Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (4 page)

She grinned. “Your muscles, sire. I’ll set them to task.”

As he put his shirt back on, he asked his guard, “What time is the military test?”

“Today’s a holiday, sir.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Weekend. The earliest anything gets going on Moonday is about noon. Work shuts down at noon on Fireday or any time a storm threatens.”

The emperor was outraged. “That’s half the week!”

“That’s how things work in Center.”

“Or fail to,” muttered Anna. “From what I saw a couple nights ago, the aristocrats make it their job to drink everything as soon as I make it.”

“All you have today is the sermon to the orphans,” said his guard.

“Then I should prepare.”

****

When word spread that Pagaose was giving the Orphan Day sermon, the auditorium flooded with the curious. For fear of another assassination attempt, the fourteen guards had to restrict entry to only known regulars, priests, nobles, and people from the orphanage. In all, there were about two hundred in the audience when Anna stepped out onto the stage. The crowd didn’t stop talking immediately, so she put two fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle.

“The herald speaks!” shouted Niftkin.

Aside from the sounds of carts and vendors in the alley, the silence was absolute. A guard went out to quiet them as well. Soon, only the wind could be heard in the arena. Then, she joked loudly, “It’s not often so many men listen to a woman, unless she’s proclaiming last call for beer.” The crowd laughed. “I have been named herald of the new emperor by the church of Osos. As new head of that church, Pagaose has been asked to address the orphans of Center on the matter of moral education.
All hail Pagaose, chosen of the gods!
” Her volume surprised everyone, but they knelt as one when the emperor strode out in simple, tan, priestly garments.

“Sit; be at ease. I do not expect men to worship me; I’m not one of the Dawn Race,” he explained. Anna took her seat just offstage. “We’ll open with an easy question. Does anyone think Osos was vain, greedy, and ultimately self-destructive? Raise your hand.”

Several hands went up. Most people were afraid to commit.

“Come now,” he stage whispered. “He blew himself up and wiped out all the life in the Inner Sea. Seems a little shortsighted.” He pointed to the red memorial symbol on the water, marking the position directly under the Compass Star.

More hands went up.

“Since I’m not better than a god, it follows that I make mistakes, too. Anyone who claims differently is probably deluded, lying, or sampling my herald’s ale.” The crowd chuckled. “Osos himself doesn’t care for us in his current state. I don’t know that he deserves worship either.” Several nobles muttered at this near-blasphemy. “However, before his decline, Osos led the Dawn people to immortality, shepherding them through a war that leveled cities and mountains. He etched rules on the foundations of the world that prevent the gods from interfering with us. Most importantly, he ruled the Council of the Gods. Even the Fallen must
obey
his will. He protected our race, and he gave us the means to survive in the boiling, liquid hell of the Inner Sea. He deserves
honor
for what he once was, before he drank too deep of the power. He still merits our
respect
. We owe him our position in the world, much of our culture, skills, magic, and science.” People nodded agreement.

“So we agree that Osos made mistakes, but I still owe him respect, honor, and obedience. So when I’m confirmed as emperor, what will my job be?”

One urchin in the front row volunteered, “You’ll get the blame when things go wrong!”

Several people shushed him, but the emperor waved them away. “He’s right, and please feel free to answer in a civilized manner when I ask questions. I prefer our discussions be a dialogue, not just me lecturing. That way you get a small share of that blame when none of us thought of a smarter way of doing something.” The children smiled. “What else?”

Hands went up all over, and he pointed to a few.

“You’re the voice of Osos.”

“You protect us like Dad used to.”

“You get to tell wives what to do and generals, too.”

“You get to eat whatever you want and go to bed as late as you want.”

He snorted. “Sounds like a lot of people would want that job. Do I have to do anything hard?”

“Catch renegade sorcerers and necromancers.”

“Decide last appeals from people who think the courts cheated them.”

“Punish kingdoms that don’t pay their taxes.”

Lord Pangborn, without raising his hand, said, “Represent the authority of the empire, the embodiment of our race, with dignity and grace.”

