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The Heavenly Lord’s Ambassador. A Kingdom Like No Other. Book 1
Andrew Kochett
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Never give up, even if you’re a hopeless loser and the whole world is against you. Your previous life as a nerd was just preparing you for your role as the chosen one. That’s exactly what happens when the Emperor of Herandia sends mild-mannered archivist Unizel Virando as the official interpreter for a group of government officials looking to make contact with a secretive land called Virilan. His life and the fate of the Known World hang in the balance. Can a bookworm survive the hazards of the trip, become an expert swordsman, and find true love? Will his learned mind and kind heart help him unlock the mysteries of the strange new land, achieve the Emperor’s goals, and avert war? While Uni struggles to complete his quest, his loyal friends at home try to find out who put a price on his head and find themselves in the middle of a struggle between the Empire’s most powerful shadow forces.

Andrew Kochett
The Heavenly Lord’s Ambassador. A Kingdom Like No Other. Book 1

Illustrations by Yulia Shcherbina

© Andrew Kochett, текст, 2023
© Юлия Щербина, иллюстрации, 2023
© ООО «Издательство «Эксмо», 2023

Prologue
“Man only exists when he is capable of changing his world. Destruction is the highest form of change. Truth is only born of struggle, and only by killing can a man show who he really is. Show us who you are!” he finished writing and looked out of the window. Evening descended, warm and soft. Weary from the day, the celestial body spread its gold-embroidered vestments across the horizon and prepared for its nightly ablutions in the Infinite Ocean. A thin ray of sun fought its way through the thick branches of the trees and landed on the face of a young man bent over a piece of parchment, but the celestial messenger’s efforts were in vain. It had prepared for this meeting, and it would gladly have told the young man of the wide meadows where the sun’s followers capered until it was completely dark, of a pair of dolphins that frolicked in the warm, milky waters of the Misty Sea, far to the south, as they chased after a Capotian merchant ship bearing west. But it was thwarted in its quest, for the young man turned in annoyance, squinted, and bowed his head lower over his writing table, which was made of wood that was as black as coal. The work that had engrossed him for the past several months left him no time to enjoy the beauty of life around him. He was writing in traditional Herandian script, but without the carelessness and indifference that marked the official style of the imperial bureaucracy. Quite the opposite: each letter was set on the parchment with neat attention, and the author often set aside his quill pen and, resting his unshaven cheek on his fist, closely read over what he had written…
I want this book to tell the story of my father, Unizel Virando. He is a famous man, but does anyone know him as a human being?
The first thing we know about a person is his or her name, but everyone reads that name differently, giving it their own meaning, gazing at it like a mirror in hopes of seeing their own familiar feelings and desires. That being the case, I will write about the things that are important to me. How and why did my father become the man he is today? How does he live, and what thoughts come to him when he looks at the world we see around us? What people has he met on his path, and how have they changed his understanding of the world?
My father and I are very different people, but when I listen to his stories, it always seems to me that I would do exactly as he did if faced with similar circumstances. I suppose this gives me the right to add my own elaboration to those events about which, for various reasons, I cannot know the full truth.
My book describes people in this empire, but it also touches on people from wondrous, far-off countries. Much of what happened to those people did not concern my father directly, taking place without his immediate involvement. Still, just as droplets of spilled mercury finally come together, the fates of all the people who ever saw, knew, or fought with my father will come together as something whole and unbroken – something that could be called Destiny. Each character in this story of his life has added a grain of knowledge, love, hate, or suffering, and all of it has now come down to me.
When I took up my pen, I knew that my father’s stories and memories alone would not be enough to bring his world to life. If I hope to relive his life – from my own point of view – I must have deep knowledge of Dashtornis, the Known World. The archives in our capital’s library are still being put together, but they are always open to me, and I am glad of the opportunity to access the wisdom contained therein.
To avoid confusion, I will do my best to present proper names and certain other concepts in the classical Herandian transcription. The original text would certainly be more interesting to the serious researcher, but my book is not a scholarly work, despite the fact that it concerns knowledge of the world and of oneself. I must warn the reader not to expect scientific precision in the names of people and places. Virilan names, for example, are not pronounced exactly as I give them here. And while it is natural for residents of the empire to have a first name and a last name, Virilans have no last name at all. Instead, they have two first names, one of which is given by the parents at birth and the other is chosen by the Virilan when he or she reaches adulthood. Another difficulty is the fact that many sounds (such as the soft k and g) are absent in the Virilan language. Virilans are simply incapable of making these sounds, just as we risk breaking our tongues when we try to pronounce even the simplest phrase in Arincil. The fact that my father speaks these and many other languages fluently – most of them learned from books alone – is proof of his linguistic talents which, unfortunately, were not passed down to me.
And finally, the most important question: who is this book being written for? My father is a shrewd man. He has studied so many people over the course of his life that understanding his own son gives him no trouble at all. For this reason, Unizel Virando did not bother asking me what I was writing about. Instead, like snow falling from a clear sky, he paid an unexpected visit to my small estate, leaving me no chance to avoid him. Casually taking his seat right on the table where I do my work, my father stared at my parchment with a vague, secretive smile in his sky-blue eyes. I must admit that my heart began to beat faster than usual, and my guts were gripped by cold. I expected him to criticize me, to point out mistakes I had made, to demand that I rewrite or remove certain parts, but he did none of these. No, my father seemed to enjoy taunting me. The sun slipped past its noonday peak, and still he said nothing. He seemed to draw out all the life force I had put into my scrolls, giving nothing in return. All torment eventually comes to an end, though, and this time was no different. My father suddenly looked up from the parchment and turned to me. His eyes were full of understanding.
“I hope you realize that it would not be a good idea to publish this?” As always, his manner was sleek and perfectly polite.
I let my breath out with a tremendous sense of relief. I had prepared myself for this question long ago. “Of course, Father. I…”
“Then can you explain to me why you have wasted so much time on this? You are no longer a boy wondering who he will become when he grows up. You bear the weight of an incredible responsibility, a mission that passes to you as my only son. When I see what you have been doing instead of learning the things you will need to know…”
“I think of that constantly! But Father, isn’t your own destiny perfect proof of the fact that, by following the dictates of his own heart, each man eventually arrives at his own Hour of Truth? I am writing this book for my children, so that they may know the story of the head of our family. These seeds of knowledge, when thrown into the future, will bear the fruit of wisdom and provide a strong foundation for our family and our empire!
“Are you saying that this will be a book to be read at home?”
“Exactly. It is a book and a textbook and a memory aid all in one. I swear that everything set out in these scrolls will remain our family’s secret forever!”
My father snorted skeptically and shrugged. He looked out the open window, where the cool breeze from the river was shaking the arms of the trees and the nimble squirrels were stealing delicacies from the altar honoring our ancestors, which stood under a large oak.
I could tell my father did not have much faith in me. Or perhaps he did have faith, but secretly wanted to change his own mind. I would have to think quickly to save the situation.
“Father, I am like you in everything. Think back to how it all started. Thirty years ago. An evening just like this one. Enteveria, the capital of the great Herandian Empire. The archives of His Heavenly Majesty, master of everything under the sky…”

Part I. From Shadows into Light

Chapter 1. Burdened by Hope
The young falcon had been gliding masterfully for over an hour in the wind’s soft embrace on that evening in May. Ash-colored wings spread wide, he cast a knowing eye over the city that lay beneath him. If the residents of the boundless Herandian Empire had worshipped a more mundane deity instead of the Sun, they would have paid less attention to birds, who were on familiar terms with the bright face of the sky. It was a grave sacrilege to kill birds, and yet something had to be done to protect the Emperor’s palace and the heads of the statues (and those of regular citizens) from the power-drunk pigeons. Only the falcon – that holy guardian of the Heavenly Throne – had the lawful right to reduce the population of blue-winged bandits, and for this he was doubly revered by the residents of Enteveria.
The imperial archives suffered frequently from the pigeons’ excesses. The squat, somewhat ominous building was reliably protected from non-avian troublemakers by its position inside the first circle of the Great Imperial Chambers, but attacks from the air posed a continual threat to the appearance of the largest storehouse of knowledge in all of Dashtornis. The situation was made worse by the fact that the archive was built two hundred years ago under Emperor Nazalio, who was a great lover of constructivist experimentations and essentially rebuilt the city’s historical center. His Heavenly Majesty was careful to draw the attention of his architects – mundane thinkers all of them – to the obvious fact that the storehouse for such valuable manuscripts chronicling the great deeds of his heavenly ancestors simply could not take the form of a rough, rectangular prism of Seregad marble “that would seize even the most marginally refined person with despair at the mere sight of it.”
It cost the architects a great deal of effort to convince His Majesty not to tear down the almost completed building, which would have destroyed an extensive network of basements that provided the perfect conditions for storing especially valuable manuscripts, with expensive mechanisms for dousing fires and a special system of mirrors that allowed weak but natural sunlight to reach even the farthest corners of the unshakeable citadel of the wisdom of past ages. The chief architect, Cordius Palio, saw the imperial archives primarily as a fortress, a carefully guarded treasure house that could withstand direct assault, flood, fire, and riots.
He often intoned on the subject: “This structure will stand for a thousand years, and our descendants will be surprised and delighted to find a path into the world of those who laid the foundations of our great empire!”
It would have been uncomfortable to argue with the Emperor, however, so Palio agreed to a bit of architectural slight-of-hand and added an ornate but false colonnade to the front of the building and a gallery of statues of Herandia’s most learned men to its roof.
These statues earned Palio a place among the most frequent subjects of estevels brought by the archive’s contemporary workers (estevels were scraps of paper bearing curses against one’s enemies; for a small fee, supplicants could use a primitive lens to ceremoniously feed the paper to the sun’s rays, thereby subjecting the target of the curse to the power of the heavenly deity). Pigeons dropped piles of excrement on the statues’ heads and the roof of the archive with such ferocity that the Emperor, observing the building from a vantage point on his main balcony, became indignant at this flagrant insult to the imperial gaze.
“There are rumors that the Sun is sending his servants to show his wrath with our Lord,” said a handful of the Emperor’s helpful advisors.
“Let us call on the falcon, the protector of the Heavenly Throne! That will show everyone that the Lord of the Sky is on your side!” said others.
As a result, specially trained falcons had guarded the sky above the archive and the palace for almost two centuries, ruthlessly tearing to pieces any winged violators and putting a stop to dangerous unrest in the minds of the Heavenly Emperor’s subjects. City residents loved to watch the handsome bird soaring through the sky, and the young man on the front steps of the archive was no different. To get a clear picture of what this connoisseur of free flight looked like, imagine an old man, shriveled and decrepit from years of working in the archives, lungs corroded by the ever-present dust, eyes weakened by the half-light, back bent as a sign of membership in the gloomy caste that is called “bookworms”. If you have enough imagination, suppose for a moment that even this pitiful specimen was once a blooming youth. Taken together, those two images provide a fairly precise rendering of how other people saw Unizel Virando. Very few people actually knew his name. At the archive, where he was employed as assistant to the senior master in the foreign manuscripts section, everyone simply called him Uni. His close friends called him Little Uni – not because of his short stature, but because of the naïve, scattered look in his blue eyes, which he inherited from his mother, and his excessively polite, even timid, manners.


Tossing the golden curls away from his forehead, Uni kept his eyes on the proud hunter. He felt a melancholy envy of the bird’s unchained freedom and graceful flight. For a young man who spent most of his time in the archive’s musty vaults, the falcon was a visible symbol of something bigger and more important. It called to him, but what it seemed to offer was fatally unachievable.
A man stepped out of the archive’s front door. “Uni, stop gaping at the birds. Barko is waiting for you. Get moving!” The man filled his lungs with the fresh air of late spring, saying his final goodbyes of the day to the dusty spirits of imperial wisdom.
“Coming, Master Gergius!” Uni said with an inadvertent sigh. He hurried up the rest of the steps and, once again, surrendered his body to torture at the hands of the dismal spirits of the painfully familiar underground vaults. The most dangerous of these fearsome creatures was his superior, senior master Barko. He was fearsome in his stubborn refusal to forget about the existence of his young assistant for long periods of time, thereby preventing Uni from studying the archive’s contents to his heart’s content.
It would be untrue to say that Uni hated the archive’s old (and sometimes gloomy) walls. Quite the opposite, when he first entered that narrow world four years prior, he realized with delight that fate had given him an incredible gift. The labyrinthine halls of the archive held his body like a prison, but his spirit, fed by the contents of a mountain of secret scrolls and codices, found a path to an entirely new and unknown world of knowledge. The archive contained books on every subject. Anything published anywhere in Dashtornis – whether by the timid hand of a scribe or by the lifeless block of a wood press – eventually found its way here, to the main archives of the Heavenly Empire. The Arincilian jungles, the deserts of Mustobrim, the deep forests of Torgendam, and the teeming cities of Capotia – the whole world, more than one could see in a lifetime, revealed itself in wonders, dangers, and the strange customs of foreign people. With access to so many books, Uni taught himself the languages of many of these strange, yet fascinating people and spent hours imagining the conversations he could have with them, pretending to be a fierce warrior from Arincil’s House of the Eagle, or a brave captain working on a merchant fleet from Capotia, or even a shaman from a wild barbarian tribe roaming the plains of the Great Expanse.
His work did not take up much of his time. It was a necessary duty that he had to carry out so that he could spend the rest of his time doing what he loved, but he came to resent it as a petty encroachment on the graceful and intelligent world where he existed on an entirely different plane. How could anyone think it fair to ask a man who had already spanned the Known World with his ravenous mind to catalog new scrolls or copy out an excerpt from a dusty old tract on the art of cookery? His superiors at the archive seemed intent on finding ever more primitive tasks for Uni, blatantly exploiting his kind, compliant nature.
On this particular day, for example, he wondered wistfully why they had to send him to carry a copy of some pointless romantic ballad to the client who ordered it. He knew the answer: Gergius and his elderly accomplices at the archive contrived to save on couriers because they hoped to put some of those savings in their own pockets. The only exception to this rule was Barko, with whom Uni shared a love of foreign languages and an utterly impractical outlook on life (both highly unusual qualities for subjects of the empire). If Barko was looking for him that late in the day, it was probably not for a minor task. Uni hoped it wasn’t an errand that would take him all the way across the city. He had an important event scheduled for the evening, perhaps the most important event in his life.


At the thought of Siana, the young archivist seemed to grow falcon’s wings and flew down the labyrinth of hallways, making turn after turn from memory, up and down stairs and through doors with heavy, ornate metal locks. Siana was the one and only girl for him. It was the kind of infatuation that can start with a glance and conquer forever the heart of a sensitive young man. Mystically unattainable, it was a vision of love that thrilled the mind and fired the blood. It was love unexplored, unearthly, and all-consuming.
Uni was proud of himself because, unlike the abstract multitude of young men who sat around sighing about their obsessions, he had finally found the strength to progress along the fragile path toward intimacy with the object of his dreams. And now, after almost two years of playing at sidelong glances, formal greetings (during which his chest nearly burst from the wild beating of his heart), and tactful hints concerning matters of great subtlety, he had taken a deep breath (now or never!) and asked the girl of his dreams to meet him in the gardens of Archomena at the changing of the seventh watch.
City dwellers loved the gardens of Archomena because they seemed to have been designed to give young people sufficient privacy to conduct their social lives while actually remaining in clear view of anyone who walked by. This allowed young women to maintain their reputations and relieved young men of the trouble of finding a place to sit in peace with a girl one had just met.
The customs of the capital, which ought to have been very strict because of the proximity of the most holy sites for worshiping the Heavenly Deity, were, in fact, much more tolerant of natural human weakness than those touted by the patriarchal style of the Herandian provinces. In the first decades of the Empire’s existence, the priests of the Sun had attempted to control morals and relations between the sexes, but as Enteveria became a large, cosmopolitan city, the priests had encountered resistance in the form of deceit, sabotage, and open protest. In the end, the city’s religious leaders decided it was pointless to bail water from a sinking boat and revised their strictures to something simple: “Anything is permitted that does not offend the Lord of the Sky.” In simple terms, that meant once the sun went down, the city became unrecognizable. Some of the livelier citizens also decided that well-drawn curtains were the moral equivalent of nightfall.
As a typical romantic, Uni saw such goings-on as a crude attack on his pure dream world, and he rejected them utterly. He felt that intimacy with his beloved would be entirely different, something holy, something that strived toward the light.
With these thoughts in mind – his eyes focused on the world outside the dusty archive – he ran smack into an unexpected guest who had been peaceably conversing with senior master Barko.
“You’re a strange one, Uni,” his superior commented in a voice that was both kindly and patronizing. “You either disappear for who knows how long, or you knock a man off his feet.”
The words tripped over Uni’s tongue as he apologized. He awkwardly put his fists to his chest and then held out his right arm as he bowed low, making the traditional Herandian display of respect look somewhat comic and depriving it of the elegance that any courtier would have displayed in a similar situation. Blushing deeply, he raised his eyes to see who had fallen victim to his detachment from the real world and let out a sigh of relief. The late-comer was Manelius Ronko, an advisor to the Heavenly Throne and a great lover of ancient manuscripts. His handsome, almond-shaped eyes gazed at Uni with humor and not the slightest sign of annoyance.
“Enel Ronko, this is our best and most gifted employee, Unizel Virando.” Barko cleared his throat. “I believe you are already acquainted.”
Ronko bowed his head. “Barko, my friend, I will be doubly grateful if you will show us to a quiet corner where we can talk in private,” he said, looking around as if he had just noticed they were standing in a hallway.
Ronko followed the young archivist to a small alcove that was used for copying lists and cataloging books. The imperial advisor carried himself with great dignity, and his lips were set in a condescending smile. He wore a richly colored robe that fell to his heels, with wide sleeves that engulfed his arms and required him to move with solemnity. As he walked, Ronko swept his bent arms forward and to the side, as if drawing his companion’s attention to the shelves and boxes of scrolls containing ancient wisdom. Ronko was entirely unaware that he was posing, and it did not bother Uni at all. He had first met Ronko three years prior, and he was continually amazed by the man’s desire for individual enlightenment, an unusual trait for a courtier of his stature.
Courtiers and wealthy men of an intellectual bend often visited the archive to collect crumbs of knowledge they could use to show off in their next report, or snatches of poetry they could recite to impress their lovers. On occasion, they ordered copies of ancient tracts with titles like “Strategies for Skirmishing with Barbarians and other Enemies,” which were an obligatory element in the personal libraries of educated men throughout the empire. However, they rarely visited the archive in person. Instead, they had couriers who dropped off notes, picked up orders, and delivered them to the clients’ homes.
Uni had often delivered such orders. He disliked running errands, but he found a bit of enjoyment in visiting the homes of wealthy clients and collecting even the tiniest bit of information about the secrets that motivated their reading choices. This was one of his few strong points in conversations with friends. Who would have guessed that Loe Vinyaki, the war minister’s melancholy and unapproachable senior assistant, was a secret fan of the poems of Ulinian poetess Levia Sui, and that he owned a complete collection of her lyrics on unrequited love? Or that the successful merchant Kramath Segnoe, a handsome ladies’ man, had read everything the archive contained on remedies for better virility? On the other hand, no one was surprised to learn that Licisium Dorgoe, one of the Emperor’s closest and most beloved advisors, filled his reports with quotes Uni had taken for him from ancient works on the art of governance.
Manelius Ronko stood out from the rest of the courtiers. For one thing, he always came to the archive in person. He also declined the services of the archive’s scribes, instead sequestering himself with whatever scrolls he had requested. Uni was the only archive employee who was fortunate enough to find his favor. Having read much more than his job required, he could immediately direct Ronko to the information he needed in almost any section of the archive.
Once a manuscript was found, Ronko had a strange manner of reading it: he seemed to suck out the information without paying any attention to the order of the chapters or pages. Ronko gave the impression that he was displeased with how the authors presented the information he wanted, and he seemed to be building a virtual archive of his own where everything was organized in what he took to be the most natural order. His curiosity ranged from travelers’ descriptions of far-off countries to recipes for making poisons, and from the finer points of administration in pre-imperial Herandia to the latest tracts on architecture. At one point, it occurred to Uni that Ronko reminded him of himself (or of the man he could become in thirty years, given the right circumstances). Could he become that man? He had no idea. While the archive might be just another extravagant hobby or a pleasant waste of time for Ronko, for Uni it was the only work he was capable of getting after graduating from the academy without any other prospects.
When they were finally alone, Ronko turned to him and spoke, his voice smooth and sophisticated. “My dear friend, I know we have spoken of this before, but please remind me: do you truly have a strong interest in Virilan? Your gray-haired master has indicated that you do. Barko left me speechless when he told me that he and yourself are the only two people in the empire who know the Virilan language.”
Ronko ignored the only chair in the alcove and stared down at Uni from his much greater height. His expression was obliging and yet sharp, perhaps due to the unusual shape of his handsome eyes, which slanted down toward the bridge of his nose, especially when his cheek muscles tensed in a smile. At such moments, his face took on the aspect of a theatrical mask, both kind and frightening at the same time.
Uni clasped his hands on his stomach, took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts in order to answer as clearly and concisely as possible.
“Yes, you are correct. I should say,” he hastened to add, “that my knowledge of the language is very limited and cannot be compared to that of Enel Barko. He is the one who taught me everything he knows. He showed me rare books and helped me find what I needed in them. Senior master Barko is most certainly the greatest scholar of Virilan in the empire, of that you can be sure!”
“I give you credit for your modesty,” Ronko said. He bowed his head and closed his eyes for an instant. “But that is not what is required now. The Emperor needs a person who can provide him with a brief but detailed report on Virilan and its residents, their form of governance, and their customs. In short, enough information so that a person who knows nothing of the subject can quickly gain full knowledge of that geographical enigma without becoming overly fatigued by the reading of the report. Barko told me that you might be that person.”
“Me?” Uni squeaked in dismay. “No, of course I am flattered to hear his excellent opinion of me, although I’m sure I haven’t earned it, but I can’t…”
“Can you read primary sources?” Ronko pressed on, ignoring his self-deprecation.
“Of course,” the young man brightened. “Studying history without primary sources would be like singing a song without words. Virilan is nothing but history. It has no present, at least for us. The country is closed.” His words came faster. “Nobody knows what their current state of affairs is. You must know that they only trade with the Capotians who have just one small trading post on the coast. They have only limited contact with outsiders.”
“So that’s what you will be writing about,” Ronko said. He ran his index finger along a shelf of books just so that he could demonstratively blow the ancient dust from his finger. “But here’s my advice. Don’t write in Virilan, or else you will forget what you are doing and no one will be able to read it.”
Uni smiled at the unexpected joke and began to relax.
“Tell me one more thing, my friend,” Ronko continued his questioning. “Have you ever attempted to speak Virilan?” He paused. “But of course you haven’t. There is no one for you to speak with here. And nothing to speak of. I keep forgetting that Virilan is a dead language, at least as far as we are concerned.”
“Why not?” Uni burst out. “Sometimes senior master Barko speaks to me about interesting passages from the ancient texts. And sometimes I…well, when you read those old histories, you can’t help but imagine the wars and the old heroes. You imagine what it would be like to be one of their wise men, or their commanders, or their lords…”
“Do you mean to tell me that you read their dialogues aloud? Like a shadow theater in the bowels of the imperial archive? How very interesting!”
Uni felt himself blush to the tips of his ears, but there was no retreat. And he didn’t want to retreat. The unexpected proposal was much too exciting for that.
“It’s not as odd as you think. You see, when the Virilans conquered the Five Kingdoms four hundred years ago, all the people who refused to accept their rule sailed away to the four corners, including our Empire. They were soon absorbed by the Empire, and the few books they brought with them are all we know about the country, its residents, and their language.”
“I’m not casting doubt on your methods of study. That very fact may come in useful.” He looked closely at Uni. “I had no idea that this meeting would be such a success!”
“I will do everything I can to deserve your trust. When does the document need to be ready?”
“Noon tomorrow would be perfect,” Ronko said with a shrug, his eyes wandering over the shelves.
For an instant, Uni felt as if his heart and the rest of his organs had fallen to his feet. “What? Noon tomorrow?” His voice came from somewhere near his feet, too.
“Of course,” Ronko sighed. “Now you see how lucky I am that you will be taking care of this for me.” He snapped his fingers. “Indeed, if the Heavenly Lord decides your fate, he is capable of leading you over a bridge as thin as a hair.”
“Of course,” it was Uni’s turn to mumble. His face reflected none of his illustrious companion’s pleasure. “Have no fear, the report will be ready on time, and it will be quite complete,” he added with weak enthusiasm that fizzled as he exhaled.
“Excellent. I won’t keep you. Until tomorrow.” Ronko was delighted, like a child who has been given a long-awaited gift. Normally, Uni would have found his reaction amusing, but not today.
His client disappeared around the corner and Uni was left leaning against the stacks, desperately trying to wrap his mind around the tragedy and the challenge of the moment. Why did fate choose to mock him even as it delivered a rare prize into his hands? After a long four years of pointless work in the archive, someone at the court had finally noticed his talent. This could be his one chance to break out of the archive’s dingy basement and prove himself in an important matter. If he did well, perhaps with time he would be offered a serious position, one where he would not be treated as an errand boy, instead issuing orders to a staff of his own. Why did this much-anticipated opportunity have to show up just in time to prevent him from achieving success in another, no less important, area of his life? Why were all his friends and acquaintances seemingly able to combine their careers and their private lives, while he had to sacrifice one or the other?
Uni gritted his teeth and leaned back, knocking his head against the wooden panel of the wall behind him. Skipping out on that evening’s engagement was just as impossible as giving up the miraculous opportunity to show off his skills in the Virilan report. There was only one thing to do: he would accomplish both at the same time.
“This always happens to me,” he thought. “It’s always everything or nothing.” He made some rapid calculations. “I’ll go on the walk with Siana this evening and tell her I love her right when the sun goes down. Romance on a tight schedule. But it’s better this way. I’m too busy to be nervous. Sorry dear, I have to run. Can’t keep the Emperor waiting, you know… Technically, that’s true, and what an effect it will have! After I win Siana’s heart, I’ll run back to the archive and spend the night in a creative fever writing a brilliant report worthy of the Great Lord’s praise. The precise details! The breadth of knowledge! The style, noble yet straightforward! I won’t use shorthand – the whole thing will be in the most elegant script!” He tried to remember the last time he had used his calligraphy skills. “It may kill me, but I’ll write so beautifully that all the courtiers will be shocked! Who is the author of this phenomenal text? Unizel Virando? The assistant to the senior master? How could you have overlooked him? You aren’t making the most of his talents! Immediately make him a department master. No, appoint him personal advisor to the Emperor! Who else possesses such wide-ranging knowledge of all the foreign powers? Sure, that’s highly unlikely, but they won’t be able to ignore me any longer after I complete this heroic work.”
Suddenly, Uni froze. “I still need permission from Barko to work here overnight.” He took off running. “Falcon, I'll catch up with you soon!”

