The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (66 page)

"So I surmised from the state of your sitting chamber, Chara," I said, coming forward and placing the map in his hand. "You ought to have woken me."
He turned and put the scroll down on the table nearby, which was already cluttered with a dozen maps. Without looking up, he said, "I thought that you might need the extra rest."
There was a pause as he unrolled the map and began examining it. I said, "I did not mean to disturb you, Chara. Perhaps I ought to sleep in other quarters."
"Don't be foolish." He leaned over, traced a line on the map with his finger, then sighed and allowed the map to roll up once more as his gaze drifted back to the view at the window.
I followed his gaze toward the tiny slice of scenery. I could see a portion of the capital city surrounding the palace, a sliver of the river-threaded fields beyond, and a patch of Emorian sky – which, for a change, was blue and cloudless. Towering above them all were the black border mountains that separate Emor and Koretia.
The Chara said, "I seem not to be able to keep my mind off the mountains. Perhaps I have acquired some of your Koretian blood."
I said rigidly, "Chara, I am Emorian."
A smile crept onto his face then, erasing the lines of worry and making him appear even younger than he was. "That fact," he said, "had not escaped my notice. I was joking. Now stop being so stiff and formal and come sit with me."
He waved his hand toward two chairs sitting under a small patch of sunlight falling through one of the northern windows. I felt the seldom-used muscles of my mouth turn up, and I bowed in obedience, before seating myself where he had indicated.
He sat down beside me and pushed over a bowl that lay on the table between the two chairs. I fished out a couple of dried berries and, without looking to see what type they were, placed them in my mouth.
It took only two chews before I jerked my head around toward the Chara. "Peter! Where in the name of the dead Charas did you get these?"
The Chara Peter chuckled. "I wondered whether you would recognize them. The Koretian governor sent them to me. He said that Koretian food was not to most Emorians' taste – I take that to mean that he thinks it inedible. He added, though, that he knew of my interest in curious native customs, and he thought I might like to try these wild-berries. I did, and I think they're inedible, and I would hand my dominions over to you if you would do me the favor of finishing them off."
"That won't be a hard duty for me to undertake," I said. "As for Lord Alan, it sounds as though he has a gift for flattery."
"Yes, he reveals that most clearly in his letter." Peter reached over and picked up a sheaf of papers that was sitting next to the fruit bowl. "'To the Great Chara, Judge of the People, Commander of the . . .' Well, he goes on with the usual half dozen, and even managed to scrape up a couple of titles that I had thought only my clerk knew. 'Your servant Alan' – note the humility of leaving off his title – 'was most interested by your recent kind letter and does assure the Chara that my greatest wish is to answer any questions you might have on the Koretian people, and that the high doom itself would not prevent me from giving you the full story of all that is happening in this land. As you know, when I was appointed governor fifteen years ago by your father, the Chara Nicholas, I had little experience in high matters, and I continue to feel myself unworthy of such a task . . .' He continues on like this for six pages, and by the end of them he has still failed to answer any of my questions. He signs the letter with all his titles, though he tactfully keeps them one short of the number he ascribed to me. So, since Lord Alan gives me no information, since nearly every spy I send to Koretia is either bribed by the governor or kept from gaining information, and since I am on this side of the black border mountains, I can find nothing that will help me to bring peace to that land."
Outside the windows, the palace trumpeters sounded the hour. I could hear the soft shuffle of soldiers' feet as the guard was changed in front of the Map Room door. I said, "Peter, if you wish me to tell you what I know of Koretia, you've only to ask."
He gave me a sober-eyed smile. "I didn't wish to burden you in that way, but I fear that I must do so. The latest report from my spy – the only one who has managed to obtain useful information – is alarming. Could you help me sort out what these maps mean?"
I followed him over to the map-strewn table, where he unrolled again the map that I had brought him. "My father had this made during the Border Wars, a few months before the Koretian capital was captured," he said. "Can you tell me what everything is on it?"
I looked down at the black lines with occasional red splotches superimposed. "I imagine that you know as much about Koretia as I do. I was only eight years old when I left, and I hadn't even visited the towns and villages until that time."