Pagaose put out his lower lip a little and nodded. “All fair points. To summarize: I serve Osos by caring for our entire race like a father. The rest of you do most of the work, but I’m there to settle disagreements where the courts don’t have a clear rule.”

The children nodded. The adults were more cautious.

“Is my power limited?” he asked.

“No,” muttered many people.

“Could I change one of the laws of Osos?”

“No.”

“Could I compel every kingdom to stop worshiping their own gods and force them to worship Osos?”

“No.”

“Indeed, unless someone commits a crime against an Imperial or a king rebels, my power is pretty much limited to these islands.”

The crowd grudgingly agreed.

“You also rule outside the established kingdoms, where there are no gods,” noted Anna.

“Interesting. There are Imperial laws preventing access to the plague-lands, for the protection of everyone. The Imperial College has a collection of maps of the known world, so I guess I have some influence in an outer colony if I protect them. But even then, the root of my power comes from all of you. Therefore, knowing more about you all is critical for a good emperor. What’s an Imperial?”

Hands shot up again.

“People who can see by the light of the Compass Star.”

“Descendants of those who were Scattered by Myron’s doom.”

“Not the ones who serve the Pretender, just the ones who serve you and the College.”

“The ones who rebuilt Center,” said one aristocrat, a wizard.

Pagaose scratched his head. “You probably didn’t actually do any of the building yourself. Who did?”

“Foreign slaves,” explained the wizard. “Using money people paid me for my expertise.”

“Why didn’t locals do the work?”

“Clearing the ash and debris was dangerous work,” noted the wizard.

“Our people constructed the Emperor’s Road around the Inner Sea, fused from sweat, sand, and sunlight. Five hundred years later, it still stands as a testament to our engineering. With hard work and the right plan, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish!”

“The work was beneath the dignity of the ruling class!” shouted another noble.

“We don’t seem to be ruling much right now. For a while, we were living on handouts.”

Lord Pangborn said, “That’s because there aren’t enough of us anymore.”

“Ahh . . . what if I could improve that? Add a couple hundred men and women to our military and public services overnight?”

“I’d give you my vote, if they stayed and were productive,” Pangborn sneered.

“What if I made seven years of public service a requirement for the new Imperials?” asked the emperor.

The crowd was riveted by the exchange.

“Even better,” sneered Lord Pangborn. “By what miracle do you propose to materialize these new Imperials?”

“You admit that it would be a miracle worthy of your confirmation vote?”

“Yes.”

“They’re sitting all around you.”

“Preposterous!”

The emperor listed the criteria on his fingers. “Imperial parents, able to see the invisible sun of our god, following me, living in Center, working here.”

“They’re half-breeds!” Pangborn spat. “Most of them don’t have two blue eyes, and the ones that do are too short.”

“You’re shorter than I am. Does that make you any less noble?”

“Certainly not.”

“So we’re just quibbling about eye color and social rank now.”

The aristocrat fumed. “You twist my words.”

“If I agreed that they have no family rank, would you make this just about the eyes and legal procedures?”

“Fine.”

Addressing the audience, the emperor called, “Would Kestrel, the head of the orphanage, step forward.”

The young man looked like the ideal image of an upper-tier Imperial. With an eye patch, he could pass for a full blood, but one eye was dark brown. “Here, sire.”

“Kestrel, how many orphans are here on Center, in and out of the orphanage?”

“Over eight years, I’ve overseen two hundred sixty, sire.”

“And faithful service it’s been, too, I’ve heard,” complimented the emperor.

“Just helping out, sire.”

“A man who feeds the lost children of Osos feeds me. When you seek to enlighten, defend, and preserve his congregation, you are glorified. Do you believe that an emperor sees and understands spiritual things that others cannot, just as Imperials see and understand things that normal mortals cannot?”

“Absolutely.”

“I see blue in your eye trying to get out.”

“Pardon?”

“Everyone could see it in the right light. Come with me to my throne room, swear allegiance to me there, and I’ll show everyone your blueness.”

The young man looked to the sage. “May I, sir?”