Chapter 2. Shattered Heart
“The Arincils only worship two gods, unlike all the other pagans. The first of them is Pulimentel, the god of death, for they believe that death is the only reality that touches each of us equally. It doesn’t matter if you’re strong or weak, good looking or ugly, rich or poor. Eventually, you are going to die. Thus, death stands over us all and holds the greatest power over all living things. Personally, I find much here in common with our belief in the Heavenly Deity that gives its light to all living things in equal measure. That said, while the Arincils’ god represents fear of the unavoidable end and reflects the essence of their ruthless society, our Heavenly Deity shines over the fair lands where our empire’s wisest and most humane minds are born. Their second god, Alintepel, is the god of military fortune. When two equally strong warriors meet in combat, victory is often decided by chance. It can turn on something so small. Even an experienced warrior can find himself helpless in the face of a terrible stroke of bad luck that cuts through his lifeline like a sword…”
“You know so many interesting things. It’s a pleasure to hear you talk,” said the attractive brunette with a fine profile and unusually beautiful, emerald eyes who had been walking for over an hour with Uni along the winding pathways of the gardens of Archomena, enjoying the warm evening breeze, the deepening red sunset and her erudite companion. Uni had been surprised at how easy it was to interest the unattainable heroine of his dreams – all he had to do was tell her, one after another, all the things he had learned while reading in the archive.
“This is going well,” Uni thought to himself. “I’ll tell her about the bride selection ritual of Torgendam, and then it will be time for the main event: Dearest Siana, I have known so many lovely women from beyond the seas, but none of them – and none of our empire’s fair women – can compare to you, not even the princesses of past ages. You are the princess of my soul. You are its queen, and my eyes are locked on you forever…”
She turned her smile on him. “I’m glad you found time to walk with me. I know you’re busy working for the Emperor.”
Uni blushed. “As a matter of fact, I am a little pressed for time. You see, His Majesty is expecting an important report from me tomorrow. It’s a secret, you know. Yes, there are some things that His Majesty can only trust me with. I try to find time for him. There are plenty of other workers at the archive, but he needs someone who truly understands the matter.”
“How right you are! My father is the Heavenly Throne’s treasury secretary, and he is always complaining about the difficulty of finding good people. There are so many dishonest people out there who only think about how to put money in their own pockets. Can you imagine? They buy houses, boats, fine carriages and expensive paintings, but their heads are absolutely empty!”
Uni sighed. “That is a sign of our times. Money without culture and culture without money. In the ancient world, the leaders were enlightened. They took wise men as their advisors, and their governments and their people prospered. When wisdom is separated from power and power from wisdom, the country becomes like a body that is missing its head!”
“You always put things just the right way!”
“I am but a simple fisherman who spends his days chasing after the truth with the tattered nets of his thoughts,” Uni replied. “I’m not the first person to realize that powerful people ought to pay attention to those who have great knowledge. When wise men are ignored by those in power, they always turn their voices to the rabble, becoming leaders of the mindless crowd, whose animal instincts drive it to destroy the foundations of a civilized society. It is a shame that our self-important civil servants do not wish to see what is right in front of their faces: it would be better to spend one hundred leros today to hire a handful of wise men than spend a thousand leros tomorrow to put down a revolt!”
Siana smiled happily. “I agree with everything you say, but remember that not everyone is as thoughtless as you think. My future husband, Semilius Torvey, has the greatest respect for talented young people. He says that the empire stands on their shoulders.”
“Your future husband?” Uni felt a wave of hot blood rise to his head. He froze. A black mist clouded his vision. He put his hands to his head.
“Of course, it would be more correct to say that he is my fiancé, but the matter has already been decided. I thought you know him. Semilius is one of the commanders of the Solar Sentinels. I expect you’ve seen him at the palace.”
“No, I haven’t. I mean, of course, I’ve heard of him. Have you known him long?”
“Three months. Remember when you met me at the square in front of the Imperial Court? He was standing next to my father. He’s tall and strong, and his face is very fierce, with such a manly profile! You know, I’ve never been a very emotional person, but when I saw him for the first time, I felt like a wave knocked me off my feet. Something just pulled me to him!”
“I see.” Uni’s face was as hard as stone. He sighed, folded his hand behind his back, and started walking again, trying to look like he wasn’t dying inside. “He sounds like the perfect hero. I suppose all the girls dream of a brave young man like that saving them from a dragon…”
Siana gave a little frown. “He’s fifteen years older than I am, so he’s not exactly a young man. I’d say he’s a man in his prime. And he’s very, very smart. Just listen, I haven’t told you everything yet. Semilius told me that after we are married, he wants us to host a salon of the most intelligent people in the empire. He always says exactly what you just did: educated book-lovers shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with poor people. There needs to be a place where they can come and discuss their ideas while they drink and eat and have a good time. We are going to host elegant dinner parties like that. Just imagine: philosophers sitting around our table having heated discussions! I hope you will come and take part.”
“Me? Thank you for the invitation. I doubt I’ll come.”
“What’s wrong with you, Uni? You’re such a nice boy. You should think about your career. If you spend time with the best people in the empire, you’ll get noticed much faster. Wise men and leaders around the same table! That’s just what you were talking about, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” He paused. “Siana, you are always telling me how smart you think I am, but you’re wrong. Today, for the first time, I realized that you are the smart one. I’m a fool. That’s the truth.” Uni’s voice wavered as he stared off in the distance.
“How strange you are! How could I ever be smarter than you? You’ve read so many books, and you know more things than I could ever imagine. I may know a little bit about a lot of things, but my only chance to really learn is when I talk to people like you!”
“Will I ever see you again?” Uni asked, easing himself into the role of martyr.
“Of course! Come by during the week and tell me more about the Arincils. My father says we will be at war with them soon, but Semilius doesn’t believe it. What do you think, which of them is correct?”
For a moment, Uni said nothing, but then he gathered all of his strength and mastered the wave of despair that was drowning him. “I believe your eminently respected father is closer to the truth.”
“I think so, too,” the girl said, leaning toward him trustingly. “But please don’t tell Semilius. He doesn’t like it when I disagree with him.” She glanced at the setting sun. “It’s time for me to go. The sun is down. Time always flies when I’m with you!”
“Let me walk you home.”
“No need. There’s a palanquin waiting for me at the entrance to the gardens. Goodbye, Uni. It was so nice to spend time with you.” With an elegant wave of her wrist – encircled with a gold bracelet in the form of a grape vine – the girl left Uni standing alone in the ruins of his unfounded expectations.
* * *
“My dear boy, I can’t understand why you ever had any hopes. What were you thinking?” The heavy-set young man walking on Uni’s left was the absolute picture of sarcasm. He was only a hair taller than his tragic friend, but he made himself more noticeable with his smug bearing, brightly colored robes, and the unpleasant smirk on his well-bred face. “Did you even know who her father is? He’s Otonius Zainey, the right-hand-man to the Emperor’s tax collector! Think of it like this: you’re both birds, but she’s sitting in a much nicer tree. Does that make sense?”
The young man on Uni’s right frowned. “That’s not the problem, Sorgius,” he said with a shake of his dark curls. He was tall and well-built, a giant next to his friends. “You always think everything has to do with rank and money. What actually happened is that our little hero spent months and months dreaming about a girl who was already preparing to light a fire in her husband’s hearth.”
“Little hero? We were born in the same year, yet you keep calling me ‘little.’ With the Sun as my witness, I’ve had enough!”
Sorgius made a face. “Oh no, he’s getting upset.” He turned to Uni. “My boy, it takes more than admiring pretty girls if you want to be a man. You need brains in your head instead of book dust. Plain old common sense. And you need to get outside more often. You sit inside that archive like a child in its mother’s womb. You haven’t even been born yet. You’re a baby!”
“Perhaps I don’t know life, if you define life as these filthy drinking parties of yours, filthy whores, gluttony and licentiousness, and the stink of that weed you smoke!” Uni shook his head. “Man was created for purity and light, to attain the secrets of this world and to respond to the call of tender love. I will never be like you two. Why do you always attack me?”
“Speaking of filthy drinking parties,” his companion on the right interrupted him. “Shall we stop in at the Rabbit? What do you say? I think that’s the perfect place to drink yourself into a stupor over unrequited love.”
Uni winced. “I thought you would understand me, Vordius. I suppose you’re done with your friends now that you’ve found love. Have you forgotten how we poured beer down your throat when you were heartsick?”
“That we did,” Sorgius recalled happily. “But for some reason, I was the one who vomited. Those hotheads from the guards certainly know how to drink. We were at the Roasted Rabbit that time, so why not go back? We already know the place.”
“My report for the Emperor is due at noon. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll suffer alone.”
“Did you hear that? He’s writing for the Great Lord, but he doesn’t want to drink to him. There’s something wrong with that. How about this: I hereby use the powers vested in me to arrest you until you remedy this blasphemous situation,” said Vordius Onato. He wrapped a giant arm around Uni’s shoulders and squeezed him until he cried out in pain. Then he dragged his friend’s puny body into their favorite drinking establishment.
The Roasted Rabbit might not have been one of the best-known taverns in Enteveria, but it offered the most fun, with the highest concentration of wine-lovers anywhere in the Empire. As its name indicated, the tavern was known for roasting rabbits, pheasants, and other delicacies brought in by hunters, which made it the ideal choice for gatherings of “real men” and anyone who wanted to sit next to them at prices that were more than reasonable for the capital city.
There were no seats to be had, but Vordius solved the problem in his usual manner: he simply knocked three of the most well-oiled customers off their chairs.
He gestured at a server. “Man, over here!” The server reacted quickly when he saw the guardsman. Vordius was feeling expansive. “Bring us the best of everything: rabbit, vegetables, bread, nuts. And make sure it’s all fresh!”
“Are you drinking wine or beer?”
“Bring both.”
“What kind of wine? We have a fortified wine from Seregad that is particularly nice.”
“I said bring everything!”
“Yes, your honor!”
Uni’s eyes were round. “I can’t believe it! You’ve been a nicor for less than a week and you’re already bossing everyone around. What will you be like when they make you a commander?”
“Would you rather sit here for an hour before they notice you? The way I do it, we already have a feast on our table.”
“Lovely. But who is going to pay for it?”
“He is,” Vordius said, pointing his huge finger at Sorgius, whose eyes had rolled up in delight at the smell of the beer. “He’ll pay for each word he said against my very best friend,” and the warrior wrapped his powerful arm around Uni’s face and kissed him on the top of the head.
“Of course, you brought me along to be the wallet,” Sorgius whined. “I wish I had known when we were boys together that I would end up buying your friendship with beer.”
“You brought it on yourself, fool! How many times have I told you to stop measuring everything in money? You’re a philanderer with years of experience, but when I asked you to give Uni advice, you just brushed me off. How could you? Can’t you see your friend is dying?”
“If he’s dying, then let’s drink the first toast to our friendship. May there always be someone to take the noose from around your neck!”
“To friendship!” Each member of the small group poured a little of his wine into his neighbor’s cup and then drank his own dry.
“See, Uni,” Sorgius turned to his neighbor, whose face was already pink. “Your fatal mistake was entirely banal. That’s what makes it so tragic. Your fault is how you look at a woman.”
“How do you know how I look at a woman?”
Sorgius snorted. “Do you think you’re one-of-a-kind? Everyone goes through it. See, you look at women as if they were holy beings. Goddesses. That’s the root of your problem.”
“But how else am I supposed to look at the woman I love? That’s normal.”
“Normal?” Sorgius snorted again. “What’s normal is seeing a woman for what she is. In reality. A woman is a pretty face that hides a very pragmatic, earthy nature. She has no time for romantic nonsense, and she usually knows perfectly well what she wants from life.”
“What does she want?”
“For a man to pay attention to her and take care of her. That’s the main idea. First of all, she has to see you as a man. Then, you have to show her some attention. Nothing else matters.”
“Fine. What is a man like that supposed to do with a woman?”
“Vordius can tell you all about that.” He turned to the guardsman with a grin. “How are you and Luvia getting along?”
The guardsman looked up and frowned. “Don’t you dare speak lightly of my Luvia!” He grabbed Sorgius by the front of his robe and shook him.
“You mean you haven’t done anything yet? Liar!” Sorgius shook with laughter.
“Luvia isn’t one of those girls. We will not have relations until the wedding. That was my decision!”
“A wedding? There’s a first! No wonder you set your eyes on a nice girl like that. But wait, how many others did you have before her? Come on, share your secrets with your best friend.”
“See here, Uni…” Vordius started in, tearing rabbit meat into strips on his plate.
“Little Uni!” Sorgius reminded him with a sneer.
“That’s right, Little Uni. See here,” Vordius put down his knife and looked up at his friend. He softened when he saw the conflicting feelings of irritation and laughter that had twisted Uni’s face into a mask. Uni was actually missing their fourth friend – Dag, at whose presence, for an unknown mystical reason, the guys mocked him less. Dag has not yet returned from his trip to the country, and without him their team was not complete.
“Actually, I don’t think you have time to be thinking about girls right now.”
“Why is it that you have time and I don’t?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say that if you want to be successful with women, you’ll have to change yourself first.”
Uni shook his head. “I know, I know. I work in a basement and I don’t know anything about life. I’ve heard that a hundred times.”
“I don’t care what building you work in. See, a man is supposed to have an iron will and make people notice him. Who cares about your archive? And who cares what kind of work you do there? Licisium Dorgoe sold bread on the street when he was a young man, and now he’s the Emperor’s most trusted advisor.”
“That’s the truth,” said Sorgius, leaning back in his chair and scratching behind his ear. “Any other man would have made a name for himself in that archive of yours.”
“How would he do that? Selling scrolls? Or charging for access to closed storerooms? Sorgius, you can be a dishonest piece of trash if you want. Just don’t get your dirt on the rest of us, alright?”
“A dishonest piece of trash? Me? Have you forgotten how you, with that chicken head of yours, lost a scroll of Erido Mortimi’s prophecies last year? I’m the one who went out and bought you a copy of the scroll for three hundred leros. And I see I was a fool to do it, if you think you can…”
“I’m sorry, Sorgius, I spoke too harshly.”
“That you did. Why don’t you sit and listen sometimes, instead of telling fairy tales about far-off lands that no one wants to hear.”
“But they aren’t fairy tales.”
“That’s enough!” roared Vordius. “We drank to our friendship already, but I see that once was not enough. Let’s try the fortified wine. Empty your cups!”
“I can’t, I’ll get drunk,” said Uni, already red-faced. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his best robe (which he had put on especially to impress Siana).
“Eat more and listen,” said Vordius, who was enjoying the role of teacher. “Do you know what your biggest mistake in life is? You spend too much time gathering abstract knowledge. You need a completely different kind of knowledge if you want to be successful at anything.”
“Fascinating. I suppose you’ll tell me what that knowledge is?”
“How to behave around people, you fool! You run around that archive when anyone calls your name. Why is that? Because you’re an idiot and you have no concept of your own dignity. Isn’t that true?”
“Of course not. It’s cold calculation Let me explain…”
“To the demons of darkness with your explanations. I may not be that smart, but I’ve learned a lot about people over my years of service. You think you’re smart, don’t you? You think you’ll let the fools in charge think you’re working hard, but in reality you’re doing your own thing. Am I right? Well, unfortunately the fool in the story is you! Remember this: nobody cares what you’re thinking about. All that matters is how you carry yourself. You took on the role of a humble servant, and nobody will let you forget it. They’re used to seeing you that way now. I bet you’re hoping that some miracle will happen and things will change. There are no miracles in this world, Uni, and the sooner you realize that the more time you’ll have to build your own future. For yourself. Success takes time, and here you are wasting your best years!”
“I don’t know. That’s easy for you to say – you’ve been big and strong since we were children. I’m a different person. I can’t just copy you. That would be a ridiculous piece of theater.” Uni swallowed a handful of pine nuts.
“You don’t have to be big and strong. That doesn’t matter at all. Look at Sorgius – is he as strong as I am?” Vordius turned to look at his other friend, who pulled a comically sorrowful expression. “Of course not. But if a man knows what to ask for and what to do with it, he’ll do fine in life, even if he’s shorter than all the lovely women of Enteveria!”
Sorgius rolled his eyes and stuck a cheese-filled rice bun in his friend’s mouth. While Vordius struggled to chew, Sorgius took over the role of mentor to inexperienced youth.
“See, what he’s trying to say is that it doesn’t matter what you do in life. What matters is how you do it and what you manage to achieve. If you have a strong personality, people will respect you in any line of work. That includes women, of course,” he snickered. “They love successful, independent men. I think you’ve noticed that.”
“I have,” Uni sighed. “Even a fool like me can see that perfectly well.”
“Now listen,” Sorgius went on, resting his chin on his palm and studying Uni closely. “You have a way with words, even when you’ve been drinking. You’d make a good drafter of government decrees and other important documents. Don’t you agree, Vordius? That’s where he should make a career for himself!”
“Speaking of documents,” Uni said, brightening, “I want to tell you about an enormous piece of luck that just landed in my lap. Manelius Ronko stopped by at the end of the work day. He’s an advisor to the Emperor. He waited a whole hour just to see me. No one knew what he wanted, and they were all in a panic…”
Sorgius grinned. “Waiting for you? How interesting. Is he perhaps unmarried?”
“Shut your mouth, Sorgius. Now what do you think he wanted? A secret report for the Great Lord! The Emperor needs a detailed description of Virilan and everything we have in the archive on that mysterious country!”
“I have to say I’m not surprised, especially in light of what’s been happening,” Vordius said, using his brain for the first time that evening. “Haven’t you heard? Some of our soldiers were chasing a band of nomads. They followed them farther into the Wasteland than anyone has gone before, and they discovered a Virilan camp on the plain.
“What do you mean? That’s impossible. Virilans almost never leave their own lands. I can’t imagine what they would be doing there.”
Vordius’ eyes were shining. “By all the demons of the fearsome darkness, I don’t know, either. When the men returned and told their officers, the whole thing was hushed up. I just heard some rumors.”
“Those soldiers were there for a reason,” Sorgius interrupted. “You two may have jobs that keep you near the palace, but you’re like blind chickens without me.”
Uni turned to him, “Did someone tell you about it?” He was starting to feel that he didn’t understand anything. “Tell me how you know about such secrets!”
“Maybe I don’t know anything. Vordius is right. All the warriors involved in the raid signed oaths of silence. Unfortunately, some of them thought that didn’t apply to their wives.”
“And?”
“And what? The wives have friends, the friends have lovers…”
“How could they break their oaths? It was a state secret!”
“Stop worrying, Uni. It’s all still confidential. When I was told, I was informed that this is a very big secret. The kind of secret a man could lose his head for telling.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Here’s one more truth you need to learn about life: the person who plays by the rules always comes in last. Or he doesn’t come in at all. Put that piece of free advice in your pocket for the future. And your wine today is free too. So chill. Let’s drink!”
The friends tossed back their cups of the strong Seregad wine. Uni leaned against the edge of the table and looked around the tavern as if he owned the place. It was a crowd of merchants and low-level civil servants, liberally interspersed with quite a few of the doubtful people of unknown profession who were drawn to the capital from all ends of the broad empire. In his current mood, Uni looked on them as dear friends. When he was sober, he often shuddered at the sound of a rude word or profanity spoken in the street, but now the rough atmosphere could not touch his gentle soul. “This isn’t a bad place to be,” he thought. “Not bad at all.”
Vordius leaned over and picked up where he had left off. “Be sure to use that report of yours for its intended purpose.” He belched. “As a battering ram. Show them you’re the smartest guy in the empire, the only one they can turn to.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell the two of you for the past hour! I have an ingenious plan. And you’re absolutely right: no one but your humble servant has the faintest idea about Virilan.”
“Not true,” Sorgius pronounced with skepticism. “I know more than you about Virilan. I was just talking about it, in fact.”
“What about the language? You don’t know the language! That’s the important thing, because no outsiders have ever been there!”
Sorgius looked patronizing. “Please, Uni, do you really believe that you can learn a country’s language and its culture from a pile of four-hundred-year-old books?”
“Yes, I do. Virilans are an extremely conservative people. Second, we simply don’t have any other sources of knowledge. So if you don’t know the language, go back to school, little boy!”
“Back to school, Sorgius,” chimed in Vordius as he sucked the last of the meat off a rabbit bone. When he was done, he tapped the bone against his forehead. “Fill your head with something more useful than this sour swill we’re drinking.”
Sorgius banged a hand on the oaken table. When Vordius tossed his rabbit bone at him, Sorgius jokingly slid from his chair onto the floor.
“Uni, my friend, how do you say ‘death’ in Virilan? What a pity! There was so much more I wanted to do in this life!”
Vordius leaned back and laughed. “Enough of that. You paid the bill and you’re free to die.” He turned to Uni. “Well, do you know what to do? Ready to get to work?”
Uni stood up from the table resolutely. All of a sudden, he realized that his body was lagging significantly behind his mind. “I thought the main difficulty would be concentrating after several cups of wine. I was wrong. The difficulty will be getting back through the gate on my own two legs!”
Uni imagined what he would look like crawling through the palace late at night, past the fearsome guards, holding his pass in his teeth. He laughed, hiccupped, and buried his face in Vordius’ giant shoulder.
Sorgius was ecstatic. “Tell the truth! Haven’t you always dreamed of doing it?” Uni realized that he had been thinking out loud.
“Not a bad idea,” Vordius growled. “Let’s help our friend up the career ladder. He grew up without a father. Who else can show him the path to take?”
“You’ll carry him into the palace at night? I want to watch. What will your Luvia say? Aren’t you afraid to leave her alone at night?”
“Shut your mouth, peon,” Vordius laughed. Holding Uni by the shoulders, he led the friends out of the tavern.

Chapter 3. Career Down the Drain
A large, blue fly dove down and scurried along the luxurious tile mosaic under Uni’s feet. The young archivist was so afraid to stir that even the insect – sensitive to the most minute vibrations in the air – took him for an inanimate object.
“I do see what you are saying, young man, but I would still like to have a clearer explanation of what happened last night.” Archive master Margio looked up at his employee with such a sullen face that Uni’s last hopes of a positive outcome were completely dashed. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”
“I…I am very ashamed, Enel Margio. Honestly, it never entered my mind that things might end up this way. I don’t even know…”
“No, I see that you don’t.” The older man sighed. “Uni, you have had the honor of working in our august institution for four years. For four years, you have served the government and had a unique opportunity to make a modest contribution to our work of accumulating and multiplying the contents of this great storehouse of our Empire’s knowledge. It was Saptius Astoldo, if you recall, who said that the essence of knowledge is wisdom, power and wealth, but it is also a heavy burden. You, Enel Virando, it pains me to realize, were not ready for the burden that we bear as the most educated people in Dashtornis. And to think you made such an excellent start. Assistant to a department master at twenty. And not just any department, but the Foreign Manuscripts department! That is one of the most difficult and respected areas of our work. And you had such a promising future. Just last month I was speaking with Enel Barko, and he quite seriously told me that you could rise to the post of senior assistant master in just a few years. After that, in another ten years, when Enel Gerzio departs for his much-deserved retirement, you could have been a bibliographer. But no, you destroyed all of that. Leveled it to the ground. Would you be kind enough to tell me what on earth brought you to the archive last night?
“That’s what I am trying to explain. I asked Master Barko if I could work at night for a while.”
“You had his permission?”
“Well, I was going to ask him.”
“I see.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve done it, honestly…”
“Are you saying this isn’t the first time you have broken into a closed government office inside the palace grounds while in a state of intoxication? I say nothing of your friends, who behaved like wild barbarians and used their official positions to try and cover up this awful misbehavior.”
“I apologize. I did not realize how it would look…”
“Of course, you could not see. You couldn’t even walk on your own. Your two friends carried you in. One of them displayed his imperial guard officer’s badge and physically threatened the sentries. Your other friend had no pass at all, but he threw handfuls of coins around in the most disgusting manner, which caused incredible inconvenience for the cleaners this morning. Because of this unpardonable behavior, I was forced to close down the building and crawl around on my own hands and knees to seize all of the unlawfully distributed currency. I’m sure you understand that I will be providing a most detailed report to the Emperor’s chancery today. The chancery will identify the guilty parties and send letters to their superiors. As for you, young man, I’m afraid we must part ways with you forever!”
Enel Margio leaned back on the carved back of his wide, wooden Torgendam chair and stared off into space, as if the red and white vase in the corner (which featured a pictorial description of the stages of preparing parchment) interested him much more than the pitiful young man in front of him who had violated the tranquility of his institution.
“I sincerely regret the time that we spent on your training. We have been too naïve in our belief in man’s essential goodness,” he said, his voice full of feigned sorrow.
Uni’s insides contracted into a tiny lump. Just the day before, his job at the archive had seemed eternal and unchanging. He had hated the work, and had begged fate to release him from a swamp where he felt he was going nowhere. Now, however, his rock-solid world was about to fall apart in the most shameful and dramatic manner, burying under its ruins his wonderful dreams of a shining future and a splendid career. Suddenly, he wanted to hide somewhere that life and its tribulations would not be able to find him. At the same time, he wanted to throw back his head and cry out to the Sun: why are you punishing me so harshly?
“Forgive me, Enel Margio. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t plan it this way. It was a coincidence. I had a request from one of the Emperor’s advisors, and it needed to be handled quickly. I had to do it. I just had to come in late, you see! They wanted it back today!” Uni felt a hard lump in his throat. If this interview went on much longer, he would break down and weep, further obliterating his already pathetic reputation.
“What? What are you talking about? What advisor?” Enel Margo suddenly lost his dignified bearing and jumped out of his seat. Arms out and mouth agape, he looked like a large cat that had been playing with a mouse when it was suddenly bitten by a snake.
“Manelius Ronko asked me to prepare a very important document,” Uni whispered, vaguely aware that he, perhaps, should not have shared that information. However, there was no other way out. He was in a corner, hemmed in by his own stupidity.
“Manelius Ronko,” Margio repeated. He stroked his chin and took a few steps away from his desk, Now, he looked like a buzzard or a vulture with its feathers ruffled. The vision was both frightening and disgusting. “What kind of document were you supposed to prepare?” the vulture asked, turning sharply toward its prey.
“A report on Virilan. I did write it. Nothing could stop me,” Uni squeaked. He had one last, thin hope of outplaying fate. “What I mean to say is, I did it all because I had to.”
“I’m the one who decides what you have to do, is that clear?” Margio cut him off. “Do you have any proof?”
Uni walked back to his desk on wooden legs. He barely knew what his body was doing. He felt like his mind was in a dark cloud and his body was moved by the commands of others.”
This is the end, flashed through his head when his text – written during a night of drinking – landed in his superior’s hands.
His presentiment did not deceive him. During the minutes he was gone, Margio had been in no less of a heightened emotional state than Uni. He grabbed the scroll and opened it with a gesture that reminded Uni of how an ancient warrior, surrounded by enemies, would have slit his own throat. His eyes ran over the contents. Then he slowly rolled it up and sat back down in his chair. There was cold laughter in his eyes.
Margio leaned back in his chair. “My boy, were you not aware that all such tasks must be approved by the director of the archive? You weren’t?” He paused for effect. “Of course not. You spend more time reading ancient books than you do studying the rules of the institution where you work. Or, more precisely, where you worked,” Margio’s smile took on a snakelike quality. He leaned forward and raised his voice. “You had absolutely no right at all to take this job on over my head!” He was yelling by the time he finished. “I do not care who he is or what his title is. All reports and all materials leave this archive only by my consent!” Margio tossed the scroll on his desk and sharply elbowed the bronze gong hanging next to it. A secretary appeared. “As of today, he no longer works here,” Margio told the man, pointing at Uni in disgust. “Walk him all the way to the exit. Do not let him back in the building. Ever.” He let his eyes drift back to Uni, who was paralyzed. “Get out of here!”
* * *
Despite its sprawling size, Enteveria was blessed with a uniquely harmonious architecture. After Norius the Founder declared the establishment of the great Herandian Empire, the old capital was torn down and rebuilt according to a precise, geometric plan. The project was grandiose and required decades of hard work by hundreds of thousands of people, but the effort paid off in the end in the eyes of their grateful descendants.
The old city had been a jumble of stone and wooden houses built up around a fortress that stood on an island in the Fela River, where the king’s palace and the homes of the most important nobles stood. The lords of the new empire gave their subjects a giant metropolis divided into neat, rectangular blocks and zones. The zones were defined by purpose: there was a palace zone, as well as cathedral, residential, craft, trading and amusement zones. No longer a fortress, the Emperor’s palace comprised an entire block of grandiose buildings. The variety of construction materials and the oddly pleasing blend of architectural styles served as an encyclopedia in stone of all the provinces of the vast empire.
When the city was rebuilt, the planners added two new aqueducts and a great cloaca to collect the city’s sewage. Enteveria was full of green gardens and parks, and its residents enjoyed listening to the music of dozens of fountains large and small that played haunting melodies by means of clever hydraulic organs. The capital had the unheard-of luxury of setting aside one-third of its total area for parks and other amusements, instead of housing and manufacturing. It was a giant organism that sucked people in with promises of a carefree life or at least the sense that one was part of the most carefree city in Dashtornis.


