their escort comprised a mere
four of the Praetorian Hussars, and they could do little to speed the coach’s
passage through the teeming throngs.

Downgraded
from absolute monarch to guest and tourist, Azak was tense and surly. Eigaze
prattled, but her nervousness showed. Inos felt gloomy, unable to keep memories
of Rap out of her mind. Things had gone awry, and the fault was hers, for not
heeding the divine warning she had been given. Today’s Reckoning had been
preordained, either here or on remote Nintor, but Kalkor should have been
matched against an occultly endowed Rap, not some brutal professional killer.
Mord of Grool, indeed! The very name degraded the battle to a sordid public
spectacle.

And
it should have been her regality at stake, not the fatuous Angilki puppet show.

Somewhere
garments had been found to fit Azak; perhaps they had been specially made in
the night. Inos also had been gifted with suitable clothes. She did not know
whose they were-obviously not Eigaze’s-but for the first time since her
marriage she was traveling unveiled. Her hostess and her maids had done the
best they could to mask the burns with cosmetics, but the swellings and
suppuration could not be hidden. The paint was probably wearing off already.
Inos was going to meet the regent and his court looking like a monster.

Epoxague
was calm, but uncommunicative. He was a man of power, a confident of imperor
and regent, yet he was obviously risking Imperial anger for Inos’s sake.
Without his support, she would now be in some ghastly jail. She ought to feel
grateful, and happy. Why could she not quash her regrets? Why, too, this
strange foreboding? Suppose the horrid Kalkor actually won! Suppose the match
was called off and the crowd rioted, as the senator had predicted! The day held
potential for infinite disaster.

She
was about to be presented at court. Even Kade had never achieved that great
honor. For Kade’s sake, also, Inos mourned-poor Kade! Stranded in far-off
Arakkaran, again denied her lifelong ambition to visit Hub ... had she been
present, she would have been gawking at all the great buildings and chattering
like an excited starling.

Even
Eigaze had fallen silent.

“Eminence,”
Inos said suddenly, “tell me about the regent?”

Epoxague
raised his eyebrows. “Ythbane? He has only held the position for four or five
weeks . . .”

He
thought for a moment, and then spoke with even greater care than he had used
when talking of the wardens the previous evening.

“These
are troubled times for the Impire, Inos. It would be treason to say so, of
course, but there is a school of thought that says we may soon see the end of a
dynasty. Agraine’s line has given us many great imperors, and perhaps the
greatest impress of them all, Abnila. Emshandar was-is-a great man, but his
reign has been cursed with much bad fortune. His wife and his son both died
young, and now he has been taken with a great sickness.”

He
sighed, and shook his head. “His grandson seems to be a weakling. His daughter,
Orosea, is a kindly person, but it is hard to see her rivaling her
greatgrandmother.”

“The
regent?” Inos asked again.

Epoxague
smiled faintly at being thus cornered. “You will probably find him charming. He
is charming! His origins are obscure, and he keeps them that way, but it is a
common belief that he has merfolk blood in him. That is rare. Some merfolk boat
was storm-wracked on a coast somewhere-it happens often, and the results are
always bloody. If a merboy -is washed ashore, then the local women pursue him
and the men knife him in consequence. The opposite is true of a mermaid, of
course. Rarely one of the resulting children will survive and be reared. When
it reaches adulthood, the same results inevitably follow . . .”

He
caught her eye and saw that she was not to be distracted. “Ythbane, then. In
his case, apparently, there was a second generation. The story is that his
father died at fifteen at the hands of a lynch mob, having already impregnated
some man’s wife. That is only rumor, of course. Quarter merfolk are very rare!
Or perhaps his remarkable success with women created the legend.”

Eigaze
tutted. “Father, I really don’t think you should repeat such scandal.”

“Perhaps
not. But if it is true, then Ythbane inherited only part of the merfolk
curse-he can charm women, but men do not react badly to him. And he is
undoubtedly gifted. Emshandar always preferred commoners as his confidential
aides, because the great families are constantly feuding and that muddles
aristocrats’ loyalties. He noted Ythbane’s talents early and used them well.
The Senate was horrified when he made the man a consul-Emshandar always enjoyed
shaking us up. When the fever took Emthoro, though, Ythbane went after his
widow.”

“Father!”