"Tell me what you know, even if I already know it. I'd like to learn how matters appear from a Koretian's point of view." Before I could speak, he added, "You will not deny, I hope, that you once
were
Koretian."
I smiled and said, "No." Touching the yellowing paper with my finger, I said, "This is the capital city, built at the northern foot of the mountain that marks the southernmost border with Daxis. The mountain itself is uninhabited except for a priests' house, though it has a few ruins – and a cave."
I sensed rather than saw him smile. "I'm not likely to forget the cave. Where is the priests' house?"
"Here, about a mile up from the foot of the hill, and below the old house of worship, which the Koretians call the gods' house. Nobody goes to the gods' house, but city dwellers sometimes visit the priests' house in order to see the rites. I doubt that I can tell you anything important about the city itself; it is all plainly labelled here on the map."
"Where did you live?" asked Peter.
I pointed. "Close to the market and not far from the old Koretian Council Hall, though I suppose the hall must have been destroyed by fire, as so much was."
Peter leaned over and placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his folded knuckles. "No, in fact it was the only large building to survive. The governor incorporated it into his palace. I think he liked the idea of living where royalty used to live – am I right in remembering that the Koretian King made the hall his home?"
"I told you that you know as much about Koretia as I do."
"I don't know enough about its governor—"
"Neither do I," I cut in. "He was appointed the summer that I left Koretia."
"I know. But many Koretians were sent to my palace during those first few years after the wars. Did you ever hear them talking about Lord Alan?"
"Well," I said, "I wasn't much interested during those years in listening to talk about Emor's rule in Koretia. All that I remember hearing was that the governor was a tyrant and stole from his people – just like the Chara, the Koretians said."
Peter laughed. I pointed to the red patches and asked, "What are those?"
"Those," said Peter, leaning back, "are Emorian soldiers. The bigger the red area, the more units we had in that region. My father had about forty-two garrisons in the Koretian territory he cared for when this map was made. At the time of my enthronement, the number had gone down to eighteen. Here is a map I ordered drawn up recently." He pushed aside the old map in order to show the one under it. "What do you notice?"
I stared down at the red and white paper before me. "More garrisons."
"Three times more soldiers than there were at the time I became Chara. Anything else?"
"I don't observe much that would be helpful to you. I see that the city has been rebuilt, and that a good portion of it is taken up by the governor's palace."
"Yes, and that's a matter of concern to me – how Lord Alan could afford to build a palace that size. Nor am I sure how he could afford to bribe as many of my spies as I believe have been bribed. So the governor's manner of living bothers me. The extra soldiers I've had to send may be a result of the unrest he has caused."
"If that is so," I replied, "couldn't you remove him from office?"
Peter replied only with a smile.
I said, "I forgot. You're bound by the law."
"Like a prisoner," Peter said cheerfully. "It's up to the council to take action, and I couldn't bring such a proposal to them unless I had solid proof of the governor's misconduct."
"You could charge Lord Alan with a crime." I said this quietly, standing, as usual, with the stiff motionlessness of a soldier on sentry duty.
Peter turned toward the table to place weights on the restless edges of the map. "I could. That is to say, the court summoners could charge him with a crime, and only if I provided
them
with more convincing proof than I presently possess. Besides, it's more complicated than you'd think. This problem is one of the reasons why my father locked me in my chamber for ten years and fed me law book after law book. The law is a demanding master to serve, and I sometimes feel like its much-abused slave after one of my battles with the council."
"I probably won't understand a word of what you say," I told him, "but explain it to me anyway, if you will."
"Actually, it's based on the one law phrase you understand well: the council takes care of its own. The council judges those under its care, and the High Lord has the final say on whether a lord is removed from office, in the same way that the High Lord and I jointly decide whether to appoint a man to be council lord."
"And Lord Dean wouldn't remove the governor from office," I said with sudden understanding.
"Remove Lord Alan from office after spending all these years cultivating a fine connection with the governor? I think that Lord Dean is as unlikely to do that as he is to smile upon anyone with true friendship."