Enteveria had two river ports, and its deep, fast-flowing rivers linked it to two different seas. Beamy merchant ships could ride the Fela all the way up to the Sea of Dragons and on, to the barbarian Wasteland and Torgendam in the north. The Fela was a majestic river, and the people of the empire made use of its many tributaries to reach most of the empire’s northern and western provinces.
To the south, the Emperor Lecius had ordered the digging of the Shining Sun Canal, which got its name from the bright flecks of light reflected by its choppy waters. The canal’s waves were not generated by bad weather, but by the host of merchant ships carrying cargo from the Southern Seas. The northern river and its tributaries were, for the most part, the empire’s own inland waterways while the southern routes opened up opportunities for foreign trade. It was the south that brought the empire new goods, new people, new knowledge…and new threats. The religious fanatics of Mustobrim were constantly testing the resolve of the Capotian merchants, who were widely acknowledged to be the best in the business. And it was only the Misty Sea, with its shallow, warm waters and thousands of islands, scattered like pearls, that stood between the empire and the bloodthirsty Arincils, who had made a cult of murder, violence and cruelty. Further to the south was Unguru, a mysterious country of sorcerers who spoke with spirits from the netherworld and could enslave the dead.
In the midst of its bright, attractive, but sometimes horribly dangerous surroundings, the capital of Herandia was the focal point of a centuries-long tradition and order, which was the empire’s chief merit in the eyes of its forty million subjects. A city without walls, Enteveria represented “peace and plenty,” which was the motto of the Herandian ruling house.
Even a foreigner would have had a difficult time getting lost in its streets, which ran straight as an arrow, meeting at right angles in the wide city squares. However, Uni Virando managed to go astray after an hour of wandering aimlessly up and down the streets of smooth Vuravian stone. When he looked up, he had no idea where he was. He did not particularly care. What did it matter if he was lost? He had every reason to believe that his life was effectively over.
“What do I have left?” Uni wondered with a strange sense of detachment. “No job, no position, no personal life, no money, nothing. Just this mortal body with a pile of superfluous knowledge stored in its head and a five-year-old’s knowledge of the world. No one would even notice if I jumped off this bridge. Who needs me, anyway? With the Sun as my witness, only my mother. What can I tell her? That her only son – whom she loved more than anything, whom she raised alone, saving up money for him to attend the academy, her last hope for a decent life in her old age – suddenly threw away everything he had spent years working for? I can’t even imagine telling her that. I’d rather jump off this bridge. She’s better off with no son at all than a ridiculous, worthless son like me.”
“What about my friends? What will they say? ‘Little Uni messed up again.’ Sorgius will be sarcastic, and Vordius will slap my shoulder and look at me with those big, sad eyes of his, like he’s looking at a child that can’t learn its lessons. No, I’d rather jump off this bridge than see that! Fate gave me such wonderful opportunities, and I stupidly let them go. If I’m such a fool that I can’t even manage to make a life for myself, then I’d better end it now. I just need to be brave. And calm. Great Sun, my heart is racing! Breathe in deep, and leap over the railing…”
“Hello, Uni!” the voice that came from the carriage that had just pulled alongside on the bridge was soft, but it seemed to hold the would-be jumper with chains of iron. A well-groomed hand pulled aside the silk curtain with an elegant gesture, and Manelius Ronko gazed at Uni with his usual ironic half-smile. “Were you planning to cool off in the river?”
For a brief instant, the young man felt like he had just eaten a raw octopus and its tentacles were stuck in his throat and stomach. Somewhere deep down, he realized that the Heavenly Deity didn’t want him dead. No, the Deity was so enraged with Uni that it had prepared endless agony for him, each torment worse than the one before it, lasting until the end of the age when the Heavenly Deity would again, as it had many times before, turn every living thing to smoldering ash and build a new world and new people – cleaner, better, more promising – from that ash.
“From the look of you, it would be impolite to ask about the fate of my report,” Ronko said, shaking his head slowly. He waved toward his carriage. “Get in. Watch your head. In the name of the Shining Deity, there’s no reason to be so upset. You need a cup of wine. I have a nice little collection back at my house.”
Feeling absolutely wooden and alien, Uni squeezed his body into the carriage. “Enel Ronko,” he finally found his voice. “I am extremely glad to see you. Your document is ready, but I am not able to hand it to you at present. You can probably retrieve it from Margio, the archive director. I don’t work there anymore, so I’m afraid I can’t do anything to help you. I should have told you as soon as I found out. I did try, but I don’t know where you live. I was given an address, but there was nobody there. I am ashamed to say it, but I didn’t know what to do. There is no excuse for my cowardly behavior.”
Ronko tapped a finger against his chin as he listened. His eyes, which were the color of wet leaves, stared off into space, as if their owner was off in a world of his own.
Then he snapped his fingers. “Take us home.” The carriage started. Ronko turned to Uni and smiled brightly. “You’re right about one thing. I like to be the one who finds people. I don’t like it when they try to find me without my permission. It’s too bad about your report. We won’t ever see it again; I can guarantee you that.”
“What?” Uni jumped. The octopus in his gut was moving again. Even the crown of his head went cold. “How could he refuse to give it to you? I can’t imagine…”
Ronko laughed. “Of course not. He won’t send me to the demons. He isn’t brave enough. But here’s the thing: Margio works for Licisium Dorgoe. He’s probably on his way to the man’s villa as we speak to show your report to his protector. It’s a rare prize.” He gave a wry smile. “Even a rat like Margio can come in useful once in a hundred years!”
“This is all my fault, Enel Ronko. If only I hadn’t been so stupid!”
“What ever do you mean? In any event, it doesn’t matter now. I contacted you directly because I know you and I naively assumed that you could get the job done without your superiors finding out. No matter what happened, it’s not your fault. It was poor calculation on my part. But as I said, it doesn’t matter now.”
* * *
Fergius Margio’s carriage performed feats of acrobatics as it glided down the Avenue of the Benevolent Sun, weaving in and out between the slow palanquins carrying idle aristocrats. The driver’s skill did nothing to improve the mental state of the passenger, who clutched a leather manuscript case to his chest as if he feared he would drop it during the obstacle course. Margio only recovered his composure somewhat when his carriage left the narrow city streets behind and its wheels rolled along the neatly laid, colorful tiles of the wealthy neighborhood of Trikazinso. Finally, the carriage turned onto a narrow lane leading to a white villa hidden in the shade of large sycamore trees.
Since its establishment almost three hundred years earlier, the Trikazinso neighborhood had been a city within a city where people of a certain class lived their own life. After the founding of the empire, the great Emperor Norius had considered forcing the nobles of the lands he conquered to move to the new capital. No one knows what shrewd plans he had in store, but the task turned out to be more complicated than he had expected. Most of the nobles concerned had little desire to leave their homes, where they enjoyed an exalted position within their clans and communities. The once-independent nobles also had extremely stringent requirements concerning their own comfort, especially when compared to the lifestyle in Herandia, which had been a small and relatively unimportant country until recently. As a result, it was not until the reign of Nazalio, the great urban planner, that the Trikazinso neighborhood opened its doors to receive new residents. By that time, the former monarchs of Herandia’s acquisitions had sunk to the level of provincial aristocrats and were eager to move to the capital so they could be closer to the Emperor and his court. In these new circumstances, the resettlement went well. In later years, it was commemorated with the annual Festival of Flying Lights, when dozens of silk balloons emblazoned with the coats of arms of the leading families, rose into the sky on streams of hot air, hailing the arrival of a new class of leaders in the city.
The neighborhood had grown over the past three hundred years as civil servants, priests of the Cult of the Sun, military commanders, and wealthy merchants and craftsmen moved in. But Trikazinso remained a lush island, hidden from prying eyes by thick, green parks with decorative ponds, gardens, a canal, and grottos for silent contemplation. It was an unwritten rule that there were no walls or fences between the villas, and any resident of the neighborhood could walk anywhere within its confines. The idea was that this would create bonds between people from different parts of the empire (and even between political opponents). Interestingly, this freedom was not extended to the other 700,000 residents of Enteveria: a special division of the Solar Sentinels protected the select few from all curiosity on the part of outsiders.
A taciturn guard led Margio along a colonnade lined with statues representing the twelve sins and twelve virtues, facing each other in two lines. At the end of the colonnade, the director of the imperial archive found himself in a large, pentagonal garden with a small tea house standing on a knoll at its very center. The tea house had five sides like the garden around it, and a pentagonal gable roof topped with a forest nymph skillfully carved of ivory. With a speed that belied his five decades, Margio hustled across the grass and into the tea house.
“Well, well, well, what on earth has happened in that dusty rathole of yours that brings you here to see me?” growled a deep voice. The two men sitting in the tea house were not pleased to have their private conversation interrupted by such an unexpected and fidgety visitor. One of them – a thin, nervous-looking man – moved uneasily in his seat, which was a black silk cushion embroidered with red flowers. The other, more heavyset man was sleek and well-groomed, with an arrogant face, but something about him suggested that he might have been employed as a stevedore at one of Enteveria’s ports until quite recently. It was his voice Margio had heard upon entering.
Margio bowed as low as his figure allowed, held the pause for as long as he could, and launched into a dramatic retelling of the events of that morning. At the end of the tale (which he augmented liberally with details of his own), he handed the valuable scroll to his protector with a ceremonious flourish. The owner of the tea house fumbled with his short, sausage-like fingers, finally tearing the scroll a bit as he opened it, and his every movement revealed crude strength and an aggressive indifference to sophistication of any kind. His was a strength that stripped the elegance from every object he touched. Looking up from another low bow, Margio could not help but notice that the large man’s lips moved as he read silently, like a half-literate priest of the Sun trying to memorize the text of a hymn to the deity on the day before the holy equinox.
Licisium Dorgoe turned to his companion. “Look at this, Forsey. These fairy tales are right up your valley.” He tossed the scroll the way a man might toss a dog a bone. The other man reached out with both hands and missed. The scroll landed silently on the thick Mustobrim carpet. Forsey cursed and leaned over to pick it up, doing his best to retain his dignity. Dorgoe lifted his chin and stroked his throat with a pompous air.
“Fergius, I am pleased with you. For once, your dusty institution is of some use to me. I will speak with the Emperor about providing the funds for improvements to your building. Go now. We are leaving for the palace soon.”
As Margio turned to leave, Forsey watched him with a scowl. When the archive director was gone, he turned back to Dorgoe and tried to get his attention. “Well? What do you think about this?”
“There’s nothing to think about.” Dorgoe stood up easily, despite his size, and walked over to the window with a cup of Ulinian wine in his hairy hand. “You’re a lucky man!” he took a sip of his wine and slapped Forsey on the shoulder with a patronizing air. “Now you don’t have to do anything.” He laughed. “Just don’t expect me to support you all of a sudden because of this.”
“That’s low of you, Licisium.” Forsey whined. He leaped up from his seat and clenched his fists. “You promised to think about it. You promised to take everything into consideration! And now you want to abandon me? Was that your plan all along? Don’t forget that you stand to benefit from this more than anyone. Why don’t you take this scroll and deliver it to Ronko this very day?”
“Of course not,” his burly companion snorted. “Let the scroll be your plunder. Here. I give it to you. But you can deal with Ronko on your own. Stripped of his main arguments, he won’t be a serious adversary for you.” He pulled a wry face. “And stop whining. You should thank me for recommending that the council be moved up a week. That caused him to lose his nerve, and he made some mistakes. Why do you think he reached out to that boy at the archive? Because he was desperate.”
Forsey’s face turned white. “You know perfectly well what is going to happen if those crazy fools sign a trade pact! Do they really not know what they are doing? I believe they see nothing but their own purses.”
“Not at all. They simply believe they are saving the country and the Emperor. From you and me.” Dorgoe allowed himself a loud cackle. “They’re prepared to do anything, consequences be damned.
“So, you agree with me?”
“We’ll see. My advice to you, Forsey, is to stop being so blunt. The art of politics does not mix well with bluntness. And remember, the one who wins is not always the one who makes the right move, but the one who knows how to benefit from it.”
“I don’t like it when you speak in riddles. We will meet again at the council. And understand, if you can, that I need your open support!”
After Forsey had dashed out of the tea house, Dorgoe stood a while longer at the window, his eyes trained on his confidant’s receding figure as he made his way across the grass. Smiling as if he had just eaten a good meal, he set his half-empty cup on the eight-sided wooden table and, feeling cheerful, made his way over a carved wooden bridge that spanned a meandering creek. On the other bank, he entered a well-appointed mahogany pavilion where attentive servants had prepared his bath. The steam rising from the bath carried a strong aroma of pine.
“To the demons with work, at least for now,” Dorgoe reflected happily. “I’ll have plenty of work to do this evening.”
* * *
Uni sat comfortably up to his chin in the water of a luxurious indoor swimming pool, the bottom of which was covered in a pale green tile mosaic featuring images of mollusks, sea urchins, and other inhabitants of the mysterious deep. The sunlight streaming through an opening in the roof created an illusion that half of the pool was made of pure gold, and it was in that golden gleaming that Manelius Ronko splashed and flopped with the easy grace of a young boy. Uni found himself more and more surprised by this man, who seemed to know how to derive the utmost pleasure from each moment of his life. He was unconcerned by the stolen report and equally indifferent to the everyday troubles recounted by the former archivist. Uni found himself infected by the man’s demon-may-care attitude (or perhaps the wine had done its work), and he felt capable of living fully in the present, as if all of those unpleasant things – the tragic destruction of his hopes, the shameful dismissal from the archive, and the bridge over the Fela, where he had almost ended his own life (as difficult as that was to believe now) – had simply never happened. Ronko, after somersaulting in the water like a windmill, folded his hands behind his head and leaned back with evident pleasure on the knees of a lovely marble nymph who leaned out over the water’s surface to look at her own reflection.
“I have to say our affairs are in good order, more or less,” he pronounced optimistically.
Uni, who had begun to drop off under the influence of the herbal aroma rising from the water, looked up and focused his eyes with great effort on his companion.
“Our enemies have achieved an insignificant tactical advantage, so they feel relaxed. That’s a mistake.” He shook his head. “No, that is not entirely precise. Do you know what their biggest drawback is? They’ll take an overly practical approach to the information they’ve gained.”
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?”
Ronko snorted. “What I mean is that Licisium Dorgoe was born an illiterate peasant, a plebian, and he has remained one even after rising to such an exalted position. Don’t look at me like I’m a snob. Men who rise to great rank after living on the streets tend to think in narrowly practical categories. That’s not surprising. When you are trying to survive, you don’t have time to acquire extraneous knowledge. You have to live and think in the moment. You start to ignore everything that doesn’t have an obvious value to you at that precise moment in time.”
“Do you mean that a well-rounded education is an extravagance?”
“It most certainly is! You have no idea how wasteful education is. You spend years pouring an ocean’s worth of things you don’t need right now into your head just for the pleasure of it, or perhaps with the hope that some of those things might come in useful eventually. As a result, you forget about the most basic things you need to live. You become cut off from the real world. That’s why our greatest wise men never become leaders who determine the fates.”
“Sounds like me,” Uni reflected sadly. “It’s better to accomplish something before pursuing education. What a pity it took me so long to realize it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. By the time you reach a position of consequence, your mind loses its flexibility. You acquire mental habits that restrict your thinking, whether you like it or not. You only see the things that affect your daily survival.”
“Survival? I thought we were talking about after I achieve the rank.”
“What did you think? That’s when the fighting really gets started. Were you hoping to reach a certain status and then lie around eating grapes for the rest of your life? That’s a dangerous delusion. Here’s how it works: there are never enough profitable positions in society for all the energetic people who would like to occupy them. Once you are a man of status, you spend all your time holding onto that status, and the higher you rise, the harder it gets. There’s no time for education at that point, much less motivation. All you’ll want to do in your free time is relax and give your brain a rest. There are benefits to having status, of course,” and Ronko waved a hand at their surroundings, “but believe me, they lose their appeal when you spend every second of your waking hours worrying about what will happen to you tomorrow!”
“But what about you? Isn’t your life a direct contradiction of everything you’ve just said? You spend so much time in the archive, and you know so many things, but at the same time you are a highly placed advisor at the Emperor’s court. How do you do both?”
“Me? I suppose I’m an exception. First of all, I was lucky enough to be born into a wealthy, aristocratic family with a long lineage. I didn’t have to fight to get a place in the world like Dorgoe did. Second, my position in our complex spiderweb of power is entirely too unique for anyone to take it from me. I’ll tell you my secret recipe for longevity at court: don’t ever try to fill a position that is already open. There will be plenty of other people angling to get the same thing. Make yourself indispensable and create a need that you alone can meet. No one else will ever be able to remove you, try as he might. And third, don’t be so hard on yourself. Your view of the world has plenty of advantages that you can use to your benefit.”
“You’re a better judge than I am, Enel Ronko. The way I see it, I lost. I was outplayed, and there was nothing I could do about it. I also let you down.” Uni sighed sorrowfully.
“It remains to be seen just who outplayed whom,” Ronko said with a laugh as he climbed out of the pool. He stood with his arms out, letting the drops of water roll off his body. A dark-haired Capotian servant girl approached silently, like a cat. She shot a glance at Uni with beautifully lined, almond-shaped eyes before taking a soft cotton towel and drying her master’s body as if it were a fine porcelain statue. Ronko grinned at her, and she lowered her eyes in feigned bashfulness. Uni turned away in discomfort, but Ronko read his mind and dismissed the girl with a movement of his head.
As the master wrapped a towel around his waist, Uni noticed with envy that, although the man had to be close to fifty, he had the muscles and build of a much younger man. Any professional athlete in the imperial circus would have been proud to have his sharply defined pectorals, rock-hard abdomen, and broad shoulders.
From the solid gold table at his side, Ronko took a beautiful goblet shaped like a pair of cupped hands and filled it with wine from a Mustobrim pitcher of hammered metal. Then he sat down companionably on the bench next to Uni.
“Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Remember that. Given the right circumstances, that heap of useless knowledge can be the very weapon that gives you an advantage over your enemies.”
“I’m starting to understand, but I could wait my entire life for that moment and never see it arrive. How do I know what I’ll need and what I won’t need?”
“Do you know what soldiers say? ‘Always carry your sword with you, even if you only happen to need it once.’”
“That’s just a pretty saying. Even the wisest man in the world can’t be a specialist in everything. And how can you even master subjects that don’t interest you? I doubt that kind of knowledge ever comes in useful.”
“I won’t argue with you. Every person must study that which interests him.”
“Exactly. I’m a specialist in ancient languages, and look where it got me.”
“Don’t say that. Dorgoe won’t even know what to do with your report. And you’re one of only two people in the empire who knows Virilan, aren’t you? There you have it. Remember what I said about making yourself irreplaceable?”
Uni blinked.
“You’ll see what I mean soon enough. I just had an idea. It’s simple, but bold. My servants will bring you a fresh robe, and then I want you to come with me to a certain grand event. They may have stolen the report, but you did not jump off that bridge. That’s what matters.”