The sage smiled. “I think you should go along with the man. If he’s daft, we should know now. If he’s right, you’ll be the firstborn among many richly needed citizens. Besides, I don’t think everyone else here will let you out otherwise. They want to see the show.”

“I accept, sire.”

Following Pagaose, everyone from the amphitheater formed a procession to the throne room. The trip took only ten bits for the emperor, but it took another ten before they could fit everyone in. There were even people camped on the roof, looking in through the skylights.

When Anna returned with some supplies and everyone hushed, Pagaose asked Lord Pangborn, “One last time: If I prove to everyone here that his eyes are truly blue, you will accept him as an Imperial and me as your Emperor.”

“For as long as they stay blue,” the aristocrat joked.

To the young man kneeling before him, Pagaose whispered, “There will be an instant of pain and increased sensitivity to light, but the disadvantages will be temporary.”

Kestrel held out his arms and said, “Even if it should kill me, sire.”

Pagaose laid his hand over the man’s face, closed his eyes, and tapped the gate energies flooding in from above his throne. He reached deep within himself to remember the twisting that he felt two Door journeys ago. Then, he
translated
the boy into the image he held in his mind.

Kestrel gasped in sharp pain and pulled back, blinking. “Water, I need water! It burns.”

Anna handed him a jug, and the man rinsed his face. When he finished, he opened the eye for all to see. With the exception of a little red from irritation, both eyes matched—a perfect, pale blue.

This distracted attention from Pagaose, who had to collapse on his throne from the use of so much magical energy—mana. A sharp pain stabbed in his right eye and he felt dizzy from effort. Still, he wore a confident smile for his audience.

“Happy birthday, Kestrel,” Anna said, loaning the young man a hand mirror.

“Thank you!” he shouted, looking at the miracle for himself. Tears streaming from his new eyes, he bowed at Pagaose’s feet. The crowd went wild.

Lord Pangborn grabbed the young man’s arm and examined him from every angle. When he could deny it no longer, he knelt before the miracle worker. “My emperor.”

Pagaose didn’t believe his conversion but accepted the vote.

****

The emperor was too drained that night to visit with the multitudes who wanted to curry his favor. The weekend turned out to be a blessing in disguise, giving him an opportunity to recover. Anna shooed people away while he napped. At sundown, Pagaose met in his parlor with the sage. “Any last words, Small Voice?”

The old man sipped his tea and chuckled. “I offer you my personal assistant—we call him Scribbles. He wrote down every word you said today and quite adores you. He believes that enlightenment comes from ordering chaos.”

The emperor laughed. “We’ll endeavor to disabuse him of that notion. There is always more chaos, much of it generated by the aristocracy.”

“If you don’t drive him mad, you might enlighten him,” offered the sage.

“How can I thank you?”

“Take care of my old friend Frond.”

“Where can I find him?”

“He owns most of the Scar,” noted Niftkin. “Richest man on the island and bat-shit crazy—”

Anna covered a smile.

“
Eccentric
,” the sage corrected. “He doesn’t get close to many people because they all want something from him. Once he gives you his support, though, he’ll stick with you through anything.”

The guard kept silent, but his eyes opened wide at the prospect.

Pagaose nodded. “For your sake, I would befriend a wild goat. Send your scribe by tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

The sage reached out and clasped the emperor’s hand. Pagaose could sense arthritis, personal pain, and years of struggle for the church. The old man said, “Save my people.”

When Pagaose rose before dawn to do his morning exercise in the garden, he found four unfamiliar guards waiting for him. Niftkin introduced them. “I told the men you’re a Master of the Way of Water, and they wanted to work out with you.”

The emperor smiled. Still too weary for demonstrations, he told them, “Show me your form.” There were more watchers, but Anna chased the household workers back inside.

The first man did several rapid strikes. Pagaose criticized, “You need to hold one hand back for defense. Start with the basics; begin with the ox stance.”

The man grudgingly struck the pose, and the emperor tapped him with two fingers, sending him tumbling onto his behind. “Strength without balance is of no use. We will begin again.”