“It’s
quite true, dear. Orosea was happily married, Uomaya was mother of the heir.
Ythbane knew what he was doing. He is shrewd. He is a skilled politician. Who better
to be regent and guardian of the prince than his mother’s husband? Of course
the imperor wasn’t expected to last quite so long . . .” The senator veered
smoothly to another topic. “And today’s events ... he may be planning to
reinstate gladiatorial contests. That would be a very shrewd move!” He glanced
up at Azak beside him. “You know how unpopular regents always are?”

“We
never have any,” the sultan said, “but I suppose they lack the divine authority
of the blood?”

“Right.
Also, governments must often do unpopular things, and a newcomer will always
blame the previous administration. So Ythbane is in a difficult position. He
must rule for Emshandar until he dies-it can’t be long-and then, if he has not
already become too hated, he can hope to become regent for the prince, until he
comes to his majority. By historical precedent, the young imperor will then
repudiate his former guardian and turn on him. The history books are full of
such cases.”

He
chuckled. “So do not be too hard on the man! A regency is a thankless and
dangerous job.”

“What
I don’t like,” Eigaze said suddenly, “is how he keeps dragging the old man out
to every function and putting him on display like a stuffed corpse!”

Her
father blinked at her in astonishment. “Now who is indulging in dangerous talk?”

“Well,
it’s true! And that poor little prince!”

“Careful!
A prince must learn early. He will succeed in ... what ... eight years only?
And the presence of the imperor lends authority. Don’t repeat those remarks to
others, Eigaze!”

His
daughter flushed and turned to the window. Inos caught Azak’s eye, but it was
unreadable. Obviously Epoxague was a Ythbane supporter, the sort of canny
politico who would always be found on the winning side.

And
it was none of Inos’s business. If the appeal to Four could be arranged, she
might find herself back in Arakkaran within days, properly married to the
sultan and legally ex-Queen of Krasnegar.

And
Rap would still be dead. Neither wardens nor gods could undo that.

She,
also, turned to look out the window.

Never
before had Inos seen a truly large crowd, and she found it scary. Half a league
from the Campus, the coach was blocked completely. The senator and his guests
were forced to proceed on foot, with their Praetorian Hussars striving to open
a path for them. The crowd’s temper was brutal, because most of those who had
come were not going to see the spectacle. Crested helmets of legionaries showed
all around, yet even they could not shift the struggling, rumbling sea of
people, for it was solid as pack ice, with nowhere to go. Inos was well aware
that any minute one of her guardian horses might trample someone and thereby
spark a riot. The short walk took well over an hour.

But
the Imperial army was still the most efficient organization in Pandemia, and
the imperor’s compound had been demarcated and fortified as if to withstand a
full-blown siege. The entire Praetorian Guard seemed to be present, bright and
deadly, an unbroken cordon of steel and bronze and muscle.

Their
leader was a weatherbeaten tribune, who saluted Epoxague smartly and only then
registered Azak beside him. The expression that at once overran his face
impressed Inos as the most memorable event of the day so far.

Greatly
relieved to be out of the crush, the newcomers climbed the grassy slope, to
find more guards at the top, and many civilians, but nobody very happy. A
canopy of purple leather flapped mournfully over a portable throne and a dozen
or so chairs. Despite a damp smell on the wind, no rain had fallen yet.

Before
them lay the field, larger than Inos had anticipated. Except for two small
tents at east and west, the grassy oval was bare, outlined by a solid ring of
soldiers with arms locked, struggling to hold back the throng that covered the
bank. Plumed hussars rode slowly around within the cordon, directing the
effort.

Latecomers
would be fighting to climb up on the outside, those on the flat crest were
pushing inward to the edge to get a decent view, while the early birds on the
inner slope were being relentlessly forced down against the human fence. Inos
was very glad she was not out there among the squirming, heaving, cursing
citizens of Hub.

Even
the lowering sky seemed to threaten disaster. Already there were rumors of
citizens being crushed. Expected festival was turning into probable calamity.

More
dignitaries and important guests continued to arrive, standing then in
despondent talk, grumbling about the unruliness of the common herd. Many of
them seemed disheveled, their opulent cloaks fussed and rumpled.

Inos
stood as close to Azak as she ever dared get, ignoring the curious stares being
directed at the two of them, wondering how the paint on her face was holding
up. Eigaze was pale and oddly taciturn, Epoxague was smiling and nodding to
acquaintances-yet discouraging conversation and the obvious curiosity about his
astonishing djinn companion. Pages circulated with refreshments.