Chapter 4. Specialist Work
Other than coming to and from work at the archive, Uni had never visited the sprawling palace grounds. The palace was a state within a state, with its own residents, an army (the Imperial Guards) and everything needed to support life (and a comfortable one, at that) for at least two years if cut off from the rest of the world by some hazard. Uni had always been awed by the palace, and he wondered how and why the ancient Emperors had built such grandiose buildings in which people felt like flies trapped in a bottomless marble canyon.
Uni had a realization. “If the ancient architects were trying to demonstrate the Emperor’s power, they achieved almost the opposite. Our lords look just as small and insignificant as the rest of us in a palace built for giants.”
Ronko and his young companion passed through a series of grand halls, each of which was designed to reflect the architectural style of one of the empire’s many regions. There was welcoming Necredancia, imposing Seregad, elegant and simple Ulin, and nine other regions whose former sovereign glory was all but forgotten, recounted only in certain works of history. Even Herandian chronology counted years starting from the founding of the empire (it was currently the year 403 of the Era of the Sun Kingdom).
Uni realized that Ronko probably knew the answer to a question that had bothered him for many years. Why had the empire retained the old borders of the kingdoms it had vanquished – while it changed everything else? Wouldn’t it have been wiser to draw new provinces and mix up the peoples who had once been enemies?
Ronko laughed when he heard the question. “I see you are a traditionalist, Uni. That is no way for the leader of an unparalleled country to think. The Heavenly Empire is a unique state, and there will never be another like it. We didn’t conquer those other peoples by force alone. If we had, we would have been no better than all the other countries that subjected this land to continual war a thousand years ago. We did not take away people’s property or their freedom. We didn’t even take away their homelands. With each country, we gave them what they needed. Vuravia had always been wealthy, but its citizens detested war and were slow to rise up against enemies. We protected them without asking for anything in return. Seregad, on the other hand, was the most militaristic of the twelve kingdoms. They wanted to conquer their neighbors, but they were enthralled by our culture. Semeria was a backward place, so we showed them how to work metal, helped them drain their bogs and build towns, and taught them how to grow crops with improved yields. The secret of our empire is that we always gave more than we received, but in the end all of them joined us.
“But we still had to conquer some of the kingdoms by arms, didn’t we?”
“Of course. The nobility never wants to give up its privileges. But how hard their subjects are willing to fight for their lords’ privileges is another question entirely. Recall the battle at Mueh, when the combined armies of three kingdoms threw down their weapons and surrendered, even though they outnumbered us. None of those soldiers wanted to die for an old order that gave them nothing but war, hunger, and poverty. They saw no difference between their own rulers and their rulers’ enemies. Norius swore that all the peoples would be a family united, but that each would retain what the Heavenly Lord had endowed them with. He said that land is the people’s flesh and blood, and that it is a terrible crime to separate people from their land.”
“Fine words. But can you tell me why two-thirds of the land in Vuravia belongs to the same wealthy noble families that Norius fought? The peasants have to rent their homeland by the acre to keep their families from starving.”
Ronko raised his eyebrows. “What an interesting conversation for the halls of the palace! The Solar Sentinels have spies in all the taverns, at the play houses, and even in every bath house, but here you are spouting treason in the very heart of our Heavenly Lord’s palace.”
“I apologize, Enel Ronko. I wasn’t thinking…”
“I don’t mind it in the least, but you must be careful around others.” He paused, and then went on. “And about those peasants of yours, they aren’t really all that bad off. Yes, they have hard lives, but that’s just from our point of view as spoiled residents of the capital. Their ancestors made a living on that land in much more difficult conditions. Don’t assume that the men working in this palace are all monsters with frozen hearts. Well, some of us may be a little chilly, but we certainly aren’t stupid. We understand that the empire must support its poorest subjects, and the Emperor frequently makes them handsome presents. Every five years he even forgives debts and arrears of anyone who can prove themselves unable to pay. We do our best to keep taxes low. Just last year, the fee for the use of imperial granaries was reduced by almost one percent. That is not much, but it is something. What matters is the direction we move in. People feel that change is possible, and that it’s change for the better. Things might not change as fast as they would like, but still.”
Ronko turned to his companion to see if he had made an impression. “What? Don’t look at me like I’m an ogre. I know it doesn’t sound inspiring the way I tell it. But you have to understand. The wealthier a man is, the better able he is to protect his assets from imperial tax collectors. That means that the Emperor has to depend for the most part on contributions from simple people.”
“So after four hundred years, everything has returned to the natural condition?”
“That would be a long conversation, Uni. It isn’t as simple as you think, but we’ll have to discuss it some other time. We’ve arrived.”
They entered a small room that was set back from the main palace chambers. Sunlight filtered weakly through the decorative bars on the windows, creating a strong contrast with the bright expanses of the halls they had passed through. Uni was distracted by the familiar smell of varnish coming from behind a small door covered by green drapes, and it was only when he turned his head again that he saw an imperial guard wearing a dress uniform and gilded armor. Ronko gave the man a friendly nod.
“Wait here for now,” he told Uni, looking from side to side as if trying to remember something important. Finally, he straightened his shoulders and slipped between the green drapes, leaving Uni to anxiously await the next turn of events.
He looked around again and noticed a smooth wooden bench along one wall. Feeling insignificant, he asked the guard in a whisper if he might be permitted to sit. The guard said nothing, and Uni was afraid to repeat his question, so he remained standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with his hands, which were now sweaty.
Only the statues on the roof of the archive could be more arrogant than these toy soldiers in fancy dress, Uni thought to himself. The statues, however, remained indifferent to the pigeons that crapped on their heads. Could this brave swashbuckler take the same kind of humiliation just as easily? Vordius said they were trained to withstand anything. Uni allowed himself a tiny smirk. “It’s too bad Vordius didn’t see me on my way here with Ronko. His eyes would have popped out of his head. What would he have said? I bet he would not have dared call me ‘Little Uni.’”
He was startled when the drapes on the opposite wall began to move. An opening appeared, and two men entered the room. One of them was an agile, faceless palace steward wearing a yellow cape embroidered with what looked like a pattern of tree branches. The other was a giant of a man in a hooded, brown cape. The room began to feel too small. Having bent over to fit through the opening behind the drapes, the man now straightened up, removed his hood and looked around. Uni stopped breathing. He had never seen a real, live Arincil before, but there was nothing else the man could be – his copper skin and hooked nose gave him away instantly.
The newcomers were just as surprised to see Uni and stared at him in horror, as if he were a hunter who had been waiting for them in that little-known room, instead of a miserable young man who had contemplated suicide earlier that day. The steward said something to the Arincil in a voice too low for Uni to hear, and both men exited the room, this time using the regular door.
“Wonder of wonders,” Uni thought, still shaking. “An Arincil in the palace. Secret negotiations? Perhaps. I could ask Ronko about it, but I don’t think I will. I’d rather not know if the knowledge is dangerous! I have enough problems of my own…”
He spent quite a while trying to put his thoughts in order, which was difficult business. Why had Ronko brought him here? How could his presence at the Ambassador’s Council do anything to help Ronko? And why was the empire suddenly interested in Virilan? He wondered if the rumors were true, and the two countries were edging toward direct contact.
Uni’s rambling thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected ray of light just beyond the green drapes. An instant later, Ronko reappeared and gestured for Uni to come in.
“Everything’s ready. Go ahead,” he whispered. “And don’t sweat so hard. The people in there are a group of old friends. They got together today to discuss foreign policy. Go in, bow politely, and act like you belong there. Otherwise they’ll laugh at you.”
Uni didn’t have the slightest inkling of how to behave like he belonged in a place where he most certainly did not belong, but he stepped past the drapes and found himself in a slightly larger room with rounded walls. The floor, beautifully laid with panels of Torgendam oak, made no sound under his feet, and Uni almost floated into the center of the room. All eyes were on him. Feeling lost, he did his best to aim his bow at the maximum number of people. It must have looked odd, for laughter glinted in the eyes of several of the people present.
“At least they noticed me,” Uni thought. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. When he looked up at the people sitting in a circle around him, his composure left him. Sitting right in front of him was Degenium Forsey, the Great Lord’s former tutor, now the head of his chancery and secretary of the Imperial Council. The cold steel in the man’s eyes confirmed the rumors that he was a very difficult man to please.
Uni’s glance flickered to the corpulent man next to Forsey. He gulped. He had only seen Licisium Dorgoe once, but that was enough. On a rare visit to the archive, Dorgoe had spent most of his time shouting at Enel Margio for taking too long to come up from the basement and meet with his most important (although entirely unexpected) guest. Uni knew that Dorgoe was important enough to shout at anyone he wanted to, but he was much more interested in how a man like that – almost entirely uneducated and extremely vulgar – had managed to worm his way into the palace bureaucracy and, in a matter of just five years, become one of the most influential figures surrounding the Emperor.
“A meeting of old friends?” Uni’s hands were cold, and his mind raced. “I should have known. I bet Dorgoe has my scroll somewhere on him right now. I much appreciate the favor, Enel Ronko!”
The air in the room was electric. Forsey spoke, his voice crackling with displeasure. “Manelius, I fail to see how this boy could have anything of interest to tell us. I believe you promised us a detailed report, and instead of that you bring us a baby bird that hasn’t got its feathers yet!”
A sharp voice rang out somewhere behind and to the right of Uni. “Quite true, Ronko. Do you really mean to say that your source is this nobody who looks afraid of his own shadow? I thought you had gotten your hands on a live Virilan, or at least someone who had visited that country!”
Uni was deeply offended, but Ronko just chuckled. Uni turned around to get a glimpse of his second critic. To his surprise, the man was highly unusual in both person and dress: his long hair was swept up and tied with a leather thong on top of his head, then falling back down, over his shoulders, in a luxurious black wave. Instead of a long robe, he wore a yellow and red military tunic with short, wide sleeves – the kind that was designed for sword fighting. His nose was aquiline, and his cold, gray eyes radiated enough power to drill through a granite wall.
Dorgoe’s deep, rough voice rang out, and Uni turned to stare at him. “Manelius, my friend, I am surprised you bothered to bring him here.” He looked around at the others. “You all should know that this young man was fired from the archive this morning in the most shameful fashion. For drunken misbehavior, I think it was. An absolute outrage and affront to His Majesty!”
Ronko’s eyes sparkled recklessly. “My friends, I warned you that my source of information is unusual. Virilan has been closed to the rest of the world for so long that its language has been lost to us. Believe me, I have searched far and wide. There are only two people in the empire who know the Virilan language, and one of them stands before you.”
“That’s a lie, Ronko!” Forsey interrupted him rudely. “The only Herandian subject who knows Virilan is Limentius Barko at the archive. He’s over seventy, his eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and he can barely walk. This boy…”
“Is his only student.” Ronko’s voice was low. “He is the author of the manuscript we were just speaking of.”
“Was he drunk when he wrote it?” Dorgoe countered.
“Where is the manuscript, anyway? Forsey bubbled over. “Stop wasting our time, Ronko. Just tell the truth: there is nothing of interest about Virilan in the archive. And since that is the case, I cannot agree to send a delegation to a country about which we know nothing. It’s too dangerous and could lead to unforeseen consequences, even war!”
The dark-haired man behind Uni stood up. “What do you mean you have no information? My men risked their lives forging their way three hundred henos into the dead lands and found a band of Virilans in the very heart of the Great Expanse.” His voice rumbled with anger. “What is your plan? To keep sending us on rash missions while you sit here and pretend that none of it means anything?”
Ronko spoke again. “Honorable Tameto! Everyone in this room has the utmost respect and gratitude for your hard work, but you must not forget that we are speaking of peace, both inside our empire and on its borders. I am more than aware that you would like nothing better than to start a new war, but I’m not sure the rest of our empire’s subjects would agree with you. And I think the rest of the room will agree with me.”
Tameto’s face hardened even further – if that was possible – but, to Uni’s surprise, he folded his arms and said nothing more.
“You have certainly intrigued us, Manelius, but enough of that. I have heard dozens of arguments for and against the delegation, but I have yet to see any concrete facts on the subject. Are we even in a position where we could make an informed decision?”
The man seated to the left of Dorgoe spoke in the calm voice of a man who always takes his time and sees himself as the rector of something like an imperial academy, a man whose job it is to keep learned discussions from getting out of hand. He looked to be about thirty and thus much younger than everyone else on the room (except Uni), and there was something kind and fatherly about the smile he now turned on the patriarchs of imperial politics, weighed down as they were by age and importance. He was the only one who had nodded in response to Uni’s timid bow earlier, and the young man instantly took a liking to him.
“I couldn’t introduce such an important document for discussion without Enel Dorgoe’s approval.” Ronko’s voice dripped with honey. “As soon as the document was ready, I asked Margio from the archive to take a copy to my dear friend Licisium. I hope,” and here Ronko looked deeply into his adversary’s eyes, “that you have already formed an opinion about Virilan? Perhaps it will help turn our dearest Forsey around.”
Uni stared at his protector in awe, but all the others turned their eyes to Dorgoe. Caught off guard – either by Ronko’s nerve or by the breadth of his knowledge – Dorgoe froze for a second, mouth half open, unable to make a sound.
“Is this true, Licisium?” asked the young man to whom Uni had taken a liking. He had his fist over his mouth, but his eyes were laughing. He had a handsome face that was spoiled only by deep wrinkles on his forehead and the sides of his nose. “Why have you kept quiet? Is the drunken manifesto really that bad?”
Dorgoe recovered quickly. “Of course, I read through the document. The information it contains is certainly worth attention, but there are gaps in the report, and some of it is hard to make heads or tails of. I asked Forsey to comment on some parts of it. I expect he can give more detailed answers to your questions.”
“This is a plot!” Tameto leaped up, furious. “Merciful Lord, they think we are fools! Forsey, everyone knows you are against the delegation, but that does not excuse your dirty intrigues or your violation of the Emperor’s direct order!”
Forsey looked ready to spit, so great was his impotent rage, but there was a mix of humor and pity on the face of the young man to the left of Dorgoe.
“My friends, I see that nothing changes with you. But no matter. The Heavenly Light sees all and puts all in its place. Thank you, Ronko, for looking into the matter with detail, as always. I see that only Tameto and I have yet to read this wise opus. Since the young man is here…” He turned, “By the way, what is your name?”
“Uni. I mean, Unizel. Unizel Virando.”
The man smiled. “Unizel is not a Herandian name.”
“I was named for my maternal grandfather, who was born in Seregad.”
“Is that so? That means the blood of warriors flows in your veins. We have that in common. My mother was from that land. Well, since you are here, perhaps you could simply answer our questions?”
“Of course,” Uni answered softly, spreading his arms and then folding them on his chest. “I am ready.” His voice sounded stronger.
Fearsome Tameto struggled to hide a smile under his striking nose, and Dorgoe and Forsey worked quickly to patch the masks of all-knowing noblemen that they wore.
Ronko rescued his protégé by asking the first question. “Remind us, if you will, isn’t Virilan the second largest country after our empire?”
“Some people believe so,” said Uni, sinking with relief into a topic he knew well. “But no one actually knows how big Virilan is today. Almost four hundred years ago, it encompassed five independent kingdoms, each of which was fairly large. The western border lies along the Sandomar Kai ridge, which can only be crossed at the legendary Tueta Pass. Today, the pass is covered by a giant glacier. Many centuries ago, at the dawn of the Virilan era, the master bowman Enevir Chenis stood in that pass and single-handedly repelled an entire army that had been sent to destroy a Virilan monastery. To the north, Virilan is bordered by the Great Expanse, but little is known about that land. To the east, the country ends at the Dancing Ocean, where heavy currents make seafaring dangerous. South of Virilan is the Mirror Sea, and there is a Capotian trading post called Manibortish on the coast. All of Virilan’s trade with the outside world goes through that single location. Foreigners are not allowed to enter the country.”
“We already knew that,” said Dorgoe, sounding snippy. “Tell us more about the country. Who is its ruler? What are their laws and customs like? How many people are there? Are they wealthy? Do they have a large army?”
“I, too, would like to hear more about their military,” Tameto said. “I will add a word when you are done, for I have first-hand information.”
“I will do my best,” said Uni, trying not to lose his train of thought. “Let me see. Their customs are very different from ours. They are ruled by a wise Emperor who lives in an elaborate palace and rarely shows himself to his subjects. Their laws are harsh and extensive, even going as far as to regulate how to get out of bed in the morning. Refugees from kingdoms conquered by the Virilans recount other strange things. Supposedly, they never display signs of happiness or sadness. They know neither fear nor pity, and they are not afraid of the cold. They can go for weeks without food or water, since all they need is air to survive. Some say that their faces are like death masks with icy cold eyes. I have even seen it said that they are actually bloodthirsty demons who only look like humans.” Here, he paused for effect. “Virilans have no parental instincts. Their children are taken away at a tender age and raised by special tutors. All children – male and female – are taught to use weapons, and most private disputes are resolved by duel. Everyone in Dashtornis has heard that the strength of Virilan swords cannot be matched by any other weapon. Their soldiers never tire, and their discipline is unmatched. They never run in battle, even when faced by an enemy with greater numbers. They believe in terrible, fearsome gods who demand blood sacrifice in the form of children from the lands they conquer.”
“Is Virilan often at war with its neighbors?”
“We do not know, unfortunately. You see, all we have to go by is the Viada chronicle, which describes the war of the Fifth Kingdom. The Virilans expelled from their lands all those who did not accept their rules, so we have no more sources of information about the country.”
Again, Ronko stepped in to help. “I have questioned Capotian merchants in great detail. It goes without saying that they are reluctant to share what they know; however, I was able to ascertain that they knew even less than we do. The Capotians merely bring their wares ashore in Manibortish, load Virilan weapons and grain onto their ships and sail back home, often without even seeing a single Virilan. Apparently, they keep to themselves because they have a great suspicion of outsiders.”
“Yes, of course, I forgot to add that,” Uni jumped in. “They believe that all foreigners are beneath them, perhaps not even human.”
Forsey straightened up and looked around the room. “Well, my lords, who still wants to send a delegation to Virilan? It’s obvious that they are incapable of civilized negotiation.”
“I see nothing particularly unusual in what we’ve been told,” said Dorgoe, unexpectedly adopting a friendly tone. “All barbarians believe themselves to be exceptional. That tends to clear up once they gain a greater understanding of our culture.”
“Actually, Virilans are fairly cultured,” Uni said, feeling he needed to stand up for his hobby interest. “I would even say they are too cultured, in the literal sense of the word. They are so polite among themselves that even our customs of palace ceremony fall far short.”
Forsey looked annoyed. “I see that being asked to address this august assembly has gone to the young man’s head,” he grumbled, thrown off by his friend’s warm reception of Uni’s monologue. “Otherwise, he would never dare to cast aspersions on palace etiquette, especially in the presence of…” and he looked around the room with his eyebrows raised. “And another thing. Just a minute ago you said that the Virilans are a fierce people with no understanding of human feeling. As anyone with the slightest education knows, that is a characteristic of barbarians, those who look human but have the hearts of wild animals. Wisdom and etiquette are only possible here, in the greatest Heavenly Empire, where the Bright Deity shines its warmth on all the land. Those lands at the edges of the earth suffer from never seeing the whole face of the Giver of Life, and the people who live there are crude and prone to violence. It would be a rare thing indeed to meet a cultured person in a place like that.”
“You know, Forsey,” Ronko drawled, “the empire has sent ambassadors to barbarians with worse reputations than the Virilans. We are here to discuss the empire’s interests, not to find dubious reasons to shy away from a decision that has been taking shape for a long time.”
“Taking shape?” Forsey spat out. “I spent the last hour explaining the catastrophic consequences to you, but you seem not to have heard me. How can you talk about the Empire’s interests when your own interest is confined to the lining of your pockets? You would sell out the Empire to earn a profit!”
Ronko was about to make an angry reply, but the young man whose face seemed so friendly to Uni took control of the conversation.
“You two seem intent on turning this council into a circus. We gathered here to discuss the Empire’s future in an informal atmosphere, without regard to rank, but that does not mean you are entitled to behave like street fighters.” He took a deep breath. “Now, tell us, Uni, am I correct that all of our knowledge dates to the ancient period when our empire took in refugees from the former Five Kingdoms that are now Virilan?”
“You are absolutely correct. The historical chronicles I based my report on date to that period.”
“Then we’re back where we started,” Tameto burst out. “This librarian – or whatever he is – is useless if you need current information! If you ask me…”
“Be quiet, Necium. We will hear what you have to say,” the man said with composure. He leaned forward slightly, and his emerald eyes fixed on Uni with pensive sadness. “In your opinion, how useful is the information we have?”
“It is out of date, of course, but not useless. You see, Virilans are a very conservative people. Given that their way of life is so different from that of any other country, they have no choice but to maintain vigilance in the defense of the traditions they have fought so hard to keep. No, I think the few changes that may have taken place can only be for the better. Years of peace and stability soften the heart and make it more amenable to temptations from the outside.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed the green-eyed man. “You have said very succinctly something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. A man may despise society, but if you lock him away from that society for ten years, he will lose his mind. Do you remember, Forsey?” He turned the other way. “You said it yourself: cultures are like living organisms. They are born, grow, and fight over resources with other cultures. Just like living organisms, they cannot withstand long periods of solitude. I am convinced that Virilan was ready long ago to come into contact with us. If we help them take that first step, we will be able to derive handsome profit for the empire.”
“Absolutely!” Ronko burst out, pleased at the support. “If we had a treaty on trade, our treasury revenue could double. All of you…” he gestured with his palm at the circle, “…are well aware that we use more grain with each year and that our harvests cannot keep up. Wealthy landowners use every trick in the book to take over the peasants’ fields, but instead of planting grain, they use the land to pasture their animals or grow grapes. We are buying more and more grain every year from the Capotians, and they are turning a fat profit reselling what they buy from Torgendam and Virilan. Why do Capotia’s cities still have a monopoly on trade with Virilan? Why should the Heavenly Lord’s subjects be forced to support these parasites and freeloaders?”
Dorgoe cut him off crisply. “You know the answer to that question as well as I do. Virilans refuse to trade with anyone else.”
“Is that true?” Ronko spread his arms and looked around the room for support. “Did they tell you that in person? The only way to find out for sure is to send a delegation to Virilan and establish direct contact with their ruler. I bet everything I have that he will find it profitable to trade with us directly. The Capotians are making millions of leros off of the both of us every year. It would be in the Virilans’ interest to cut the middleman out.”
“You are being short-sighted, Ronko,” said Forsey, shaking his head. “If you want to benefit the Empire’s treasury, you don’t need to send good men to their deaths in a country populated by demons. Instead, you should help us clean up house. Make the wealthy pay their full share of taxes. Your plan will end in disgrace for our Emperor if the Virilans refuse to speak to our ambassador. And that isn’t all. Do you think the Capotians will sit on their hands if you take away their only source of income? They will renounce their status as our protectorate if you so much as try!”
“Let them try,” Tameto growled. “My cavalry has been sitting idle for too long!”
“See!” Forsey exclaimed, leaping from his seat and pointing a finger at the commander. “Our generals whine that we have tied their arms and legs. Just imagine what will happen if we let them act on their own understanding.” Tameto scowled alarmingly, but Forsey could not be stopped. “Get it through your bronze skull that the Heavenly Empire cannot simply declare war on whomever it wishes!”
“These knock-kneed advisors have clouded your vision,” Tameto said, barely controlling himself. “What is the purpose of the army if not to maintain the unity of the Heavenly Lord’s domains?”
Forsey gave a theatrical sigh. “If it takes explaining the same simple thing many times in order for our military to understand, then I will undertake the task. The Heavenly Empire keeps its disparate peoples together not with fear, but through them understanding the mutual benefits of peace, trade, and prosperity. We declared that we will never force a country to be part of our Empire, and that is the reason why the twelve kingdoms chose Herandia as the symbol of their voluntary unity. How many empires have arisen in these lands over the past two thousand years? And how many have disappeared, no more to be recalled by any man? All of them were founded on brute force. People obeyed them when they had to, but they rose up against them as soon as they had a chance. Our Empire is like a granite obelisk. It has stood for over four hundred years and will stand forever, for we are the first to understand that profit binds people closer than fear of punishment. You must see, Tameto, that we cannot attack Capotia, even if they refuse to recognize our leadership. They are not barbarians to whom the law does not apply. It would be treason against all of our empire’s ideals and a signal for our own provinces to revolt against us! Now think a step further. What if the Capotians turn for help to the Arincils, who have long cast an envious eye on our lands?” He sat down to catch his breath, but he was not done. “Ronko, you had best count the money we will lose if Capotia falls away from the Empire and the losses we will incur if we push our closest ally into the arms of our most dangerous enemy! No, my lords, a delegation to Virilan would be a stupid way to risk destroying the Empire!”
Uni’s head was spinning from everything he had heard. With no preparation whatsoever, he was watching as important advisors decided the fates of millions of people.
“I wish I knew who was right.” At first, Uni had been very much in favor of a delegation to the land of his dreams, but after Forsey’s impassioned speech, a sliver of doubt began to worry him. “Who do I believe, when each side has such solid arguments?”
“Forsey, you should hear yourself talk.” Dorgoe spoke in a soft voice that made Uni’s skin crawl. “Are we bound hand and foot by our own vassals? Is our Emperor nothing but a functionary hired to sit on the Heavenly Throne, prevented from taking a step in any direction because of some ridiculous conditions we might have signed ages ago with a band of traders who have the whole empire by the throat? No, if you put the matter that way, then there’s no way I can agree with you!”
The green-eyed man turned to the secretary of the imperial council with a trusting, almost intimate smile. “I have listened to you carefully, Forsey, but there’s one thing I don’t understand. Where did you get the idea that the Empire has need of allies? They are the ones who should be striving to please us, not the other way around. Everything you said about the ideas of our Founder and the ideals of our Heavenly Empire was correct, but we must not go to the other extreme of allowing small nations to become parasites.”
“Exactly!” Ronko exclaimed. “If you want to benefit from friendship with the Empire, then join it! The Capotians think they are smarter than us because they sit on our shoulders and tell us where to go. I wouldn’t mind being a vassal under those rules. They pay us tribute, but then we turn around and give it back to them threefold when we overpay for Virilan grain. What are we left with? Our peasants pay higher interest every year on their loans for seed, and when they lose their land they join the cabals run by the strong dynasties. After that, just try to collect taxes from them! Each and every one of them manages to get exemptions of one kind or another. If we continue to take good care of the Capotians for another ten years, our treasury will be empty!”
“If you’re looking for allies, I suggest you’d be better off talking to the Virilans,” Tameto finally managed to put in. “My men in the field witnessed the effectiveness of their weapons when we rode to the aid of a Virilan band that was being attacked by nomads. I should say we only wanted to ride to their aid. They were perfectly capable of repelling the attack without us. They are fearsome warriors, and their weapons are beyond anything made anywhere else. I have seen a bronze cuirass that was split in two, front to back, by a Virilan sword. The blade sliced through it like paper. It must have been an impressive blow, but just imagine the blade that could withstand such a feat without breaking!”
“Did you actually see this blade, Necium? You sound so confident,” remarked the green-eyed man.
“With my own eyes! The Virilan warrior must not have had time to remove his sword, so it was left in the body of the dead nomad.”
“What I’d like to know is the name of the rogue selling bronze armor to the barbarians against the law!” grumbled Forsey with a side-glance at Ronko, but no one was listening to him.
“Be that as it may, events are proceeding according to the wishes of the Heavenly Deity, whether we like it or not,” Dorgoe provided a hasty summary. “The Empire and Virilan are coming into contact, and it’s just a matter of time before we send a delegation.”
“I believe the time has come!” agreed the green-eyed man. “This uncertainty cannot go on forever. If we have an opportunity to sign a trade treaty, then we must do it now. And if, in fact, the Virilans are prepared to display enmity, it is better that we know it in advance. I vote that we immediately send a delegation with full powers to Virilan.” He slowly raised his hand, palm outward, as if warding off a wave of anticipated criticism.
As it turned out, there were no objections. Ronko and Dorgoe voted for the motion in a display of unheard-of solidarity with each other. Tameto indicated his assent a second later, and couldn’t stop himself from adding a bit of commentary: “We must see the enemy’s face, for perhaps he is an ally.” Forsey shot Dorgoe a look of hatred before turning away and raising his hand in favor.
Dorgoe was appointed to organize the mission. That surprised Uni until he recalled that the man had a silent position directing the Empire’s foreign affairs.
“Who do you recommend as the ambassador?” asked the green-eyed man.
Dorgoe spoke up brightly. “You won’t find anyone better than Ontius Sanery. He’s been on multiple missions to Mustobrim and to the Arincils. I’m sure he’ll find a common language with the Virilans.” He offered this suggestion as if the whole idea of the delegation had been his from the very beginning. Uni felt a little sorry for Ronko, who was being sidelined from a scheme that he had personally conceived of.
“I do remember him, and he is an experienced diplomat, but I don’t know about the common language. We will need an interpreter, and probably more than one.”
“We could hire one from the Capotian merchants,” Forsey sneered.
“Would you let them interpret for negotiations to end their monopoly?” Ronko interrupted. “These are matters of great importance to the empire. The interpreter must be a loyal subject of the empire.”
“You mean him?” asked Dorgoe, pointing his fat double chin at Uni.
“There isn’t anyone else who can do it,” Ronko smiled sweetly. “And he’ll be the only interpreter involved. First of all, the fewer people who know about the talks, the better. And second, Enel Virando is unique in his ability.”
“Then it’s decided,” said the green-eyed man, his face brightening. “Young man, I hope you realize what kind of responsibility this is. If you make a mistake of any kind, the talks could break down and all our efforts will be wasted. It could even lead to war.” At this, Tameto’s eyes flashed. “I suggest you spend the rest of the time before your departure filling in any gaps in your knowledge.”
“One more thing,” said Ronko. “As of today, Enel Virando no longer works at the archive. That being the case, in addition to appointing him to the delegation, we must assign him a palace rank that will allow him to access all the documents he will need for the mission.”
“We will decide that later,” Dorgoe answered drily. “I have a more important question: how will the delegation travel to Virilan?”
Tameto stood up. “I suggest crossing the northern border. I have men who can take them all the way to the Virilans’ camp there. After that, it’s up to the Virilans to take them to the capital. I hope.”
Ronko shook his head. “I think traveling by sea would be safer. First of all, the wasteland is not entirely safe. Second, we must visit Manibortish to get an idea of how the trading is going and to collect information. Third…”
“Going by sea means traveling right under the Capotians’ noses,” Tameto objected. “Manibortish is their trading post. I don’t see the sense in your proposal!” He stared at Ronko.
“And we have no guarantees that the Capotians will let our delegation over the border into Virilan,” Forsey muttered.
The green-eyed man suddenly lost all patience. “Listen to you! They might not want to? The Capotian cities have a pact of protection with the Empire!” He leaped from his seat and strode across the room, accidentally bumping into Uni, who couldn’t collect his wits in time to get out of the way. “The merchants have gone too far! We will sign a treaty with Virilan if for no other reason than to put those avaricious wretches in their place!” With that, he turned and strode back to his seat, sat down, and pursed his thin lips.
Uni assumed that Forsey’s resistance would be broken after that, but the man grimaced and turned away to demonstrate his indifference to something he could no longer prevent.
It was only after leaving the palace and finding himself on the familiar streets around the Market of Plenty that Uni fully realized what had happened to him. While he was standing in that round room, the redemptive turn of fate somehow seemed inevitable, as if he had finally woken from a nightmare and found himself back in the real world on a sunny day in spring. Virilan! Virilan! The word echoed in his brain and he repeated it again and again, not quite believing his own good fortune. It was worth almost losing everything he held dear in this life in order to find the door to the land of his fantasy – a land so familiar and yet so mysterious, known to him only through books, and colored by his own imagination to such an extent that reality began to bleed into the edges of illusion.
“My heart and soul are already there,” Uni thought. “Now all I have to do is transport my body there. Interpreter for the delegation! The Empire’s fate depends on my words! Amazing! I will see the Emperor of Virilan, who holds power over the forces of nature and the heavens. I wonder if it’s true that he is immortal? Would it be proper to ask him?” He shook his head at his own folly. “After today, nothing will surprise me.”
Then he thought back to his conversation with Ronko after they left the council, and a chill ran up his spine. “How could I be so stupid!”
As they made their way back through the palace halls, Ronko seemed truly upset that the delegation was to be organized by his political adversary, but his deep-rooted buoyancy did not leave him. Instead, he explained to Uni how the power dynamic surrounding the Emperor functioned.
“No, I’m not too surprised it ended up this way. There are two types of people around the Emperor: the first are men like myself and Forsey who served his father. If you recall, Forsey was the current Emperor’s tutor. Forsey and I rarely agree on anything, but the Emperor sees us as old men whose influence he would like to free himself from.”
“Free himself? Is it that difficult?”
“The Imperial Council ran this country for ten years while the Emperor was still young and inexperienced. However, he proved to be a quick study and soon removed the extremists from the council. He also managed to get his own protégé appointed to the council. That is why he trusts Dorgoe more than me. Dorgoe depends on him for everything. And he never knew him as a child. He knows Forsey and I remember him as a babe in arms, and it drives him mad!”
“I can imagine. Is it true that Dorgoe used to sell meat pies in the streets?”
“More or less, but not for very long, to his credit. He put together a team of sellers. Then he opened a bakery. By the time Forsey met him, Dorgoe was selling bread to the best homes in Trikazinso. He was working with Capotians and made a fortune out of Virilan wheat.”
“That means he owes everything to Forsey?”
“Precisely! Forsey was the Emperor’s tutor, but he was lacking talent (as he still is). Dorgoe, on the other hand, had plenty of money, but he was lacking in important contacts. Rich men bought their bread from him, and nothing more. So he decided to use Forsey to get what he wanted.”
“But how did he get from there to here? What I mean is, how is it that the Emperor’s most important advisors are dancing to the tune of a baker?”
“If he’d just been that – a baker – it never would have worked. Dorgoe’s intelligence is limited, but he can guess what people are going to do with unusual precision. Then, once he knows their true needs and desires, he finds ways to satisfy them. First, he taught Forsey how to make use of his only resource, his access to the Emperor. Forsey’s influence rose steadily, but he wasn’t ready for the challenge, so in the end he recommended that the Emperor take on Dorgoe as an advisor. Dorgoe’s accomplishment was helping His Majesty get on a more independent footing with the council. Without damaging the existing system of governance, he managed to restring the inner workings so that the Emperor gained the real power he wanted.”
“Is that why Dorgoe is your enemy? Because he took power away from those of you who served the Emperor’s father and put it in his hands?”
Ronko laughed and looked away for a moment. “I always knew you were a smart boy. Sometimes you are too smart.” They walked on for a while before he spoke again. “Even I don’t know who actually holds the power in the Empire. When there are so many intersecting interests, the situation can change quickly and most unexpectedly. It’s an illusion that the Emperor is all-powerful. In reality, his hands are tied. The Solar Sentinels instituted a system of overseers who control the army and all of the generals. As a result, there is little risk of a coup, but our army is weak. That means we can’t use it to rein in the ambitions of the local dynasties. We’ve also had to patch together a dissatisfactory peace with the nomads. We are afraid of making a wrong move because any change could lead to lamentable consequences.
“But don’t the different forces cancel each other out?”
“Oh, stability is Dorgoe’s strong suit. It’s the magic word that opened the doors to power for him. Dorgoe has woven together a net of mutual obligations that no one other than himself is capable of even comprehending. He sits there like a fat spider in his web, taking from one person and giving to another one and then turning around and doing the exact opposite. That’s how he makes sure that no one group – whether it’s the military, the local dynasties, or the civil service – ever gets an advantage. So you see, the Emperor would be lost without him.
“Isn’t he afraid to have such a powerful advisor?”
“The Emperor knows that the rest of us will devour Dorgoe if he ever falls out of favor. No, Dorgoe is powerful, but his position is shaky. He’s an upstart, and he won’t last long. As long as the Imperial Council exists, he will never have real power.”
The two of them stopped by a wonderful fountain that was playing a lilting melody. The sunlight coming through the panes of glass in the ceiling of the great hall turned the streams of water all the colors of the rainbow, creating a magical atmosphere of carefree fun. Ronko reached out a hand and ran it over the water’s surface, as if testing that it were real and not a delightful illusion.
Uni was up to his ears in palace gossip and intrigue and failed to notice that Ronko was already tired out by his questions. “I thought he would support Forsey,” he opined cheerfully. “You really made a fool of him with my report. He’ll think twice before he touches someone else’s property again.”
“Aren’t you all worked up,” Ronko chuckled. The report wasn’t such a big deal. You see, Dorgoe never actually came out against the delegation. He’s too clever for that, and he reads the Emperor’s mood like a book. I was more surprised by Tameto. I’ve known him since the last war, and he can’t imagine diplomacy without a big stick. Those Virilans he saw must have impressed him greatly, and not just by slicing through a bronze cuirass. I’d like to know more about that.” He shook his head. “Well, Uni, I have some affairs to attend to. Your period of unemployment didn’t last as long as you expected, did it? Dorgoe may be a weasel, but he knows how to get things done. You can expect to be called to meet with the head of the new diplomatic mission within the next few days.”
“Thank you so much, Enel Ronko. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. Literally. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for your kindness…”
“No need for that. And remember this: you should never grovel in front of a person if your relationship is based on mutual benefit. You’ve helped me much more than you can even imagine. But don’t let it go to your head. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“Can I ask you just one more question?” Without meaning to, Uni threw up his hands like a young boy. “Who was the fourth man in the room? Is he on our side? I mean your side?”
Ronko gave a long sigh. He found Uni both amusing and endearing. “You’ve outdone yourself, Uni. I understand that humble archive employees don’t often get to hold gold coins in their hands, but surely you have seen – at least somewhere – the face of our Heavenly Lord, the Radiant Emperor of the Herandian Empire, His Majesty Kergenius!”
When he heard this, Uni’s mouth fell open and he stared at Ronko with a prayer for mercy in his pale blue eyes.
“Forgive me, how could I…I never imagined I could have the great honor…”
“Nonsense! The extravagant rituals are designed to entertain the crowds and keep the nobles in their places. Truly important matters of state are always decided in informal discussion, where each person has time to state his position to the Emperor. And then we vote. Our council is like a big family. We’ve all known each other forever, we fight and make up again, we intrigue against each other, but in the end we are all working for the good of the Empire.” He smiled. “And another thing. If I had warned you who you would be speaking to, I know everything would have gone wrong. You would have been too nervous to open your mouth! Well, what’s done is done. Go home and get some sleep. I hope you finally learned that abstract knowledge can come in very handy in the real world.”
He turned to leave, but remembered one last thing. “Don’t drink that much wine ever again. You’re privy to state secrets, so you must guard your every word.” With that, Ronko winked and disappeared between the marble columns.
Uni felt strangely deflated. “What a day! I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime. I suppose I should go see Mother now. It’s about time I gave her a reason to be proud of me!”