"But if the governor were found guilty of his crime—"
"The law is odd that way. A lord's appointment is for life, and it makes no difference if he is enslaved or imprisoned at the time. In such cases, the High Lord simply appoints someone to discharge the lord's duties, a task that would make Lord Dean
very
happy – having sole charge over deciding who ran one of my dominions. No, the only thing that will free me of Lord Alan is his death, either his natural death or his death by the sword."
I said in the cool, hard voice for which I was noted, "I don't suppose that the council judge would sentence Lord Alan to death if he knew that it would take power away from the council."
Peter stared intently at the map, his finger resting upon the mark signifying the governor's palace. "It's a moot issue at present, because Lord Alan's death would solve only half my problems. The governor isn't completely to blame for what is happening in Koretia. Someone else is causing unrest in the dominion."
The name came to my lips, but I said nothing. Peter's finger travelled from the governor's palace to the small mark showing the priests' house. "If there's one thing that the governor has not tried to hide from me, it's his information on the Koretian religion, for the simple reason that he knows next to nothing on the topic. I understand that the Jackal is connected in some way to the priests. What is this man's connection with them?"
"To start with," I said, "the Jackal is not a man but a god."
Peter looked at me, and I smoothly switched my gaze over to the map. I had a moment, in the pause that followed, to wonder how much of what the Chara was asking me about he already knew. It was unlikely that, after ten years as Master of the Koretian Land, Peter had never thought to enquire as to the nature of the Jackal. Already he had raised several topics that I had overheard him expound upon to his council lords, with great erudition.
A cynic might have thought he was testing my loyalty by gauging the truthfulness of my answers. Having witnessed Peter practice this device with his other subjects, I had once asked him its purpose. He had replied with pure simplicity, "When I hear others speak on a topic I think I know about, I learn of my ignorance."
Now he said, "Do you believe that?"
"I'm telling you what the Koretian people believe. The Jackal is one of the seven gods and goddesses whom they have worshipped over the centuries. He is the thief god who prowls in the night, and the hunting god who snatches his spoils. Thirty-five years ago, a man appeared who claimed to be the human form of the Jackal God—"
"Wait. Thirty-five years ago? Before the Emorians arrived?"
"He appeared at the start of Koretia's civil war, the one that eventually led Koretia to attack Emor and start the Border Wars. The man who called himself the Jackal claimed that he had come to destroy the enemies of the people and bring peace to the land."
"Which enemies, if the Emorians hadn't yet arrived?"
"The Jackal didn't say. All I can say is that he made the King and his council nervous enough that they were forever trying to capture him in order to question him. He slipped out of their traps time and time again."
Peter curled his fist under his beardless chin. Unlike his father, who had followed the military fashion for beards, Peter preferred the more common Emorian custom of being clean-shaven. "If the Jackal is a god," he said, "I suppose that he knew that the Emorians would be arriving. Perhaps he arranged Koretia's attack on the borderland villages to ensure that the Emorians would come. Whatever his intentions might have been toward the late King, now Emor is his enemy?"
"It would appear so. Since the time your father first crossed the border with his army, the Jackal's thieves – the Koretians who secretly serve him – haven't made life easy for the Emorians or their sympathizers."
"The thieves murder them," Peter said bluntly.
"I don't know how it is these days, but murders were rare in my childhood, though of course they were the acts that attracted the most attention. More often the Jackal's followers practiced thievery: small thefts, tricks that left the victims frustrated, and quite a few practical jokes. Once a garrison captain locked a town council out of its meeting hall and afterwards found himself locked out of his own house for three days. The thieves are quiet as cats, are rarely caught, and almost never talk when they are caught. The Jackal himself has never been caught, nor is his human identity known to any but his closest companions."
Peter walked over to the window and stared out at the mountains again. "Are there any stories about what he is like?"
"Nobody seems to be sure of his age – I suppose that by this time he must be in his older years. As to his appearance, it is said that he has the body of a man and the face of a jackal."