Chapter 5. Necessary Formalities
Uni may have thought he had received the greatest measure of joy from the council meeting, but he was mistaken. Licisium Dorgoe returned to his fair estate in a much-improved state of mind. Satisfaction derived from a sense that events were developing just as he had intended was one of the few pleasures in life he knew how to enjoy. His velvet-lined chariot rumbled through the gates of his villa, and he quickly and with surprising agility removed his large body from its comfortable seat and proceeded straight to his garden.
“Is he here?” he asked Zhoslo, his butler, with a grin.
“He is waiting for Your Lordship in the blue pavilion,” the butler intoned, eyes almost closed.
“How mad is he?”
Zhoslo shrugged as if he knew nothing, but then he added, “What right would a barbarian have to express displeasure with a courtier of the Heavenly Empire?”
“That’s the correct answer,” Dorgoe nodded with a smile and headed across the lawn to where his next visitor was waiting for him.
The blue pavilion was so-named for two reasons. Thanks to the gardener’s careful ministrations, it was surrounded by plants that had been bred to bloom in a variety of shades of blue: sedum, helichrysum, calendula and verbena. In another month, these flowers would be joined by hollies and thistle, but for the time being those were still waiting in the wings. The walls of the pavilion were covered with blue-toned mosaics depicting waves on a river, fishermen, and other scenes from the life of the simple folk who lived and worked on the Great River, all known to gladden the heart of any hard-working civil servant. Ulinians (known for their refined tastes) often objected that Herandian architects had misunderstood the very concept of an outdoor pavilion, turning it from something light and airy, barely demarcating the border between the human and natural worlds, into something heavy and imposing. The misunderstanding, however, was entirely their own, for the imperial style had its own rules, adding solidity and magnificence to everything it deigned to touch.
Dorgoe slipped his large frame through the black carved batwing doors and turned his head from side to side, looking for his long-awaited guest. The comfortable sofa and the two small chairs (placed conveniently around a low table laid with light refreshments) were empty, and the wine and candied nuts were untouched. Dorgoe was about to permit himself an oath of surprise and annoyance when he suddenly felt a strange chill deep in his veins. The last time he had felt something like that was ten years prior, an instant before he was stabbed in a fight with some criminals near the port. Slowly, as if in premonition of death, he turned his heavy body on its axis. Right behind him, in the shadow by the door, sat a man wrapped in a dark cloak. His eyes were hard enough to drive a nail through an oak plank.
“Ambassador?” Dorgoe croaked, realizing that he was losing control under the effect of the power than emanated from his guest in waves and played havoc with his nerves. “Why are you sitting here in the corner?”
The foreigner’s expression remained unchanged, like a statue of some ancient god of warlike Seregad that had been painted a deep shade of bronze by its sculptor. The large nose, shaped like the beak of a bird of prey, was perfectly symmetrical on the shaven face, overlooking a powerful jaw and determined chin.
When the ambassador stood up, he towered over Dorgoe, who was considered a large man at court. “From this position it is easier to kill a man as he walks in,” he remarked offhandedly.
Dorgoe couldn’t keep from shuddering. He felt as if someone had walked over his head wearing hobnailed boots. “I thought we were meeting for the opposite reason – to prevent murder!” He did not like the sound of his own voice. “Please, you’ll be more comfortable over here,” Dorgoe motioned toward the table with refreshments.
He may not want to sit on such delicate furniture, he thought, head spinning. If he wavers, I may be able to win back some of the points I’ve lost.
But the guest strode across the room with no sign of discomfort and sat down on the sofa. That was Dorgoe’s favorite seat, but he said nothing. Instead, he carefully fitted himself into one of the small chairs and pulled it closer to the table.
“Allow me to apologize again. The council meeting took longer than expected, and I was unable to receive you at the palace as I had promised. But no matter: I often handle my most important affairs here. You were shown into the Emperor’s own chambers, which should give you an indication of my influence.” Dorgoe stuttered and fell silent as he saw the utter disregard in the man’s nut-brown eyes. He realized that his explanations were falling on deaf ears. “Enough of that. Let’s get to business. I was told that you are the personal representative of the House of the Jaguar and that you are duly authorized to engage in negotiations. As a pure formality, I must ask you if…”
The guest waved a hand over the table, and a round object, orange and black and encrusted with precious stones, appeared on it. Dorgoe picked it up gingerly and held it up to his eyes.
“The personal seal of Arincetek, Fierce Jaguar, leader of the most powerful of the houses of the Arincils.” He pursed his lips in respect. “I once saw the mark of this seal on a treaty. It is a powerful thing. Well,” he handed it back to his guest, “that takes care of the formalities, Ambassador. Tell me, how should I pronounce your name and title?”
“Lord Jaguar,” the guest said.
Dorgoe cleared his throat. “Very well. Perhaps it is better that way. As you know, I am Licisium Dorgoe. Member of the Imperial Council and custodian of the Heavenly Emperor’s will in many matters of state, including foreign affairs. The Empire makes no treaties without my involvement. You have come to the right person with your request, Lord Jaguar.
“The vanquished make requests!” the Arincil announced. Again, the look in his eyes made Dorgoe flinch. “If you wish to continue this conversation, choose your words carefully.”
Dorgoe’s eyebrows headed north. “Forgive me, I was told that…”
“Does the Empire desire peace?”
“Are you here to name your price?”
“You will find it reasonable.”
“Oh, so Lord Jaguar comes bringing peace, eh? But why should I believe him?”
“You have no choice. Four houses of the Arincils are fighting for power. The House of the Snake is too young and weak, so it may be ignored. The leader of the House of the Crocodile is a wise man, but he is entrenched in a war with Mustobrim and can do nothing else at the moment. Kuchinkapak from the House of the Eagle is brave and cruel. Warriors see it as an honor to follow a man like that. In order to unite all the Arincils under his leadership, he will point them toward a common enemy. That will be the Empire.”
“Makes sense. I have heard about Kuchinkapak. He is a madman. But where is my guarantee that Arincetek will be any better? How will he defeat such a dangerous adversary?”
“Arincetek will negotiate with the Empire. I am here – that is your proof. Kuchinkapak only knows how to speak with his sword. Violence is his only language. If the Empire is strong enough to break the Eagle’s wings, then there is nothing for us to discuss.”
“The Empire is strong enough, but it does not like to waste its strength. Do you have a specific proposal?”
“You have made contact with the Virilans. Take me to them. When I return, Arincetek will become the leader of all Arincils and the Empire will have peace and order.”
Dorgoe leaped from his seat, sending his chair rolling across the marble floor with a crash. “You are an ungrateful man, Lord Jaguar! I did not bring you to the palace so you could eavesdrop on secret conversations. May the demons of darkness take me – how did you do it?”
The Arincil stared off into space, unmoved. “We forgive our women for offenses for which a man would pay with his life because they are incapable of controlling themselves. You are being like a woman, so I will ignore what you have said. Necium Tameto’s warriors are also no better than women. They blabbered about meeting Virilans in the wasteland, even adding details of their own invention. They cannot be blamed for their weakness, but I was hoping to get a rational response to my proposal from you.”
“A rational response?” Dorgoe righted his chair and sat back down, nervously rubbing one calf with a fat hand. “It’s ridiculous! Why would the Empire convey its most fearsome enemy to Virilan? So that you can ally with them against us? No, your leader has either lost his mind or he believes us to be fools. Tell me the truth, Lord Jaguar. Did someone in one of the port taverns tell you that old Licisium is an idiot?”
“Virilan will never attack the Empire. They don’t need you or your land or your riches,” the Arincil growled. It was clear he had no wish to share his knowledge on the topic, but he had no choice. “If Herandia is able to establish diplomatic relations with them, you will see that I spoke the truth.”
“Maybe so,” Dorgoe said, squinting. “Let’s suppose you are being honest with me. Even so – may the demons blind me – I can’t figure where you get your information. But what is the true goal of your mission then? I have to know that, or any agreement between us is pointless.”
“It has nothing to do with politics,” the Arincil said. “It is a matter of honor. The story is a long one, and difficult for you to believe or even understand. What I am about to tell you carries a high price. Let it be proof of our future friendship.”
“Tell your story,” said Dorgoe, resting his double chin on one massive hand. “I can be very trusting.”
A welcoming May breeze wandered into the pavilion through the wooden shutters, but the men ignored its delicate attempts to direct their attention to the legendary beauty of the Herandian sunset. The Arincil was unhurried, and his short, succinct phrases were well matched with his aloof manner. Dorgoe remained hunched over the small table, his eyes fixed on his companion. Only a clever squint changed his face at the rare moments when he interrupted the ambassador to ask a question.
When the story was done, both men sat in silence. Then, Dorgoe leaned back in his seat and scratched the bald spot on the top of his head.
“This is all very interesting, of course,” he said. “I had already guessed some of it. As for your plan, it seems reckless to me.”
“The Arincils’ power has rested for hundreds of years on that which you call reckless. I told you it would be hard for you to understand. You have too little room in your life for risk.”
“It’s hard to say who is risking more: me or your great leader. I understand him, though. He’s up against the wall and he wants to make me his hostage. A fine plan!”
“Personal considerations are not the most important thing. You must understand what matters: this is the only chance to prevent full-scale war between our countries.”
“I’m more likely to believe that a wolf will eat grass than that the Arincils are interested in peace,” Dorgoe chuckled. “On the other hand,” and here he pursed his lips, “at times, war with a friend can be more profitable than peace with an enemy.” He lifted the bottle of wine from the table and poured out two glasses. “Allow me to raise a toast to Lord Jaguar. May each of us pray to his own gods for the success of this outrageous endeavor!”
* * *
“Uni! Uni!” Sevelia Virando cupped her worn palms around her mouth and made another attempt to get her son’s attention. “Uni! Don’t lie there like a boiled crab! You’ll catch it if you’re late for your meeting!
Up until the moment when he told his mother about his upcoming trip abroad, Uni had innocently assumed that she would be overjoyed at the news. Once the communication was made, however, he realized – yet again – that he was a very poor judge of what people could be expected to do, even those close to him.
Emel Virando really was delighted by her only son’s brilliant prospects. She had spent the last of her money putting him through the academy and had personally overseen his studies as best she could. But the thought that her precious child would be away from home for at least six months, and that he would be visiting a country that was quite possibly populated by demons, threw Sevelia into a state of nervous energy that she managed to communicate to all those around her. Her most intimate friends – wives of successful shop owners and craftsmen – secretly envied her as they shook their heads over tea with her and helped her elaborate a list of all the dangers that would stalk her son.
“Last year, our neighbor traveled to Torgendam to buy lumber and he never came home. Some say a bear got him, but others say it was a forest demon. And it was the year before that some merchants from Arkenchif – that’s in Capotia – told us that outlaws are kidnapping people on the west end of the Great Imperial Road and selling them to the cannibals in Unguru! The Heavenly Deity only knows what those Virilans will come up with. I’ve heard merchants say that they aren’t humans at all, but walking dead. If one of them puts a hand on you, it’s as cold as the grave! How’s a woman supposed to let her son go there? Be careful, neighbor! He’s your only child. You raised him all on your own. May the Heavenly Deity keep him from danger!”
After several such visits with friends, Sevelia cursed Ronko for coaxing her son away from a normal, steady career. She cursed Ontius Sanery, who she was sure would treat her poor boy like a dog, and even (quietly, in her heart of hearts) cursed the Emperor for being too weak to refuse his ageing coterie of advisors. Uni had to grit his teeth and listen to her for several hours, and all of his arguments in favor of this grand opportunity to demonstrate his abilities were countered by the contention, always final, that there was no way he could understand a mother’s heart.
In the end, his patience wearing thin, he escaped to his beloved archive (after all, the Emperor had personally instructed him to prepare himself for the upcoming journey). Once he stood again in front of the achingly familiar gates – shaped like a scroll being unrolled – he had to force himself to go in. He too clearly remembered being escorted out of the archive the day before. The guards must have been aware of his new status, for they merely nodded at him as he went in. Uni reflected that Dorgoe, while outwardly unattractive, was eminently capable of carrying out the tasks entrusted to him, not forgetting even the smallest details.
Inside, the archive greeted him with its usual chilly air and odor of leather scroll cases. The archive workers who passed him in the halls gave him nervously polite smiles, and Uni concluded that the weather had changed in his favor. As always, Enel Barko was the only one truly happy to see him: the old man met him with open arms.
The brand-new diplomat bowed low before his teacher and promised that he would not let him down on this important mission. Barko had news. Enel Forsey had already sent a messenger to the archive to request that Uni be tested on his knowledge of the Virilan language and the results immediately sent to the palace. Once the messenger was gone, Enel Margio had given Barko a clear set of instructions: either the elderly master could report that Uni was incompetent, or he could leave the archive that same day, never to return.
“They wouldn’t dare!” Uni exploded. “I’ll tell Ronko everything. What a dirty trick! What a gross violation of the will of our Heavenly Lord!”
Barko shook his head. “You call it a dirty trick and a violation, but they don’t care about what you think. Everyone knows who is really in charge at the palace. I remember the old Emperor. He was a harsh man, to be sure, but people minded themselves around him. There was none of this back stabbing. The young Emperor is cut from a different cloth. He’s not a bad man, and he’s very intelligent. When he was a boy, everyone who knew him said he was kind and good. But now that he’s grown, what good is he to us? He’s soft and lazy, and he is too dependent on his advisors’ opinions and changing moods. Do you think he cares about a lowly servant like me? He’ll forget about me by tomorrow, even if that Ronko of yours manages to put in a word for me. He’s a wonderful Emperor compared to the monsters our Empire has known in the past. The reign of Kergenius will be remembered as a golden age, of that I am sure…” He gave a wry smile. “When have we ever had so much freedom? Each man does as he wishes, as if we had no Emperor at all and no Heavenly Deity over our heads.” The old man rubbed his forehead. “What is the use? The weak are glad to have freedom, but the strong are the ones who profit from it. Look at me. This archive is the only home I’ve ever known. If they let me go, I’ll die that very same day. No, the weak and poor have no need for freedom. It is a burden to them. Once the strong have everything their way, this new freedom will make the old days look like paradise.” His voice trailed off.
“Enel Barko,” I…I…won’t let them touch a hair on your head! I will march myself into the palace right now and tell them that if anything happens to you, I won’t go on the mission to Virilan. That’s what I’ll do! They can manage without me however they like.” Uni’s eyes shone wet. “It’s beyond imagination that they could have so little respect for your age and your hard work!” He grew even angrier when he recalled Forsey’s arrogant face and how he had ignored him at the council meeting.
Barko put a hand on his young friend’s shoulder. “Thank you, my boy! I’ve been in this bug-infested place so long that I can’t imagine life without it. I’ll die here in these walls, probably right at this desk.” Uni sniffled at this. “And don’t worry about me. They can’t hurt me, even if they try.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m too old to be afraid of anyone. What can they do, if you think about it? Margio will yell and carry on, but the whole pack of them are slippery cowards.” His old eyes sparkled as he looked at Uni. “I told Margio where he could put his threats. I told him there was no way I would follow his orders, even if he took a knife to me right here.”
Uni was impressed. “What did he do?”
“What could he do? He howled for a while, then he cursed me and went off to wherever it is he goes. Don’t worry, Uni! Everything will be fine. Let’s celebrate your new appointment.” At this, the old master opened a box behind his desk and drew out a dusty bottle of what they called “archival wine.”
Archive masters since time immemorial had hidden bottles in the depths of the stacks and storage rooms, planting them as gifts to their counterparts in the future. When someone stumbled across a bottle, the masters had a holiday (merriment was a rare thing in their lives, so they made the most of it). The older the bottle, the bigger the holiday. Long-time archivists claimed that archival dust and mouse droppings made the wine so strong that one cup could knock a man over. They also said that the one who drank the first cup imbibed all the wisdom of the scrolls with which the bottle had been found.
When Barko brought out the bottle, Uni at first tried to excuse himself, explaining that no official orders had been made yet and first, he had to survive an important meeting with the head of the mission. Barko cut him off and, with a twinkle in his eye, explained that this particular bottle had been found between two Virilan manuscripts, and that Uni simply had to drink it to complete his knowledge of that most complex language. As a final argument, the old man hinted that he might withhold his recommendation letter.
Uni was overcome with a desire to embrace his teacher and mentor, but he refrained until most of the bottle of wine was already in his stomach. Barko, as always, drank very little. As they sat and talked, the old man told him that he had dreamed of seeing Virilan since he was a young boy. He was satisfied that he had managed to convey that desire to his student.
When it was time for Uni to go, Barko took hold of his hand. “Chances are we will never see each other again,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Teacher, don’t say that! You will live longer than any of us! And anyway, wherever I go, and wherever I am, you will always be with me, and your knowledge will be in me.” The master walked his most dedicated student to the door, and they parted.
“I wonder if I really will ever see this place again?” Uni suddenly wondered. Only the Heavenly Deity knew.
A wave of sadness rose in his throat, and he finally realized what a great time he had had inside of those cold walls and how much of himself he was leaving behind.
“Uni! You still need to put on your good robe and fix your hair! Get up, boy! You don’t want to shame your mother, do you?”
“Coming, coming…” Uni mumbled. He realized that the wine had slowly but surely done its work. Oh life-giving Sun! I drink perhaps two times a year, and of course one of those times had to be today. If only I could get through it without a scandal…
* * *
Scandal was avoided. Uni carried himself with cautious dignity in front of his mother, and by the time he reached the villa where his future superior lived, he was back in the clear. He smiled sweetly at the marble dryad in the fountain and waved at the two stone lions guarding the door.
“I wonder what they feed them?” he said aloud, and petted one of the predators behind the ear. The lion was friendly but cold to the touch, confirming Uni’s suspicion that the animals were underfed.
“My goal is to not get fed to these lions after my interview,” he thought with a grin before walking bravely down the wide hallway to a meeting with his fate.
Judging by the view that opened up, fate had some very nice things to offer. Ontius Sanery’s villa was known for its collection of ancient artifacts from distant lands. Visitors called it a museum, but it also reminded them of a heap of trophies lying on the battlefield, awaiting distribution to various warriors. Not that the villa’s owner had any intention of sharing out his richly colored paintings from Mustobrim or his metal basins from Arincil, each large enough to fit a small bull. It was rumored that after victorious battles, the Arincils used these basins to bathe in their enemies’ still-hot blood. Uni wondered fleetingly if Sanery used them for this purpose too. A silly idea, of course, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Margio or Forsey did.
A servant slowly opened the elaborately carved wooden door at the end of the hall. Uni immediately recognized the style as coming from Torgendam. “It must be made of Karanham oak. How on earth did they bring it all this way?”
“The aspiring nobleman Enel Virando!” rang out by his ear. Uni jumped. He realized he had already been promoted two levels in the Empire’s convoluted system of ranks.
There was a scraping sound in the room, and the servant moved aside so that Uni could approach his new superior. I’m going to have to work with this man day and night for at least six months, so I need to get off on the right foot with him.
The man seated at the low table in front of Uni had small, unpleasant features, and his face was stretched out like the reflection in a cheap mirror. In a grating voice, he informed his visitor that he might approach.
“What a diplomat!” Uni thought. “I suppose I was naïve to think that they were all pleasant and charming.”
“You may take a seat,” the man said without looking up from the papers in his hand. “I am reading your background. None of it makes any sense. The fools in the chancery have messed everything up again.” He glanced up at Uni in annoyance. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself instead?”
“About myself? There isn’t much to tell.” Uni was beginning to feel like this whole meeting was a waste of time. “I was born in the capital in the year of the Heavenly Era 379. I graduated from the Imperial Academy with a degree in literature and started working at His Majesty’s archive as an assistant master in the department of foreign manuscripts…”
“I don’t need to hear all the useless details. If that’s how you plan to interpret for me, I can tell you right away that I don’t need an interpreter like that.”
Something in Uni snapped. “Is that so? Tell me what kind of interpreter you need and I’ll run outside and get him.” For a second, he was stunned by his own insolence.
“Young man, I think you have forgotten where you are! I have to wonder at whoever raised you. Surely you understand that civility is of the utmost importance for a diplomat.” The man kept his head down, perusing Uni’s record. “Aha! My instinct was correct. I see here that you had no one to teach you how to behave.” He shook his head. “No father. Such a pity.” Then he looked up and blinked. “Who was your father, anyway? Do you even know?”
“My father was a warrior,” Uni shot back. “He was killed on the northern border protecting disrespectful but highly placed officials from the barbarians. They were the same kind of officials that now try teaching good manners to his son.” The man’s mouth was hanging open at this point. Without pausing for breath, Uni went on. “I may be your interpreter, but that does not make me your servant. And consider this: you have much more to lose than I do. If something goes wrong, you’re the one who will answer for it. Have I made myself clear?”
Great Sun! He thought. Did I really just say that? I must be losing my mind. He’ll grind me into dust for that. I’m a fool! A complete, unteachable fool!
Instantly sobered by fear, Uni tensed his body and waited to see what his punishment would be. The man leaned forward and gripped the edge of the table until his fingers went white, but the result of Uni’s impulsivity was not what he had expected.
The older man twisted his mouth into what passed for a smile. “You must forgive me, Enel Virando! I apologize if I spoke harshly of your honorable parents. Let us continue our discussion in harmony. Would you mind answering a few more questions?”
It worked! Uni thought, and his muscles began to relax. “Of course,” he replied, sounding charitable. “That was the purpose of my visit to your lovely residence,” he added to soften the effects of his offensive.
“Wonderful. Let’s see, we’ve cleared up the issue of your father. Your mother, Sevelia Virando, is the fortunate owner of the Happy Trout tavern, am I correct?
“Yes. Only it is not a tavern, but an inn,” Uni replied. “One of the nicer inns in the capital,” he added.
“Of course, I apologize. Now let’s see…ah, your reputation. A sensitive issue. A diplomat must be able to control himself in any situation. Remember that you are not representing yourself, but the entire country and our Heavenly Leader. Do you understand?”
“I’m not sure what you are driving at.”
The man winced. “I’ll be less vague. Do you enjoy drinking?”
“Do I look like I do?”
“I’m certainly no specialist in that area,” the man replied with dignity. “But it says here that you have a habit of drinking and carousing. That,” he looked up, “is catastrophic for a diplomat.”
“The Emperor is already aware of what you call my ‘carousing’.”
“Is that so?” The man’s face grew longer. “What did he say?”
“He sent me here to meet you.”
“I see. Well, I have to say your experience is pretty thin, too. You’ve never been part of a diplomatic mission. That’s bad. And languages? How well do you know Virilan?”
“I have a letter of recommendation from the senior master of the foreign manuscripts department, Enel Barko. He is the Empire’s foremost specialist on Virilan.”
The man brightened. “Ah, a recommendation. That’s better. Let’s see it.” He unrolled the scroll Uni handed him. “Well informed, extensive vocabulary, capable of conversation, my best and only student…” He frowned. “That’s all well and good, but where is the seal of the archive? My dear boy, you’re applying for a very important job and here you’ve skipped one of the most important procedures!”
“Does Enel Ronko’s word carry no weight with you? And the Emperor’s personal request?”
“Yes, of course, but I can’t put this in your file without a seal. I’m sure you understand. Even our Heavenly Lord, may the Bright Deity give him health and happiness for years without end, has been known to change his mind about things. Paper, my boy, is more reliable…”
“Do you really think I am trying to fool you?”
“Not at all,” the man spluttered. “I just need you to understand that this business is not as simple as it might seem to an outsider. Administrative procedures are tiresome, but they do matter. You don’t expect me to run around putting seals on documents, do you?”
“If that’s all that you need, I’ll do it myself. Just tell me exactly what is required.”
“Now you’re starting to understand. It won’t be difficult at all, especially since I’ve taken a liking to you – a nice young man who grew up without a father and made his own way in life. I’d hate to ask you to run around stamping documents. If you’re prepared to compensate the administrative costs, then…”
Uni nearly leaped from his seat. “What did you say?” He felt like he’d been doused with cold water in the middle of winter. “Are you, the Emperor’s ambassador, really asking me, your own interpreter, to pay a bribe just to put a stamp on my recommendation?”
“Ambassador?” the long-faced man stared back at Uni. “Don’t make me laugh.” He couldn’t help giggling. “Why on earth did you think that a nobleman and advisor like Sanery would condescend to meeting with you? You are an interpreter, which is no better than a tool in his hands. A hammer, if you will. You’re picked up when needed and set down when there are more important matters to attend to!”
“Me? A hammer? I didn’t come here to be insulted. Who are you, anyway? My instructions clearly state that I am supposed to meet with the ambassador in person. Are you the ambassador? No. Give me my recommendation back. I won’t leave this house until I see Ontius Sanery. He can’t possibly have anything more important to do than talking to me at the moment!”
“You are correct, young man,” rang out a pleasant baritone. Uni turned and saw a man slightly taller than himself, with a slight paunch and gray eyes that shone with a sincere smile. It was the smile that surprised him more than anything.
“Forgive me, I was engaged when you arrived,” the ambassador continued. “Groki here undertook to entertain you. I hope he was not…overly familiar.” At this, Sanery’s smile grew even sweeter.
Uni gave what he hoped was a proper bow. “Of course not, we had a delightful time.”
Sanery bowed slightly, in perfect accordance with palace etiquette. “Let us take our conversation into the other room,” he gestured with a plump hand toward the room he had just come out of. “Please, follow me.”
Suddenly overcome with shyness, Uni walked quickly into the room, only afterwards remembering that he should have let his host enter first. Sanery made no notice. Shutting the door behind them, he gestured for his guest to sit down on one of the cushions arranged on the gorgeous red and gold carpet. “In Mustobrim, they say that chairs put unnecessary distance between people. I’m sure you are as motivated as I am to establish good rapport during our first meeting.”
“Of course,” said Uni, nervously glancing around the room. He noted the whitewashed walls and the pale blue frieze. The ceiling was supported by four columns of carved wood, and the elegant carved screens and bookshelves between them created a pleasant place for intimate conversation.
“Antiques from Mustobrim,” Uni realized in a flash. Long ago, he had seen a very old book that described rooms just like this. “All that’s missing are the weapons on the walls.” Just then, he noticed a pair of handsome daggers hanging on one wall. He was impressed by the ambassador’s simple good taste.
He turned to face the man. “Esteemed Enel Sanery, it would be an honor for me to work with you to further the good of the Empire and our Heavenly Lord! Allow me to humbly hand you my recommendations, which confirm…”
“No need!” Sanery waved a hand at the scroll Uni held out. He invited Uni to sit down on a cushion and did the same. “These formalities are a waste of time. The Emperor wishes for you to do the job, and there’s no one else who can do it. It’s already been decided. Anyway, that’s not why I wanted to see you, Enel Virando. Would you like some tea?”
“I would, thank you. You can call me Uni. That’s what my friends call me.”
The young interpreter immediately took a liking to Sanery. He didn’t feel like he was talking to a much higher-ranking nobleman. His new superior was very approachable, and his round head, with its bald spots and slightly protruding ears, gave him an almost humorous air.
Sanery stretched his legs out. “They say that wine is the drink of the wise, and that grand ideas come to those that try it,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Do not believe it! Tea is the wondrous drink that brings man closer to the greatest secrets of life. The Mustobrims drink it without the addition of other herbs, but very hot and very sweet. It’s an expensive habit, but worth it. You should try it. You’ll like it!”
The fashion for tea had reached the Empire via Capotian merchants, but it did not grow in Capotia. As far as anyone knew, it only grew in the Land of the One True God, where the monks used it to stay awake for prayers that lasted for days at a time. Sevelia Virando had been known to object strenuously to the Capotians introducing good Herandians to their odd tastes solely so they could fill their deep pockets with more gold. Uni began to suspect that his new superior had done his part in enriching the Capotians, who controlled all the trade in tea, including its sale in stores throughout the Empire. Nonetheless, he gratefully accepted the dish of tea he was handed and imbibed the steaming liquid. It left an unfamiliar but not unpleasant taste in his mouth.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed.
“I’m delighted to see you have no trouble adapting to foreign customs,” Sanery praised him. “I think you will make an excellent diplomat. I was told that you know a great deal about Virilan in addition to the language. Is that so?”
“Your praise of my modest talent is flattering.”
“Oh, there’s no flattery here. Believe me, the key to a country’s heart is a solid knowledge of its customs and traditions. It’s also the best way to achieve what you want in negotiations. All barbarians – all foreigners, I suppose – tend to trust those in whom they see something of themselves. It’s the only way to approach them. Serious proposals, flattery, even gifts are pointless if you are unable to gain the friendship of the person you are negotiating with. That is the first rule of imperial diplomacy.” He gave a wry smile. “Did you think I just collect these things,” he waved a hand around the room, “because it’s a hobby?”
“Of course not!”
“You did. Everyone does. But let me tell you, all the things you see in my home play an important role in my missions. Do you know why I’ve never had a mission fail? I’ll tell you. It’s because of these things.” Sanery looked around the room with obvious pleasure. “Yes, these antiques are my best helpers in the difficult work of diplomacy. How else could I gain such a deep understanding of a foreign culture? You must know more than what is on your partner’s mind. That’s the first mistake most diplomats make – they try to calculate everything, as if people were pieces in a board game. Remember this: even the most influential people live by feeling, emotion, faith, and all sorts of other irrational things. Only the Heavenly Deity can possibly know everything about a culture!”
Uni’s head was swimming. “You mean the things you collect help you take on the character of the people you negotiate with?”
“Of course. You can’t begin to understand a Torg if you’ve never run your hand over the skin of a wild animal he just brought down. And you’ll never understand a Mustobrim if you’ve never tried tea. I won’t even start on the Arincils. I see you’ve understood me perfectly. I will take that as a sign that we will work well together.”
“I’ll do everything to keep from disappointing you, I promise!”
“I have no doubt that we will enjoy the greatest of trust. You’ve never been on a delegation before, but don’t let that worry you. Everyone has to start somewhere. I know next to nothing about Virilan, so you will be my teacher.”
“How could I ever be your teacher?”
“I mean exactly what I said. You aren’t just my interpreter. One of your most important jobs will be to keep all of us from making mistakes.”
“Do you mean…”
“Exactly! Every culture has unwritten rules of behavior. Imagine some sort of prohibition that a local would never think of violating, but a foreigner would know nothing about. You will be responsible for keeping us out of hot water.”
Uni nodded. “Because there’s no one else who can do it.”
“Precisely. I will not bore you by reminding you of the heavy responsibility on your young shoulders. I will just warn you that there will be times that you will have to be my eyes and ears.”
“I understand. This is amazing…and unexpected. You are too kind to me, Enel Sanery!”
Sanery beamed. “You aren’t afraid of hard work, I see. I hope that’s because you are young and strong and not because you’re flighty and lacking in experience.” He let that sink in for a second. “And here’s another rule of diplomacy. The entire delegation must act as one. There is no room for personal ambition, keeping score, or worship of rank. All of that must be left at home. All of us must help each other and work together to ensure the success of the mission.”
“It sounds so noble, Enel Sanery!”
“There’s nothing noble about it. It’s survival, my friend. I don’t know how you imagine it, but a delegation is nothing pretty. It’s two dozen men torn from their home country and sent to a far-off land where the people may be hostile. The road there takes months, and you spend each and every day of that time with the same people. Can you imagine it? Everyone’s usually sick of each other by the second week. The smallest conflict can spark trouble and ruin everything. Add in danger, brigands, excessive cold or heat, unfamiliar food, illness – everything conspires to work against the mission. Here at home, in our lovely capital, we bow to men of rank and ignore those without it. But when you’re in a foreign land, your servant may be the one who ends up saving your life! Of course, we retain our ranks, but we leave the ceremonies and the snobbism at home. Actually,” he coughed, “there will be plenty of formality during the negotiations. Once those start, you’ll have to stay on your toes.”
Uni was elated. “Thank you for telling me these things! All I can say is that my friends and coworkers have always found me to be friendly and easy to get along with. I promise I won’t cause any trouble. The success of the mission is my only goal, and I swear by the Heavenly Deity that I’ll do everything I can to help achieve it!”
“Very good, young man. I have no doubt that you will. I have dealt with all sorts of people in my time, and I can tell that you are sincere. Working with you will be a pleasure. We leave in five days, so I suggest you prepare yourself for the trip.
“Five days?” Uni gasped.
“I, too, was surprised,” Sanery admitted. “But they say you were at the council meeting, so I suppose you already know the reasons behind the urgency…”
Uni did his best to look intelligent. “Ah, of course. It’s obviously a matter of government importance!”
“Then let us lose no time. You will be informed of the time and location of our departure ceremony.” The ambassador stood up. “I expect to see you again at the palace, Enel Virando!”
He walked Uni to the gate and saw him off most politely.
“What a delightful person!” Uni reflected. “He talked to me quite as if I were his equal. That’s a true diplomat for you, nothing like the arrogant fools in the chancery!”
Warmed by these thoughts, he raced home to pack for the trip. His first thought was that he should treat his friends to dinner the night before he left. A few painful memories presented themselves, however, and he decided it would be a better idea to host his friends two days prior to his departure to avoid showing up at the palace hung over. “From now on,” he told himself, “wine will only be a sign of good things to come. I’ll throw a party to bury ‘Little Uni’ and show all my friends what I’m capable of in this life!”
As soon as Uni was gone, Sanery’s face fell. He turned from the gate and went back to his study, where he was met by his secretary. Obviously impatient, Zimius Groki had brought in a heavy scroll.
“Well, what do you think?” the ambassador asked without prelude. The polite smile was gone from his face, and even his prominent ears seemed to fold back against his head.
“He’s too sure of himself, Enel Sanery. If you want to know my opinion, he’s too young. He immediately gave himself away!”
Sanery sneered and walked over to a large window with carved casings that looked out into a small courtyard. Colorful fish lazily swayed in the dark water of a decorative pond carved out of Vuravian stone. Tall cypress trees cast long shadows that divided the pond into a grid pattern that was ignored by its phlegmatic inhabitants.
“The boy’s eyes were the size of dinner plates the whole time I was talking. Do you really think he’s Ronko’s spy?”
“I have no doubt of it, Your Honor! It makes sense. Ronko wasn’t able to get one of his own men appointed ambassador, but he is counting on the interpreter to be a key figure. The boy will keep his patron informed, and he will try to influence the outcome. I’m confident he has already received his instructions. I heard that Ronko was dead set against having a second interpreter, even though that goes against all the rules for diplomatic missions.”
“I never expected a boy of that age to try and catch me by the gills.” Sanery thought for a moment. “Is it possible that we are making too much of this? He didn’t strike me as having any experience of intrigue. He’s too young, and he’s never held a post outside the archive…”
Groki made a face. “It pains me to see you wasting your time worrying about it. No matter what he’s up to, he isn’t worth your attention.”
“That’s jealousy talking, Groki.” Sanery chuckled. “The boy will be a key figure in the game, once it starts. I can tell that much. And if Ronko wants to use him, let him try. I may just turn around and use him against Ronko.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“Why not? People like Uni are easily influenced. They don’t like being ordered around, but they’ll tell you everything they know if you make nice with them. Ronko will be too far away to control his protégé. He conceived of this delegation as his own personal triumph, but he’ll get the opposite result.” Sanery’s lips curled into a smile. “This will be worth my playing a comedy for a little while.”
“Licisium Dorgoe will be very pleased. He may even make you head of the Diplomatic Chamber!” Groki rejoiced.
“I doubt it. He is keeping Eusenium Hamery for that purpose, even though you couldn’t make the old toad do his job if you threatened to hang him. I heard he skipped the meeting with the Emperor to discuss this delegation. Heart pains, you see. He lets Dorgoe handle all of our foreign affairs without actually having a title or any responsibility. There’s no way Dorgoe will get rid of him. He knows I’d put a stop to his meddling right away.”
Groki had another idea. “Your Honor, what if Ronko has other people on the delegation who will try to interfere with your plans?”
“If it were only Ronko’s people. You can’t imagine how many nobles have approached me about getting their people put on the delegation. I won’t be surprised if someone offers me a bribe equal to that paid for the position of a guild minder just to get some relative or other assigned to the delegation as a baggage carrier! I’ve served the Emperor for many years, but this is the first time I’ve seen such frantic interest in a diplomatic mission.”
“There is too much at stake this time. A trade treaty is a delicate morsel, and many mouths are watering.”
“True. But how am I supposed to captain a ship where every sailor is trying to tip the boat? Impossible!”
“Do you know who the deputy ambassador will be?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Sanery sighed. “Time is short, but the mighty and powerful will continue to fight until the Emperor chooses someone they all equally dislike, just to make my life unbearable. Mark my words, that’s exactly what will happen!”
“That is too bad. Still, it would be useful to identify the people who have their own agendas.”
Sanery’s eyes narrowed. “I expect Virando will be useful in that regard. Once we reach Manibortish, I will announce that we are hiring another interpreter. Those who object will out themselves as Ronko’s men. I call it ‘fishing with live bait.’”
“That’s an excellent plan. What about the rest of them?”
“The rest of them? Did you bring the list of candidates? Give it to me and we’ll see what’s going on.”

Chapter 6. Friends
The Sleepy Fish Tavern was an establishment with an unmistakable reputation. It was not the kind of place where a carpenter from the River district or a scribe from one of the city squares could eat and drink his fill after a day of hammering or writing. No, the Sleepy Fish was a place for epicures and gourmands. Passing under its modest sign, lucky visitors encountered true culinary magic, where the food was created – not merely prepared – by masters of gastronomy. Guests were drawn in by more than the opportunity to enjoy the best dishes from among twelve different regions of the Empire. What really lured them in was the chance to observe the mystic rituals performed in the service of gluttony, and they were only allowed to enjoy the final product if they had reservations and a sizeable wallet.
Of course, Sevelia Virando was opposed to the scheme from the very beginning. When Uni remarked cautiously that he and his friends had decided to celebrate at the Fish, she merely smiled the smile of a loving mother and inquired in the same tone why they didn’t want to celebrate at the restaurant in her inn. She offered good, simple home cooking, and his friends could spend the night in some of the rooms upstairs. Uni nodded politely as she spoke and waited for her to run out of ammunition.
When she was done, he took a deep breath. “That’s exactly what I told my friends, Mother. It was my idea to have them come to the Happy Trout.”
“What did they say to that?” Sevelia asked, brows raised. What she was really thinking was: You certainly don’t need friends who think they’re too good for us!
“They said what they always say, Mother. That your inn is perfectly hospitable and comfortable. They stop by the inn often enough: you must know they like it.”
“Did you not agree with them?”
“I’m always happy to eat your cooking! But if you think about it, what with my appointment…”
Sevelia’s voice went up a notch. “It’s a celebration for all of us. I raised you alone, I bought you shelves full of books, I found you that job at the archive, and now that the Emperor has noticed you and you’re being sent on an important delegation for who knows how many months, you refuse to spend your last evening at your mother’s restaurant.”
“Mother, how could you possibly see it that way?”
“Is that an accusation?”
“Mother!” Uni was losing patience. “We would be perfectly happy to spend all day here. But. There is one thing. That I have to warn you about. As your son. To avoid unpleasantness.” It cost Uni a great deal to keep his voice down. “Sorgius Quando will be with us.”
“Merciful Sun, what do you want with him?”
“I know he has a bad reputation, but he’s one of my best…”
“Reputation?” Sevelia stared at her son in horror. “What kind of reputation do you think he has earned? He seduced a young woman who was supposed to become a Virgin of the Sun, and he only escaped death because of his father’s ties to the Emperor’s chancery!”
“Mother!”
“Hush. Everyone knows about it! And do you know what else people are talking about? About how he vomited all over the wheels of the priest’s carriage during the Great Sunrise procession, and it happened right after he left my own inn. He earned his reputation. I’m not sure how you expect me to feel about that.”
Uni began to wonder if he had made a tactical error. After the incident during the procession, Sorgius had become a hero among certain circles.
“I’m sure he’s the one who came up with the idea of going to the Fish.” His mother’s face was flushed. “Tell me, did he promise to pay for everyone? Did he? Everyone in the capital will say that you sold out to that villain as soon as you were appointed to an important post. Is that what you want?”
“Oh no, Sorgius wanted us to get together at the inn. He knows he had a little too much beer that one time, but now he’s…”
“He will not set foot in here. And as for you…”
“He’ll have a lady with him too.” Uni managed to get in.
“He won’t bring his whores here, either! I never did understand what women saw in him. He’s short, with shifty eyes and a hooked nose. Ah, but they want his fat wallet and his invitations to expensive restaurants. Why does he have to mix you up in it?”
“Mother, you’re hurting my feelings! It was Vordius’ idea to go to the Fish.”
“Is that so?” Sevelia’s brows went up again, this time in surprise.
“He knows you always loved him, but he has special news to celebrate, too. He was finally promoted to nicor in the Imperial Guard.”
“Is that true?”
“Just think, he’s the youngest nicor in the whole Empire!”
“I’m not the least bit surprised. Vordius Onato was always an ambitious boy! And smart, and good-looking, and now he’s a nicor! You were always sitting around reading, but Vordius knew how to connect with the right people. How many times did I want to introduce you to useful people when they came into the inn? But you were always locked away in that archive. I’m proud of Vordius. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes suffect before the age of thirty.”
“Mother, in case you’ve forgotten, I have something to celebrate, too, and it all started in the archive.”
“I hear you. And there’s another thing: Vordius found himself a young woman, and a beautiful one at that. What are your plans? You can’t live the rest of your life among the rats at the archive.” She reached out a hand. “Why don’t you find yourself a wife while you’re in Virilan?”
Uni cut her off. “Speaking of wives. Now that Vordius has a new rank and some confidence in his future, he wants to announce his engagement to Luvia.”
“That’s wonderful news! You should have told me that when you first came in!”
“He’s bringing her along to dinner, and he wants it to be at the Fish so he can impress her with the Carmadanian flowers and calimri nectar. Mustobrim celu balls wrapped in fasa leaves with a sweet sauce. Fillet of grabinus so thin that it melts on the tongue. Don’t you agree that Luvia is worth it?”
“Of course she’s worth it. But what about you? When will I see you with a girl like that?”
Uni stood and put a hand over his heart. “I swear to you that as soon as I arrive in Virilan, I will immediately abandon all my official duties and go looking for the most beautiful young women of that mysterious land, and I will keep looking until one of them expresses a willingness to become my wife.”
“You little fool!” Sevelia laughed, once again in a jolly mood. She was quiet for a moment. “Have you considered what you will wear? It’s a special evening and a very expensive tavern. You can’t go looking like you sleep in the street. I want everyone to see that my son is an important official, not a basement rat.”
Every evening, the Hankilow bridge turned into a city market and an unofficial fashion show for the capital’s most privileged classes. Herandia had an ancient tradition of setting up market stalls on wide bridges, but the opportunity to see and be seen was a new one, emerging only after guild reforms caused some of the most expensive tailors in Enteveria to relocate to the stone bridge. Soon, they were joined by shoemakers and perfume sellers, and wealthy clients flocked to the bridge to buy the latest fashions and then immediately display them as they strolled through the market. Eventually, the city built a new stone gallery over the bridge, where grand nobles and their lovely companions could amble leisurely among the expensive goods and show off their superiority from a (literally) lofty height.
The gallery was immediately occupied by sellers of roasted nuts, honey biscuits, flowers, and other treats to brighten the mood of those members of society who, because of their high rank and great wealth, had little else left to wish for in life.
Licisium Dorgoe fit most comfortably into that category as he ate almond pastries, one after the other, from a wrapper made of thin rice paper. He had always loved sweets and had no qualms about anyone knowing it. In any event, the small balcony (built into the gallery for the single purpose of enjoying the sunset) where he stood was completely hidden from the public. The only people around were a couple of sleepy Solar Sentinels.
Unfortunately, the sight of the merciful deity – decked out in red and purple – did nothing to improve the mood of the Emperor’s closest advisor, who had never been much of a romantic. He was visibly on edge, which caused his clumsy fingers to crush the pastries before sending them to their heroic death in his noble mouth. Once he heard familiar footsteps behind him, however, his breathing slowed and his face took on its usual air of self-satisfaction. A man with long, dark hair joined him on the balcony.
It had always been a mystery to Dorgoe why Tameto – a born cavalryman – walked with the swinging gait of a sailor, but he had no time to wonder about such things. Tossing the paper full of crumbs into the waves of the Fela, he turned halfway and greeted the new arrival in a pointedly polite voice.
“Tameto, my dear friend, how glad I am to see you on this delightful evening! But why, for the love of the Deity, do you always look like a man who has drunk too much Markutanian fermented milk and is desperately searching for a privy in which to relieve himself?”
“Don’t get cocky with me, you old heap of goat shit!” the general cut him off. He did, in fact, look odd, especially around the eyes, which stared into the distance without actually focusing on anything. Dorgoe guessed he’d been indulging in dramdalaki, a traditional pastime of the nomads in the Great Expanse that had become popular with soldiers serving on the Empire’s northern border. A fire was built and stones heated inside a tightly sealed leather tent. Once it was hot enough, someone took a dipper full of a liquid obtained by boiling a secret blend of herbs and poured it out over the stones. Those who had tried it said that the main thing was to stop in time, because it was easy enough for the soul to depart for the world of eternal joy beyond the clouds, leaving behind only a slightly cooked body.
Dorgoe permitted himself to hope that Tameto would, in fact, overdo it someday soon. Aloud, all he said was “So much for greetings. What did you want to say about what I proposed yesterday?”
“You think you’re smarter than the rest of us, don’t you?” said Tameto. He stepped to the railing and spat a wad of Ulin chewing bark into the river. So, you’re sending your own delegation at my expense. Did you really think I’d stand for it, you stinking boar?”
“Listen here, horse-lover,” Dorgoe growled, towering over his crude companion with his sizeable frame. “Some things will always be beyond the understanding of a military man. I put your men on the mission. Have you paid me back for that? Or did you think I wasn’t aware of the task you gave them?”
Tameto’s warlike fire left him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dryly.
“You don’t know? You’re not in the wasteland anymore, my friend, and the walls have ears. My ears. May lightning strike you and your idiotic brothers-in-arms. I had my suspicions when you came out so strongly in favor of the delegation, and now I know why you did it.”
“You can’t prove anything,” Tameto snarled. He pulled his head into his shoulders.
“I don’t intend to prove anything. I don’t have to! I’ll just toss your fools off the delegation, that’s all. Do you have any idea how many people are begging me for a chance to go?” Dorgoe’s eyes narrowed. “When I’m done, I’ll whisper a word about you to His Majesty, just to keep him informed. Can you imagine the consequences?” He paused to let that sink in. “You’ll have to play fair with me. If you want me to leave your men alone and let them do their work for you, you’ll have to help get my man over the northern border. In the position you’re in, those are strikingly fair terms.”
“May you and all the other palace eavesdroppers and parasites rot in the land of darkness!” Tameto exclaimed, his jaw muscles clenched. He closed his eyes, and after a moment asked a question that was to the point. “But in terms of trade, you aren’t against the north, are you?”
“Don’t make me laugh!”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do…” Tameto said with a scowl. “Who is going, and when?”
“As soon as possible, my friend. As soon as possible. I’ll have the man brought to your camp in two weeks. It may take a day or two longer than that. He will have a letter from me, of course. Give him two reliable men and make sure that they don’t breathe a word about it. For your own sake, if for nothing else.”
“I give no guarantees,” Tameto croaked. “The Virilans don’t like outsiders. All I can do is get him there. I’m not responsible for anything after that.”
“Of course,” said Dorgoe, and his heavy face looked like a mask from a theatrical comedy. “Just get him to the border. That’s all. And make sure your two men don’t come back. Then you and I will be even.”
Tameto cursed instead of a goodbye and stomped off. Dorgoe watched him go with a mixture of laughter and contempt.
“They’re all like children,” he said to himself. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
* * *
“Dag, brother, you’ve made it!”
Dag Vandey had tried to keep his face serious for a moment, but then lost his touch of reserve, smiled and hugged Vordius with his full embrace.
“I got some business to be done, bro, but now, when two of my friends have such important events in their lives, you know…”
He welcomed Uni, having come a second later, and pet his wheat-blonde hair.
Here he comes again, thought the interpreter with a touch of annoyance, treating me like a child.
Naughty-looking companion of Sorgius wrinkled her nose and whispered to Sorgius, “Is he your friend, really? He looks as if he came to the funeral.”
That is a sort of a funeral, dear. We all know that engagement is the first step towards the grave, the little Vuravian wanted to say but didn’t.
“If he could trade his gloomy gazes, he would have gotten rich long ago. Then, maybe, he would dump his troublesome and unpromising job as a lawyer of those sorts of ragamuffins, preventing him from seeing his friends as often as he used to,” said Vorgius instead.
“Hey ho to thee too, a leech on the people’s neck!”
Vandey stretched his arm to grasp Sorguis’s forearm, according to the Gerandian custom, but Sorgius ducked down, put his arm around his friend’s waist, and tried to pull him off the ground. Dag only rolled his eyes thoughtfully, and then, in turn, lifted Sorgius up.
“Grab the legs, Vorgius! Let’s dunk the bastard in a vat of beer!”
Vordius took the summons to repeat their old game all too seriously, and it was hard enough for Uni to get the guests seated without the almost formal occasion turning into a farce from the start.
“Did you find it fast?” He asked Vandey to put the conversation on a neutral footing.”
He nodded, “Yes! Though, as you know, I am a rare guest to such places.”
“Can you guess why they named this place the Sleepy Fish?” Sorgius Quando asked, glancing around.
“No, why?” asked Luvia Tokto, glad to finally get a word in. The whole evening had been consumed by talk of palace intrigue, war and dice games.
The red-headed girl with Sorgius also smiled with feigned interest. Inside, she was cursing the carved wooden chair that had already snagged her fox-colored silk wrap two times, causing her great emotional distress.
That was the price that people paid to eat at the famous tavern. First-time visitors to the Fish were at first put off by the simple, even crude furnishings. The chairs and tables were made of heavy, unpainted wood. The candles were cheap and smoked, leaving dark streaks on all the walls. And the floor was non-existent in places, with tables essentially set in uncovered dirt. The place looked shoddier than a flea-bitten local haunt by the river port. To make matters worse, the tables were so crowded that visitors were often on the receiving end of accidental blows by their neighbors’ elbows. No one minded, however, because that neighbor was likely to be a member of the board of the shipbuilders’ guild, there to discuss a transaction, or even a judge from the Heavenly Court, relaxing at sunset with a glass of Firanian fortified wine. For some reason, the imperial elite, more accustomed to cushions filled with the feathers of Siramian swans and blankets of the finest Ulinian silk, had taken a liking to the rough, unsophisticated reality offered by the Sleepy Fish’s trend-conscious owner.
“When Manum Yalik just opened this place,” Sorgius continued, “he was married to a Mustobrim woman. Her name was…” he screwed up his eyes. “I don’t remember, and it doesn’t matter anyway. So this wife was cold and unsocial, which made it difficult for her to serve guests. People were waiting for ages for their food and cursing the service. ‘Where’s my ragout?’”
“Where’s my fish!” Vordius joked.
“Exactly. ‘Where’s my fish!’ And his wife just ignored it all, carrying trays of food with this blank look on her face. That’s why her husband started calling her his sleepy fish. People started saying ‘Where are you going for dinner?’ ‘To the sleepy fish.’ That’s how the place got its name.”
“I thought that Mustobrim women were hot and spicy,” said Vordius, casting a glance at his girlfriend.
“How do you know so much about Mustobrim women?” Luvia asked him in a quiet, serious voice.”
“Oh, that’s a common misperception by people who have only heard rumors of the fair ladies of Mustobrim,” said Sorgius, stepping in to keep his friend from teasing Luvia too much. “Southerners’ blood is hotter than ours, but you can’t imagine what their religion does to them!”
“I see you can imagine it,” smiled Uni. He felt strange in his new robe, but his mother had insisted on buying it. His objections that he already had a new robe that he had purchased for the trip to Virilan were struck down because, as his mother reminded him, he might stain it at his party and then he would have nothing clean to wear.
“Maybe I haven’t read as many books as you, Little Uni, but I have personal experience that tells me there’s nothing worse than trying to restrain our natural instincts with fasts, vigils, prayers, mortification of the flesh and other unnatural obstacles. Strict rules don’t do anything but make a person angry. And when they see how everyone else lives, all they can think about is how to ruin their lives for them.”
Uni looked skeptical. “How many Mustobrims have you met in your young life?”
“Enough. Believe me!”
“I know they believe in an invisible god,” Uni smiled. “Their god has no face, but they believe he can be found in everything. Not just people, but in their actions.”
“Sounds like a hard life,” sighed Sorgius’ red-headed companion. “If we feel like sinning, all we have to do is hide from the eye of the Heavenly Deity and it’s like the sin never happened. Are you saying that in Mustobrim they can’t hide anywhere? How do they manage like that? If it was me…”
It’s a good thing we didn’t get together at the Trout, Uni thought to himself as he stole a glance at the girl’s pretty face. Mother wouldn’t put up with this for long.
“I know how they live,” Dag Vandey broke in. “One man and one woman stay together their entire lives.”
“That sounds terrible!” the red-head exclaimed. She looked at Luvia for support, but the younger woman frowned and leaned closer to her fiancé.
“Friends, let us raise another toast to Vordius and Luvia!” Sorgius felt obliged to iron out the uncomfortable situation that he had caused. The happy couple seemed to bloom at his words. There was a wide grin on Vordius’ kind face, he straightened his shoulders and shook his dark curls. Luvia was glowing from within as if a spark of joy was burning its way through the charming modesty that was so unusual in those permissive times.
“Dear friends!” Sorgius said as he rose from his seat, accidentally elbowing the noble sitting behind him in the back. The back shrugged and turned in annoyance, but it was ignored completely. “My dears!” Sorgius was having trouble finding the words he needed. “All of you know me to be an idle good-for nothing and a highly irresponsible person,” he continued, winking as if letting them in on a joke.
Vordius, seated next to him, raised a fist and tapped his chin to indicate just how much his friend had had to drink. Uni snickered.
“And yet,” Sorgius went on, finding his rhythm, “you have been my only true friends, ever since we met seventeen years ago. You are the only friends who don’t want anything from me. You’ve put up with my antics, and I have to admit that I haven’t always measured up to your kindness. And now, when you, Vordius, are just about to start a new phase in your life, I want to wish you and Luvia the one thing that life isn’t worth living without. I wish you happiness. Just happiness. Everything else will work itself out. I love both of you! Let me kiss you!” Sorgius leaned over the table, dipping his robe in the octopus dish in front of him, but Vordius’ powerful arms lifted him from the sea monster’s hold and wrapped him in a warm embrace.
Wine flowed like a river, and it had the important job of preparing the guests’ stomachs for the final attack by the forces gathering in the chef’s kingdom beyond the curtain. But the Fish had a commendable wine cellar, second only to the cellar at the Dwarf’s Cave, which had no real menu, just drinks. Aromatic Elisian wine, with a floral bouquet that exploded in the nose and carried the connoisseur to an exalted state of beatitude, was followed by sweet Firanian wine, which was delicious enough to drink by the pitcher but threatened an awful headache in the morning. Next came tannic Artishan wine, refreshing on a hot day, followed by Bouquet of Vuravia, a twenty-year reserve that was too tart to drink by the glass but charming when taken a drop at a time on the tongue. The wine was accompanied by toasts, of course, and Uni soon commanded the attention of his friends, who had been occupied until then by expressing their well-wishes for the happy couple.
“To the rising star of imperial diplomacy!” Sorgius thrust his cup energetically at Uni, who was saved from a collision by all the other cups that rose to meet it.
“Thank you, friends,” said the modest archivist, who had been starting to think he was forgotten. Now, sitting in the spotlight made him shy.
Vordius slapped him on the back with a loving grin. “I never thought you’d escape your dusty basement, but here you are!” He looked around the table. “Our Uni, he didn’t just get out, he flew out like a hawk. They’ll never stop him now!”
“Virilan. Not bad at all,” spoke up the serious Vandey. “Do you have a strong protector at court?”
“I know exactly who his protector is,” drawled Sorgius, grimacing at the distorted reflection in his glass of wine. “I heard that Manelius Ronko went to great lengths to get his favorite archivist put on the delegation. Although, with a country like Virilan, it’s hard to know whether or not he did you a favor,” and he winked at his friend.
Uni was terribly uncomfortable. “That’s enough. I want to make one thing clear: I had no idea he would get me put on the delegation. But in truth, I suppose he had no choice.”
“How’s that?” laughed Sorgius.
It’s obvious. Virilan is the most isolated country in the world. Except, perhaps, for the Land of Wizards, but the Mustobrims travel there all the time, so Virilan truly is the most isolated place. And Virilans are exceedingly wary of outsiders. They don’t believe we are actually human, and they avoid us at all costs. As a result, I’m one of the only two currently living persons in the Empire who knows how to speak Virilan, at least to an extent.”
“Bravo! Bravo!” Sorgius clapped his hands. “Let’s drink to Uni and his studious nature, the very same studious nature that has finally landed him in the great big world!”
“Idiot! You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I am all ears.” Sorgius hiccupped. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“There is. I barely know Manelius Ronko. He often visits the archive, and I’ve helped him find information on various topics. He’s an interesting man and a good conversationalist. But I never asked for his help, and the place on the delegation was a complete surprise. But it’s logical when you think about it.”
Dag Vandey shook himself from his musing. “Ronko is exceedingly interesting. I still don’t know exactly what his post involves.”
Here, Luvia spoke up. “My father says Ronko is only interested in two things: writing poetry and the beautiful women he writes it for!”
Vordius threw his head back and laughed. “If I remember correctly, my love, your father used choicer language when he said it.”
“Remember that business with the Torgendamian princess?” snorted Sorgius. “There was no poetry involved, and he won her in battle. I heard she jumped from the castle wall after he dishonored her.”
“I don’t know about that,” his fair companion said in a doubtful tone, “but it’s true that Ronko knows how to court a woman in style!” She threw Sorgius a skeptical look.
“Nonsense,” he snapped. “And how would you know?”
“Oh, I know a great deal,” the girl replied airily.
“Listen, Sorgius,” said Dag Vandey. “You know all the latest palace gossip. Do you really think Ronko carries weight with the Emperor?”
Sorgius put his glass down. “Seriously? His official position is called ‘advisor to the Heavenly Throne’. Today, that’s a post that is respected but doesn’t pay much. If I wanted to retire someone without hurting his feelings, that’s where I’d put him.”
“He isn’t old enough for retirement.”
“No, especially if what the ladies seem to know about him is true. I’ve also heard that he is absolutely fantastically rich.”
“Is that true?” Sorgius’ red-headed companion was suddenly attentive.
“Yes. And it isn’t the kind of wealth you would ever notice. People say that he eats in dirty, cheap taverns on the other side of the river port and wears the same robes for years, but his close friends know him to be a collector of antiques and rare manuscripts – only originals – that he buys for insane prices. He has two homes in Enteveria. One of them is an average house with average furnishings, but the other is a museum filled with treasures that would look well in the Emperor’s palace.”
“Why hasn’t he been robbed yet?” Vordius wondered aloud.
Sorgius grinned. “No one has ever tried. They say he has close friends in the criminal world. But those are just rumors.”
“My father once told me that Ronko was on friendly terms with the Emperor’s father,” Luvia said. “The old emperor respected him and valued his advice. It had something to do with reforming the imperial postal service.”
Sorgius was struck by an idea. “The imperial postal service. Of course! That must have been his gold mine. The postal service can transport anything you wish from one end of the empire to the other without any inspections or customs fees. That explains a lot…”
“You always turn the talk back to money,” said Vandey, making a wry face. “There’s more than that to the imperial postal service…”
“Enough!” Uni begged, looking pained. “I didn’t come here to discuss rumors and gossip about the people I work with. Let’s talk about something else!”
Sorgius grimaced, but after both women spoke warmly in favor of Ronko, he put an arm around his companion and proposed a hasty toast.
Uni sat back in his seat. There wasn’t enough air in the room. He wondered how all those people could sit there for hours. His forehead was sweaty. Suddenly, he lurched to one side, barely managing to hold onto the table to keep from falling.
“Looks like the little boy’s had enough,” he heard Sorgius’ voice somewhere in the distance.
“Air! I need air!” He leaned heavily against the table, one hand resting in the bread plate. A piece of bread went skittering across the table and fell over the edge onto the floor.
“There’s a balcony on the other side of the room where you can watch the sunset,” Sorgius’ girlfriend chirped.
Vandey stood up heavily. “I’ll walk you there.”
Uni felt like laughing when he saw the serious mask on his friend’s face. Dag was handsome and well-built, and he seemed taller than he actually was, but his narrow chin, thin lips and round, gray eyes clashed with the heroic image he cultivated in public.
The balcony was actually a rickety wooden overhang with a railing. It looked out over the deep ravine that separated the elite Trikazinso neighborhood from the Street of Plenty, which wandered off into the slums behind the northern river port. When the ancient capital had been expanded to meet the needs of the Herandian empire, which held sway over one-third of the continent, imperial architects had bemoaned the ravine as an inconvenient gash that interrupted Enteveria’s neatly laid-out city blocks. The most radical among them had proposed filling in the ravine, but in four hundred years no one had come up with funding for the project. The great emperor Norius could, of course, have decided the matter once and for all, but he listened to the words of his beloved Ovalio, who lobbied for the interests of the birds that made the ravine their home. Because of her efforts, when Uni and Vandey made their way out onto the balcony they were presented with a view of greenery, the smell of fresh grass, the sound of cicadas, and the warm rays of the summer sun.
“Is that better? Take a couple of deep breaths and your head will stop spinning.”
“I hope so.” Uni felt a bit better as the warm evening breeze cooled the sweat on his forehead. He leaned on the thin wooden railing, closed his eyes, and let the last breath of day enter his lungs.”
His friend was indifferent to the beauty surrounding them. After hesitating for form’s sake and waiting for a pair of lovers to leave the balcony, Dag Vandey cleared his throat. “You’re leaving soon. I wanted to ask you, have you thought any more about what we spoke of?”
“My friend, I haven’t had a chance to think about it at all,” Uni said tiredly. A week earlier, Vandey had visited him at the archive and brought him a book that he called “an explanation of all the things we’ve discussed.”
“I know you’re busy preparing for your trip, but I always thought you cared about the fate of our own land.”
Uni rubbed his eyes. “I’ve always distanced myself from politics. Do you want to know why? Because I know my limits. If you want to have influence, you have to have money, rank, and connections. What’s the point of talking about politics? You can write intelligent books and people will read them in secret as a form of entertainment. But then they’ll turn around and praise His Heavenly Majesty just like people have always done. And it’s not because they are weak or hypocritical. That’s just the natural order of things. People crave stability, order, and harmony.”
“Calling the current state of affairs in our empire the ‘natural order’ is the same as calling it harmonious for a cannibal to eat people!” Vandey grew lively at the chance to engage in competitive rhetoric. “Do you even see the difference between the mandates the Emperor announces and how people really live? You’ve never once left the capital, have you? Believe me, the city is like a leech, sucking the life-blood out of the countryside.”
“Like a leech? That sounds like the grumbling of provincials, nothing more. Vandey, you’re a good man, but you are too trusting. I know you’re proud that you’ve travelled around half the empire while I’ve been sitting in the archive. You’ve lived with peasant families and seen them work sunup to sundown. I don’t have that kind of experience, but that’s what books are for. They transmit the experiences of past generations.”
Vandey looked away. “What do your books tell you?”
“A lot. But the most important thing I’ve learned is that anything you see today can also be found in the past. Why waste time and trouble to reach the same conclusions that our own forefathers reached and set out for us on paper? Why invent the wheel, if the whole world is already driving fast carriages?”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“I mean that your ‘struggle,’ as you call it, targets vices that have always been with us. They’re incurable. I agree that lots of people have hard lives. You’re right: one man can have a collection of diamonds that rivals Mount Erameo, while ten thousand other men have debts that stretch to the underworld and back. I hope this isn’t a surprise to you, but it was always like that. Always and everywhere. It’s never going to change. The harder you struggle against it, the faster the poor get poorer and the rich get richer. You know how the peasants live first-hand, but I’ve read all about it in books. I know what I’m talking about.”
“You’ve read about it? Perhaps…” and Vandey’s voice took on a hostile tone, “your memory isn’t as good as you think it is. Do I have to remind you how our Empire was born?”
“The Empire came into existence following the same laws as all other empires that came before it. First, you have lots of small kingdoms that are constantly at war with each other. Weakened and distracted by fighting, they fail to notice a neighbor on the periphery. That neighbor gathers its strength and eyes their riches. Once it’s strong enough, it starts taking over their land, but in little pieces at a time. Once the kingdoms realize the threat, it’s too late. In one final attempt to save themselves, the former enemies band together against the upstart. But,” Uni raised a finger, “the old conflicts and the kings’ vanity are stronger than their sense of the obvious danger. They are defeated and taken prisoner, and a new, unified power rises up on the bones of the vanquished, who really should have known better.”
“That’s only part of the truth. The old empires were created by military might and held together by the weapons that united them. When those weapons lose their shine and the hands that hold them become soft, someone always appeared to challenge them. People don’t enjoy living in slavery. Can we at least agree on that?”
“They don’t enjoy it? I’ll argue with that. Slaves may be deprived of certain pleasures in life, but they are also free of the freedom of choice that torments their masters. And they bear no responsibility for their decisions.”
Vandey nodded. “I agree, most people do not wish to be leaders. They just want to live, raise their children, and enjoy the simple pleasures without which even an emperor is miserable. That’s what they work for. They give their leaders a portion of their harvest because that’s what it takes to be left alone. That’s the basic law underlying any kingdom or empire.”
“Of course. The humble farmer, salt of the earth, foundation of the empire.” Uni laughed.
“Do you find that funny?”
“You’ve just proven me right. If a poor man is prepared to give the nail of one finger to a rich man just because he’s rich, then he must be prepared to give him the whole hand. That’s another basic law, and it’s derived from the one you just stated.”
“People – unlike all the other animals – were given intelligence so that they could make their lives happy and fulfilling. That intelligence eventually leads you to realize that the cathedral of happiness can only be built if we work together to create a world where everyone is happy.” Uni snorted. “Pure fantasy. It sounds good, but it won’t work. History proves it.”
“History proves that the Heavenly Empire was established as a kingdom of justice and given the task of banishing hunger, greed and violence from people’s lives forever!”
“I knew you were a romantic, Vandey, but I didn’t know it had gone that far…”
“And I knew that our learned men had been brainwashed, but I didn’t know it was that bad. I am aware that all of the books that tell the truth about our history have been removed from circulation over the past three hundred years, but you, Uni, worked at the archive. You had the opportunity to read it all.”
“I did read it all. I just have my own point of view on what I read.”
“How can you have a point of view on the truth? The truth simply exists. You can’t dispute it.” Vandey turned to his friend. His gray eyes were full of light. “The Sun grants its heavenly light to all – the water, the earth, the forests and plants, the serpents, birds, and wild animals. Most importantly, the Sun shines its rays on man, so that he can live according to its will. Man or woman, adult or child, with skin of all colors, the rich man with thousands of ferns of land or the pauper: all greet the dawn with joy and praise the lord that gave them life and displays such generosity to each of them. And just as we all live under one Sun as its worshipful children, may we all live in our united kingdom with food and peace for all. Just as the Heavenly Deity withholds its generosity from no one, giving to each according to his need, so I, your new emperor, will take tender care of each of my new subjects. Instead of war and hunger, the Herandian Empire will bring you peace and happiness. From now on, there will be no rich or poor, but plenty for all in our great land. I will answer for this to the Sun, who is the father and forebear of all living things.”
Uni smiled. “Bravo. I could have guessed that your conspiratorial brotherhood would adopt the Solar Manifesto as its battle cry. Now, I hate to disappoint you, but it was proven two hundred years ago that the manifesto was a fake. Norius never issued a manifesto. Someone came up with that fairy-tale legend after Norius was already dead and gone.”
“You say it’s a fairy-tale? How do you think Herandia managed to unify all the peoples so quickly? Many of them surrendered without a fight and were pardoned. Their fields and other assets were left untouched, and the peasants contributed their hard work as the foundation for the Empire’s golden age.”
“I’m not so sure about that. If you read the history, it’s clear that they respected our power and felt helpless against us.”
“But surely you know that Herandia was not considered the most powerful of the twelve kingdoms. Vuravia had more resources, Ulin had a more advanced culture, Seregad was stronger. What did the Herandians have?” Vandey warmed to his theme. “What we had weighed less than a swan’s feather, but it changed the course of history in our favor. Do you see where I’m going, Uni? It was an idea – the same idea that you call a fairy-tale. It may have sounded like a fairy-tale, but it was up to humans to make it a reality. One thousand years of unending war. Destruction and starvation. Untold wealth in the hands of a small circle of powerful people who were terrified of losing it all. People were tired of it. They wanted just two things: peace, and a society where they wouldn’t have to fight for their bread every day. Uni, the Heavenly Empire is not a country, or an army, or government ministers with beautiful chanceries. It’s an idea about how we can live in harmony with each other according to the laws of the Heavenly Deity, in a kingdom of peace, justice and brotherly love!”
“I don’t see why you’re upset. Aren’t we already living according to the ancient commandments? Hasn’t the Empire maintained peace for four hundred years? Of course, there have been wars with outsiders, attacks by barbarians and uprisings in some of the provinces, but surely you wouldn’t compare any of that to the chaos that existed before the Empire?”
“Peace? If by peace you mean that our lands are not being taken away from us by an invader. But who owns the land? Free peasants are the Empire’s poorest and most defenseless subjects. The Heavenly Throne sucks them dry with its taxes, so they mortgage their land to richer men. They may not be slaves, but they live worse than slaves. Slaves are fed by their masters, but the peasant knows that his crops are mortgaged for years in advance. Of course he’s free: free to die of hunger! In the end, he sells himself to avoid that very freedom. He can’t be called a slave because our laws prohibit it, so he’s called a ‘voluntary worker’ who does his work ‘for the good of society.’ Except that the only ones who benefit are society’s richest members. Just now, I watched you put a piece of paper-thin meat on your tongue and let it melt in your mouth. I suppose you didn’t consider how many children died of starvation while we enjoyed our meal. You’ve driven people to slavery, in form if not in name, and that makes your power a thousand times worse. Our rulers are low, rotten, and deserving of their own obliteration!”
Uni shook his head. “Calm down. I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
“I will not calm down. I have to tell you these things while I still have a chance. You call your power ‘Heavenly grace,’ but it has nothing at all in common with the commandments of Norius the Founder. You say the Manifesto was a fake? I say you’re lying! It’s no accident that there aren’t any copies of it left, even in the imperial archive. They wanted to destroy the original, but they haven’t been able to find it. There are rumors that it’s held in a private collection. My friends and I will find it, and then the people will follow us. Peace? No, we don’t need a peace like this. We would rather have war, cruel and relentless, that will sweep away the parasites that have grown up around the throne! We will restore the Heavenly Empire the way Norius wanted it to be, the way our ancestors dreamed it would be!”
“Dag, my friend, I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Uni said. He suddenly realized that he was not reacting to his friend’s words the way he ought to.
The fresh air on the balcony refreshed him, and the vast expanse of greenery seemed to call him to the shores of some unknown country. Only now did Uni begin to feel the difference between the narrow world he had always inhabited and the fantastic opportunities that had suddenly landed in his lap.
He turned back to his friend. “Don’t be offended, Dag. You see, it’s only my body that is here in Herandia. My heart is already there, over the seas. Just imagine that you’ve spent years studying what seems like nonsense – at least that’s what everyone would have me believe – when suddenly the laughter stops and you fly from the archive basement like a bird, rising to the Sun! I’m going to see with my own eyes the land that I’ve learned about in old manuscripts! It’s a fairy-tale. A miracle! I feel like someone hit me in the head with a log. Even without wine, I’m drunker than ten thousand sailors!”
Vandey scowled and looked away. When he turned back, there was an unpleasant smile on his face. “You’re such a child, Uni! I’ll wait until you return from your trip. We can talk again then. You’ll see the world outside of your archive, and maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.” He patted his friend on the shoulder and led him back inside to the world of idle merriment that he so despised.
When they returned to the table, the political philosophers found their friends deep in their cups and very far from such matters as universal brotherhood and justice. Uni and Vandey discovered they had made a fatal mistake during their fervent discussion: they had missed the main course, which was the whole reason for coming to the Sleepy Fish. Neither of them showed much disappointment, however. Vandey no longer made any attempt to disguise his revulsion at the immoderate feasting, and Uni suddenly felt that his stomach could not take any more contributions that evening, even those of the most elegant variety. He poked his fork at the marinated eels that encircled a giant egg made of Ulinian rice before resting his chin on his hand and observing his friends, who displayed much greater enthusiasm as they devoured the delicacies placed before them. Sorgius was handing around some kind of long, green leaves stuffed with a sticky, white substance.
“Try it, my dear. I’m sure you’ll like it,” he said as he handed one of those mystery tubes to his companion. The young woman gingerly took the leaf and tried a tiny bite. Sorgius gleefully mimicked her movements, turning them into something that looked much more intimate. Not bothered a bit by the humor, his girlfriend ate half of the strange leafy tube.
“What are these things, anyway?” asked Vordius as he ate his third one.
“My friend, this is the most elegant dish of the season, a combination of the culinary traditions of two sworn enemies: the Unguru and the Arincils.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense. I’m not interested in geography, and I suspect there’s something not quite right here.”
“Oh no, it’s all quite right. What you’re eating is a pâté made from the heart of a newborn lacrobus mixed with the milk of makabu caterpillars and all wrapped in grape leaves. The leaves are domestic, however, because the leaves called for in the original recipe would cause gastric distress among the people of our Empire.”
Sorgius’ explanation was cut short by an unexpected protest from Luvia, whose gentle nature could not bear the thought of violence against an adorable animal.
“The poor lacrobus! They’re so sweet and helpless – how could anyone possibly kill one!”
The others put their leaves down one by one. Sorgius, who had until then been the life of the party, struck up a private conversation with his girlfriend. Vordius comforted Luvia, Uni lost himself in daydreams, and Dag Vandey looked like he had just discovered one more reason to expose the bloodthirsty Herandian Empire. He was the first to leave, with the excuse that he had the farthest to travel to get home.
Sorgius’ girlfriend, likewise, seemed tired of the party and the endless toasts in honor of people she barely knew. She pursed her lips and turned away from the table making it clear to her beau that she would prefer to continue the evening somewhere more private.
“I’m afraid we must be going, too!” said Vordius, once the redhead had gotten her way. “Would you like us to walk you home?” He felt responsible for getting Uni home to his loving, but strict, mother.
“Do I have a choice?” the young diplomat grumbled, and the threesome found themselves outside in the empty streets, where the shadows of the oil lamps flickered and seemed to flee from them as they approached.
Strolling around town at night was not, generally, a good idea. While residential areas like Trikazinso were well-guarded, even the wealthy were drawn to the many taverns and pubs scattered around the city. The Sleepy Fish was almost in the very center of Enteveria, but it was divided from the good neighborhoods by the ravine and the artisans’ quarter. Here, the perfectly square city blocks gave way in the face of nature, and Uni and his friends had to go a long way around to get home.
“We should have taken a carriage,” Uni remarked.
“You ate too much!” Vordius said with a grin. Suddenly, he stopped short. His friend was turning white.
“I’m sick,” Uni managed to moan before lead weights seemed to attach themselves to his arms, legs and neck, and there was nothing for him to do but fall to the ground.
“Demons take me!” Vordius cried as he bent over his friend, helpless.
Luvia knelt and put a hand on Uni’s forehead. “He’s as cold as ice!” she whispered.
“Stay with him. I’ll be right back!” Vordius shouted over his shoulder as he ran back towards the Fish, where hired carriages and litter bearers usually stood waiting. They charged outrageous prices because of the perceived wealth of the tavern’s patrons, but Vordius wasn’t thinking about money.

Chapter 7. You Can Never Just Leave
When Uni opened his eyes, the world seemed to be some place above him. He felt like he was buried deep under a pile of sand at the bottom of a monster jug of some kind. He was barely able to poke his head out of the sand, and his ears strained to pick up the alarming sounds coming from somewhere outside the jug.
“I think he’s awake,” Luvia murmured.
“Blessed be the healing Sun, most generous giver of life!” Vordius burst out.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. Uni felt like the pile of sand was leaning and leaning, pouring and pouring into a sinkhole somewhere on his left. Terrified that he would be sucked into the sinkhole with the sand, he grabbed at the edges of the jug, but his arms were still leaden and refused to obey him.
“Lie still!” said Luvia, brushing her fingers across Uni’s forehead.
The jug started to crack, and pieces began falling away from him. The room around him began to look like its usual self.
An unfamiliar male voice somewhere in the distance pronounced that he needed to drink something.
“Let me do it, father,” someone said, and gentle hands brought a cup of something bitter and herbal to Uni’s lips. “Help him sit up a little,” Luvia told Vordius.
Vordius complied immediately, and Uni felt his lips curl in something like a smile.
If I’m drinking something, I must be alive! he thought ruefully.
“I’m surprised he survived,” Septinel Tokto’s elegant baritone shook, betraying his concern as a physician and his amazement as one of the most important members of his profession in the Empire who had seen almost everything in his time. “With cistrusa poisoning, if the patient isn’t given the antidote before he loses consciousness, nine times out of ten he won’t pull through. And that’s if the patient is a warrior. I only know of one man who had cistrusa poisoning and still walks the earth.”
“Who was that?” Uni asked in a weak voice. Until he heard his own voice he hadn’t been sure he could speak. It was only then, eyes wide in fear, that he realized what had happened to him. His friends understood what he couldn’t say.
“Please stay calm, Little Uni,” Vordius said in a calm voice. “It was poison. The honorable Enel Tokto has seen enough cases in his life to be sure on that point.”
The former chief physician for the Imperial Army nodded. “The symptoms are classic. It couldn’t be anything else. But since you’re still here, I think you’ll be back on your feet soon enough. There’s no cause for real concern. But how did it happen? Perhaps it was a very small dose? The whole thing is very strange.”
Vordius hung his head. It had always seemed an inexplicable turn of fate that he possessed the very qualities that were lacking in his best friend. The well-built young man’s charming smile had always attracted the fair sex, who all agreed that the girl who married him would be a lucky young woman, indeed. Vordius, however, unexpectedly chose for his future wife the modest Luvia, who had generally gone unnoticed among the showier young men and women who made up high society in the capital. In fact, quite a few people hadn’t even known of her existence until her engagement was announced.
As an innkeeper, Sevelia Virando always knew the latest news, and she had explained to her son just how sensible Vordius’ choice had been. Luvia’s father was not famous, but he was respected both by the Empire’s elites and by its simpler folk. He held the post of senior priest of Sangia, the god of protection from illness. That made him the Emperor’s chief physician and the chief inspector of hospitals, markets, and water pipes. It was not, of course, a prestigious post, but it was undoubtedly useful and it earned him the loyalty of the people while keeping him far enough away from palace intrigues to ensure him a long and peaceful tenure. Septinel only took the smallest of bribes – solely out of respect for tradition – and people spoke of his honesty with the utmost admiration. A less upstanding man than Septinel would have had a hard time keeping his greed in check if given the power to expel any merchant from the giant covered market for selling something that was past its prime or even simply unfamiliar. Septinel was actually not too shy about such expelling. He had not learned his profession at the Imperial Academy, but rather on the battlefield when he had ridden on campaigns with the present Emperor’s father. Having seen firsthand how an entire army could be brought to its knees by drinking water from the wrong stream, he was not one to take bribes to look the other way in matters concerning public health.
Tokto was similarly strict with his daughter, politely but firmly beating back her admirers whose sincerity he doubted most heartily. The general opinion was that he was putting in a double effort to protect his daughter to make up for the fact that she had lost her mother as a small child when an epidemic of Semerian malaria swept through the Empire. Indeed, Tokto had been true to his wife’s memory for seventeen years.Vordius, with his old-fashioned views and natural tenderness, found the only possible way to Septinel Tokto’s heart. With his usual directness, he made friends with the father, and after a few months Tokto told his daughter she would be a fool not to take notice of such a worthy young man. As a result, Vordius soon felt like a member of the family. That idyll was now threatened, and Vordius felt culpable for involving Luvia’s father in a matter involving a poisoning.
“I swear by the Sword of the Heavenly Throne that I will find out who did this, no matter what it takes!” He strode back and forth like a caged tiger. “How could this have happened? It makes no sense!”
His future father-in-law accepted the situation with the philosophical reserve of a professional who had been through much more serious crises, and he betrayed no sign of dissatisfaction that his beloved child had gotten mixed up in a situation that simply reeked of the underworld. Instead, he rose before the sun and, against all the rules of polite society, paid an unexpected visit to an inconspicuous villa that stood in a grove of young oaks on the edge of Trikazinso. After drinking a cup of Ulinian wine with its owner, his old friend from campaigns in Torgendam, he put a few direct questions and received reassurance that his safety and that of his daughter were being guarded by men no less talented at their work than he was at his surgery and healing work. After that early morning meeting, Tokto returned home so he could pat Vordius on the shoulder and kiss his daughter on the cheek. Before leaving home again to handle official business, he checked on his unexpected patient and reassured him that all would be well.
It did not seem that there was any serious cause for the most experienced physician in the Empire to be concerned. After sleeping for almost twelve hours in a row, Uni felt much better. He was still too weak to lift his head, but his strength was slowly returning – to the obvious surprise of Tokto and the delight of his friends.
Vordius sent word to the Guards that he was unable to report for service that day. Then he went to find Sevelia Virando and bring her to Uni, telling her on the way that her son had been laid low by the effects of fortified Torgendam wine on his tender stomach. The friends had decided to keep the truth about Uni’s near brush with death a secret until they could find out exactly what had happened. This would be the job of the newest officer in the Imperial Guard. Once Sevelia was gone (she had fortunately arrived to find her son sleeping peacefully), Vordius detained his future father-in-law to ask some detailed questions about how to find the source of the poison.
“Tokto is convinced it was cistrusa,” he announced as soon as Uni woke. Curled up on his left side with his eyes half-shut, Uni did his best to make sense of the information. “It starts to act an hour or two after you ingest it. If that’s the case, then you were poisoned at the Fish. I’ll tear that place down to the last floorboard, may the Dark Chasm take them!”
Uni took a deep breath. “I don’t think a scandal is what we need. Remember who their guests are. The owner keeps a tight watch over the kitchen. If the poisoner had tried to bribe one of the waiters or kitchen staff, it would have been discovered.” His voice trailed off. “And how would anyone in the kitchen make sure that I was the one who got the poison? It would be too difficult.”
Vordius scowled. “You should have seen how those fools jumped when I told them what happened! They paid for the carriage and offered to send a physician if only we would keep our mouths shut. You ate dinner at the Fish and nearly died on the doorstep. If the other patrons knew, they’d have the place shut down for good!”
“Exactly. That’s why I think it was someone at our table who did it.”
“One of your friends?”
“Oof.” Uni tried to sit up. “No one else could have done it. It’s awful to think about it, but if you’re right about the poison, it had to be one of our party.”
Vordius stared at him. “You don’t suspect Luvia or me, do you?”
“Of course not,” Uni smiled weakly. “You’ve had plenty of chances to kill me before this.” He patted his friend’s hand.
“Thank you for your confidence.”
“That leaves three people: Dag Vandey, Sorgius Quando, and that suspicious redhead of his.”
“I didn’t like the looks of her, either. Dag is an odd one, of course, but you’ve been friends since we were all boys…”
Uni raised an eyebrow. “He has at least one motive.”
“What are you talking about?”
Luvia slipped into the room and looked questioningly at Vordius. After a pause, he nodded at a low bench in the corner. She sat down to listen.
“I didn’t want to say anything about it, but now that this has happened I’ll have to explain,” Uni said. “Dag has been trying to get me involved in a secret society of what he calls ‘fighters for justice.’ It’s obvious that they are up to no good. They may even be plotting against our beloved Emperor. He tried to get me worked up when we were out on the balcony at the Fish. I didn’t feel like serious talk, so I brushed him off. Perhaps he got scared that I would turn him and his friends in.”
“Dag a conspirator?” Vordius laughed. “He’s just an old moaner. He whines like nobody I’ve ever met, and he can’t stop himself from passing on rumors as long as they make someone else look bad.”
“I’m not so sure about that. A lot of the things he says make sense. I just don’t think his ideas are practical.”
Vordius shook his head in annoyance. “You know me. I don’t care whether it makes sense or not. Point me toward the enemy and I’ll bury him! All these bookworms have lost their minds, stirring up trouble and then pretending they didn’t mean it when something goes wrong. Dag’s an idiot! He should stick to his lawyering. If he likes giving speeches, let him do it in court instead of going out and exciting the riffraff.” He rubbed his chin. “There always was something off about him. I’ve always known it.”
Uni leaned back on his elbows, trying to stay somewhat upright. “According to what I hear, Dag isn’t just a lawyer. He defends poor people for free. He may be a fanatic, but he is also honest. He’d never try to poison a man.”
Vordius nodded in agreement. “He’s never been a sneak. And where would he have gotten the poison from if he wasn’t worried until after your conversation on the balcony? Did he bring it with him just in case? That’s nonsense.”
“Moving down the list. Sorgius. He’s the world’s biggest blockhead, but no one would ever call him a murderer. And he couldn’t possibly have a motive. He and I live in different worlds.”
“What about the girl? I can’t remember her name. Who was she?”
“I didn’t catch her name, either.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”
“That’s true.” Uni was silent for a moment. “I just don’t understand who could possibly want me dead?”
“Do you have any enemies? What about someone you may have angered on accident?”
“Not a thing. I’m a nobody, with no money and no rank.”
“What about this delegation you’re supposed to go on? Maybe someone doesn’t like it.”
“But who? There wasn’t anyone else in the running for my post? Old Barko and I are the only two people in the Empire who speak Virilan.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course. They could have hired a Capotian. Lots of the merchants who trade with Virilan know some of the language. But the purpose of our mission is so secret that they don’t want to risk letting a foreigner be present for the negotiations.”
“Do you mean to say that if you’re dead, the delegation won’t happen?” Luvia asked from her seat in the corner.
Neither friend spoke for a moment. Vordius stopped pacing the room. His mouth hung open.
“You hit on it! We both missed it, but you figured it out!”
“She is right,” Uni whispered. He lay back on his pillow and stared stupidly at the ceiling, which was painted to resemble the canopy of a forest in the evening light. “It’s as easy as shelling peas! I’ve been laughing about the secrecy around our trip because I thought it was bureaucratic paranoia. I had no idea things were so serious.”
“This is beyond serious! You’re a pawn in a dangerous game, and you didn’t even know it until now.”
Uni passed a hand over his eyes. “I always did think it was strange that there hasn’t been a delegation to Virilan before now.” He paused and took a sip of water from the cup at his side. “I suppose someone at the palace doesn’t want our Emperor to have direct contact with Virilan. I even have an idea who it might be. But what could he gain by going so openly against the Emperor’s will? Old Forsey was worried about hurting our relations with Capotia, but that was just for cover. The palace would never give up an opportunity to profit from direct trade, and we will need all the allies we can get if there’s a war with the Arincils.” He sighed. “It would be so interesting to get to the bottom of it all!”
“Just look at him!” Vordius exclaimed to Luvia before turning back to his friend. “Wake up, Uni. You’re in the real world now. You could get killed. Did you not know that?” His voice lowered. “You don’t need to be chasing down secret enemies. You need to hide before they find out you’re still alive!”
“Do you really think they would come after me here, at the home of the Emperor’s chief physician?”
“Great Sun, do you still not see? If they tried to kill you once, they’re capable of anything! They resorted to the most primitive type of attack, and that means they’ve run out of other options!”
Vordius crossed his arms and stared down at Uni, who lay helplessly in his bed. Then he turned to Luvia, whose light-blue eyes were full of pity.
“Here’s what we do,” he said. “Luvia’s father is off on official business. You two stay here and be quiet. I’ll tell the servants not to open the door to anyone. I’ll run down to the barracks and get five or so of my men. We’ll move you to my house until it’s time for your departure. That’s the safest way.”
“But I have to see my mother,” Uni objected. “And someone has to explain to her what is happening.”
“I will talk to Emel Virando. She does not need to know too much.”
“Is that so? I’d like to see you tell her that.”
“I’ll come up with something. She has always had a soft spot for me.” Vordius grinned.
“Of course she has,” Uni gave a wry smile. “You always defended her only son from the older boys at school.”
“See? It’ll work out somehow. And even if it doesn’t, they won’t let her into the barracks to see you.”
Luvia couldn’t help but object. “You’re terrible, Vordius! Why don’t you let me talk to her?”
“No, you two sit still!” he hissed. “Neither one of you so much as looks out a window. Your mother will thank me for this someday,” he said to his friend as he slipped out the door.
Uni folded his arms behind his head and made a sad face at Luvia. Once again, life was teaching him that he was not in control. Even of himself.
* * *
The most popular establishment in Enteveria’s southern port district bore the ridiculous name “Bedsores”. The secret to the success of this lowly tavern had nothing to do with its tasteless moldings and vulgar draperies which were intended to emulate the interiors of the Emperor’s palace. No, it was people’s finer moral feelings that brought them to Bedsores. If you were an upstanding merchant or middling civil servant and firmly convinced that it would be a terrible thing for your wife if you were to carry on an affair with another woman, then your feet eventually carried you to Bedsores. First of all, it was in a neighborhood where nobody would recognize you. Second, it was relatively safe. And third, because it was located near the port where there were lots of foreigners with their own strange beliefs, it seemed reasonable that the Heavenly Deity – who had nothing to do with nonbelievers – would not turn his eyes that way often.
Interestingly, those same upstanding merchants’ wives had similar ideas and habits, especially since Bedsores was strategically located close to a number of large markets that a woman could be expected to visit on her shopping days. The only risk was that a husband and wife might run into each other within the tavern’s walls; however, since men preferred to take their recreation after the end of the working day and women tended to stop by in the middle of the day, problems only occurred if someone violated this unspoken rule.
The rule certainly seemed to be in peril as a tiny woman wrapped in a brown head covering made her way through the masses of lower-class workers who were on their way to their evening entertainments. With a speed and lightness that did not match her status as a middle-aged matron, she quickly slipped around anyone blocking her way in the street, her rounded buttocks eliciting rude comments from the people behind her. Before the local troublemakers had a chance to wager as to her intended destination, she slid through the front door of Bedsores. Several people guffawed as the door closed behind her.
History ignored the matter of what adventures the port district’s young people went in search of that evening, but it paid close attention to the woman in brown. She gestured at the owner of Bedsores, a short, oily man with an unpleasant face, and he nodded and turned away from her. Then, the woman pulled her head covering over her face and headed up the wooden staircase.
It was a long way up. The tavern had four floors of rooms, and each floor was given a symbolic name: earth, water, forest, and sky. Since the residents of the most expensive rooms on the sky level did not wish to walk up four flights of stairs, the names were assigned in reverse order. So, in order to reach the cheapest rooms on the earth level, the woman had to make her way to the very top of the old building.
The landing at the top of the stairs was lit only by a smoking candle. In her haste, the woman bumped shoulders against a young man smoking a pipe filled with stinking herbs. He half-turned and mumbled something that sounded like “boiled slut!” before disappearing down the stairs. Stopping only briefly to comment on the past seventeen generations of his family – pigs, all of them – the woman finally planted her shoulder against the door of one of the rooms. It opened into an even darker room where someone had long been waiting for her.
The room was filthy. Calling it a hole would have been too charitable. It was a pigsty. In one corner was a construction made of creaky, stained boards. On top of that was a straw-filled mattress. Sprawled on the mattress was a heavy-set, gray-haired man of about fifty with light-green, almond-shaped eyes and a thin face that hinted at an aristocratic background. He gazed condescendingly at the woman, for she had interrupted him in the critical business of picking his teeth with a piece of straw that was probably already dried out when the world was created. For her part, the woman ignored his pantomime (although it was worthy of the Imperial Honto Theater) and sat down on the only chair in the room. Finally at rest after pushing her way through the streets, she removed her head covering. Her blue eyes betrayed a mixture of anger, indifference and exhaustion that did not bode well for the man on the bed. He sensed the change in the weather and decided to make the first move.
“Well? What could possibly be so important that you had to see me right away?”
The woman stood up quickly, and for a moment it seemed that she would hit him. She regained control, however, and spoke with composure.
“Oh, it was nothing, really. Nothing at all. Last night they tried to kill the interpreter.”
The man rolled his eyes and snorted. “You say they tried…”
Her composure spent, the woman leaped up and cried out, “They poisoned him! I told you not to get him mixed up in your affairs, and I knew you were lying when you said he would be safe!”
The man sat up and took her face in his hands. His eyes were blank and cold, like the eyes of a snake staring up out of a deep well. “Sit down,” he said. She fell back into her seat. Now, their faces were very close to each other, and her hands rested in his warm, calloused hands.
“Calm down and tell me exactly what’s been done.”
The woman took a moment to collect her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was distant. “They tried to poison him at the Fish. Cistrusa. We have had someone near him all the time since he was put on the delegation, but our people didn’t see anything. It was a professional. The only mistake they made was not knowing that he seems to be one of the rare people who is immune to cistrusa. Vordius took him to Tokto’s house, and the good physician informed us immediately.
“Old Tokto always has both eyes open. Vordius, too. He made the right decision.”
“Yes, he did,” the woman replied in a monotone. “He’s a smart young man.”
“I was talking about his engagement to Luvia.”
“I see. Well, Tokto told them it was poison, so Vordius had five of his men move Uni to the barracks.”
“And the enemy?”
“Their men watched the house all night, and we watched them. They had men along the route to the barracks, but Vordius took back streets. He did the right thing, but I had to run to keep up. I gave the order to come out of hiding and engage the Yellows to the death, if necessary, but they withdrew.”
“Of course. They don’t want to raise a commotion. You did everything you could, except for one mistake: his friends. Have you uncovered who it was?”
“I have an idea,” the woman said, eyes flashing. “We will find out for sure, in any event. One thing concerns me, though. Vordius appears to want to investigate on his own.”
“Will he get in the way?”
“Doubtless. He’ll poke around until the entire beehive comes after him.”
“Would he be the son of Calbius Onato, the Imperial Guard veteran?” The woman nodded. “Then just keep an eye on him. That won’t be hard for you.”
She took a deep breath. “As long as Uni is still in the capital, the fate of the delegation hangs by a thread. Can you do anything to speed up their departure?”
“Believe me, Velenia, I am doing all I can.” At this, the man’s eyes looked tired.
“Has the Emperor been informed?”
“There’s no reason.”
The man stood and paced the room with his hands behind his back. “We have no proof,” he told her. “And if there is an investigation, the enemy will use it to postpone their departure. I am personally monitoring this whole business, and I’ll make sure their mistake costs them dearly!”
After seeing his visitor off, the man lay down and went back to picking his teeth with a piece of straw. The attack on Uni was an unforgiveable mistake, and all that had saved them was a chain of coincidences. The man hated coincidences because one never knew whose side they would favor. Who would get lucky next time? Uni would travel to Virilan with a person who was known and tested and who would be responsible for his safety. But what if a killer went along, too? The episode at the Fish showed him that even friends could not be trusted when the stakes were high.
* * *
He couldn’t be late. There was plenty of time left before the ceremony, which was scheduled for the third watch, but Unizel Virando had already leaped from his bed twice to look out the window at the sundial that was just visible from his room in the infirmary wing of the Imperial Guard barracks, where he was staying thanks to Vordius’ efforts on his behalf. It was one of the most precise sundials in all of Enteveria, second only to the one at the Great Lord’s palace. The Emperor Nazalio – the same one who rebuilt the capital on a much grander scale – had held a competition for a new sundial to be hung outside his palace. First place was won by the sculptor and scientist Ferintey, and his sundial was a work of art, featuring brightly painted bas reliefs celebrating the exploits of the Herandian emperors during the age of the Great Union. What made the sundial truly amazing, however, was the way it seemed to be suspended in the air above its stone platform. In reality, it was held up by three thin legs that were cleverly hidden by the viewing angle and by the shadow of the platform.
The sundial was a favorite stop for subjects of the Empire visiting Enteveria for the first time, but the palace courtiers who walked under it every day lived in fear that someday it would collapse under its own weight. Someone came up with the idea of having Ferintey build a copy so that the sundial could be replaced quickly if the courtiers’ fears came true. The copy was hung outside the Imperial Guards’ infirmary to keep it out of the way until it was needed, and it had hung there for two hundred years as a perfect timekeeper for the guards’ daily affairs.
“It’s too bad that the sundial doesn’t have a gong, like a water clock does,” Uni reflected sleepily. “It’s hard to sleep when I have to keep checking the dial.” He could have asked Vordius to have one of the servants wake him, but Uni already felt beholden to his friend and hated to ask for yet another favor. And there was something shameful, he thought, about needing to be woken in the morning, as if he were a small boy starting school.
“I’ll wake up when it’s time,” he promised himself as he lay back comfortably on the pillow. “I’ll wake up… Wait! What time is it?” He leaped from his bed, yesterday’s weakness gone. Instead of soft, early-morning rays, he saw blindingly bright light through the wooden shutters. “It’s all over! It’s all over! I’m late!”
Uni leaped to the window again. The sundial showed that it was almost noon. The top of his head felt cold, as if someone were dripping ice water on him from above. His thoughts bumped against each other, and his body felt torn in all directions at once. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, shaking his fists helplessly and looking around for something that could save him. “Calm down,” he told himself. “Get dressed and go find out what happened.”
Uni looked around and discovered that his robe was gone. Had the nurse taken it? He went out into the hall in his undertunic and found it empty. “Of course, everyone must be at lunch.”
Uni wandered through the unfamiliar building for what seemed like a long time without finding anyone at all. When he finally made his way outside, he ran to the sundial in hopes of finding that it was all a mistake. It really was noon. He felt like a terrible fool. Everything had been going so well, and then he went and overslept and missed the ceremony!
Helplessly, Uni looked around and suddenly felt strange. The courtyard was silent, and frighteningly so. The palace was always a peaceful place, but there were usually noblemen walking through on business or servants calling out to each other. Where were the guards at their posts? Why were the barracks silent, as if the Empire’s best warriors had suddenly disappeared? “I hope they aren’t all at the Emperor’s ceremony,” Uni tried to make himself laugh, but he couldn’t even smile.
After wandering around the empty courtyard a few more minutes, he decided to find the palace square. “They couldn’t have left without me! I’m the interpreter! And why didn’t anyone think to wake me?” Uni had never been in the barracks before, so it took him a while to find his way out of the labyrinth of paths and outbuildings. There was no one to ask directions from, so he ran on, hounded by his horror of what could have caused that heavy silence.
Finally, he found it. Like a pebble from a slingshot, Uni ran out into the palace square, but then something stopped him. He felt like he had run into an invisible wall. He put his hands out to protect himself from what he saw. The palace square was empty – there were no people anywhere and no signs that a ceremony had been held. “How could they…so fast…everyone’s gone…and it’s all been cleaned up!” And there wasn’t a soul around for him to ask. “Great Sun, am I asleep? What a stupid nightmare!” Uni pinched his left shoulder. It hurt. “Is it possible that all of this is really happening?”
If the imperial falcons had swung low in the blue, cloudless sky just then, they would have observed a strange scene: a small, disheveled man wearing nothing but his nightclothes was racing around the palace courtyard, running in and out of buildings like a beetle lost in a child’s maze. Tripping over his own feet in exhaustion, he ran through the palace gates, which stood open and unguarded. What he found outside the gates was even more shocking: the whole enormous city was empty, abandoned by its residents and left in awful, deep silence.
It suddenly dawned on Uni that he would never be able to go down every street looking for someone to explain what had happened. Even if he tried, he would eventually pass out on the hot stones, and no one would come to his aid because there was no one left. He was overcome by a terrible need to break the awful silence, a silence that swallowed up even the rustling of the leaves on the trees, the wind whistling between buildings, the waves on the Fela at high tide, and hundreds of other sounds that make up the background of life in a big city that has suddenly been emptied of its residents.
Uni stopped. He spread his arms and took a deep breath that filled his lungs. “When was the last time I breathed deeply?” he wondered. He wanted to yell as loud as he could, but the cold, dark, alien quiet seeped into his lungs along with the air. It filled him like an empty vessel. It stopped his heart from beating loudly and his lungs from filling and emptying noisily. Uni’s eyes widened in primal fear. He felt he was dissolving in the same sticky, invisible cotton wool that had already drowned out the cries of the palanquin bearers, the animated conversations of the merchants, the ringing laughter of women flirting with guards, and the enchanting sounds of the musical fountains that were a source of such wonder to visitors from the provinces.
Feeling wretched, Uni looked on the city’s empty streets as if he expected to disappear as well at any time. Just then, he caught sight of the dark silhouette of a person wavering in the noonday sun off to his right. “Stop! Stop! I beg you!” he cried, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He shook off whatever had been holding him and raced after the shadow as if the stranger held Uni’s own lifeline in his hand.
He sprinted around the corner of a red-brick shop with a sign featuring a crudely drawn baker with rosy cheeks and came to a screeching halt. Never in his entire life had he seen a woman with such beautiful, expressive eyes.
Imagine a deep, clear lake with crystal blue water, its shores encircled by an untouched forest that hides it from the eyes of the uninvited. You are making your way with difficulty through the thick woods, all hope of finding the right path gone, when suddenly you step through the trees and see the lake. Calm, quiet, and clear. Beautiful as only something that is truly ancient and truly young can be. In one breath, you realize that you don’t have to keep looking for your path, because you’ve come unexpectedly to its end and the thing you were searching for is right there in front of you.
That is an approximation of what Uni felt. The girl’s hair – the color of a wheat field at sunset – fell freely over her shoulders, shining around her with a golden halo. Her whole being seemed to have been formed from a wellspring of warmth and softness, and Uni felt like he had come face to face with a sunny breeze, as if the Heavenly Deity had run a hand over his head, leaving behind a pleasant wave of joy that reverberated throughout his body. In an instant, he forgot all about his troubles and the fact that he had missed an important event. All he wanted was to stand where he was for one more instant and savor the new color and flavor that his life had unexpectedly acquired.


No one knows how long the feeling lasted. It might have been the time that it took his heart to beat once, or it might have been an eternity. Time means nothing where beauty and harmony are at their peak and the order of all things has achieved perfection. The time for Uni to join that new world, unfortunately, had not yet come. The lovely stranger smiled with exquisite gentleness and leaned her head to one side, as if asking him to follow her. Under her spell, Uni obeyed. He forgot all about himself and where he was going, simply following her the way a person tries to follow a dream that he knows will be forgotten as soon as he awakes. The stranger floated in front of him with the posture of a young pine tree and a waist that begged to be encircled by his palms.
It was only now that Uni noticed the girl’s strange garment: halfway between a robe and a dress, it was dark blue, with sleeves that trailed almost to the ground. He wanted to see her face again, but her back was just as interesting. Uni remembered the backs he had seen before – bent and tired, fat and indifferent, or hard and unassailable, like closed doors. The girl’s back was different – kind, familiar and lovely, as if its owner was thinking about Uni all the time and might at any minute turn and bestow a shining smile on him.
He had no idea how long they walked, him following blindly, when suddenly he saw the dock and the ambassador’s ship and the Emperor in his most impressive robe. The wondrous magic did not last long. Suddenly, Uni found himself in a swirling crowd. It shattered the silence that had until this point filled his ears. He was afraid, more afraid than he had ever been in his life. What could be more horrible than the fear of losing someone dear, someone he felt was a part of his own soul? Uni helplessly looked for a way out of the crowd. He pushed people away from him, but the mass of bodies swirled tighter and tighter around him, lazily enjoying the defenselessness of his tiny boat in the churning vortex of the human crowd. The girl was gone, as if swallowed up by the crowd, and those precious moments of unforgettable joy dissolved without a trace in the hideous, drab gray of everyday life. Uni was struck by the realization that he no longer wanted any of the things he thought he wanted. The ray of light that had pierced his soul was dearer to him than anything else in the world, and he could not bear the thought of losing it. Like a wounded animal, he leaped over the people’s heads, over the heads of the horrible, stupid crowd. They did not hate or despise him, they simply never noticed him, as if he had no right to exist. But now, thousands of hands reached for him, grabbing his clothes, pulling him back, and a frightening choir of voices rose up from somewhere in this distance: “Uni, Uni!” Cold iron bands wrapped around his body. Uni struggled. He fought for his life, and…
“Uni? Are you still alive? You’ve been asleep for ages!” Vordius smiled down at him.
There was a fatherly note in his voice. Standing next to him, Sevelia Virando seemed to feel a threat to her parental monopoly, or perhaps she was offended by the thought that anyone would laugh at her poor, sick baby. “Vordius, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she spluttered. “He’s still so weak. How many times have I told you that you shouldn’t let him drink with you? And then you tried to keep me away from him. He’s my precious boy.” She looked down at her son and smiled softly. “Uni, my little boy, how do you feel? Did you sleep well? Your stomach doesn’t hurt, does it?” When she asked this, her face took on a look of suffering that was almost comical. “Whoever came up with the idea of holding ceremonies in the early morning. People need their sleep!”
“It’s an eminently reasonable custom, Emel Virando,” came Dag Vandey’s voice, smooth but melancholic. “The Deity sits on his throne at noon, so we conduct our affairs in the morning and rest at midday.”
Sevelia turned on him. “Just look at you, as healthy as a herd of cows while my boy lies here barely alive. Whoever will take care of him in that foreign land?” she began to cry.
Uni glared at his mother, but in his heart he was secretly glad to see her. “Mother, how good it is to see you,” he smiled as he worked himself out of her embrace and reached for his robe. “How did you gain entrance to the palace grounds?”
Vordius grinned. “Close relatives are always allowed in when a delegation is leaving. I’m coming with you, too, but only as far as the square. I’m not important enough to stand next to you once the ceremony starts,” he joked.
“Of course they let your mother in,” Sevelia said proudly. “Now, here is your robe. Get dressed. Don’t worry about your things. I’ve already packed them all, and the servants will put them on the ship. I bought you a new bag with an icon of Erezney, the patron saint of wanderers, and a blue ribbon symbolizing our blue river. I put some food from home in the bag so you can at least eat well the first few days. Don’t go around eating just anything, Uni. And don’t drink. I don’t want you touching wine at all.” She looked up at the ceiling. “What am I supposed to do with you?” She had cried all night and, even though she had promised herself she would not cry in front of her son, she couldn’t keep from uttering the thoughts that worried her. “I took your things to the Cathedral of the Sun to have them blessed. May our Lord keep you!” These last words were whispered.


“That’s enough, Mother. I’ll be fine, as long as you don’t worry about me.” Uni felt a strange surge of energy, but at the same time, everything around him seemed unreal: the colors were too bright, and the shapes were exaggerated. He threw on his robe and, avoiding his mother’s loving hands, smoothed out its deep folds that fell almost to his heels. Vordius stuck his chin out and nodded in approval.
“Point me toward the ceremony!” Now that he was ready, Uni wanted to occupy his mind with government affairs.
“Your hair! What about your hair?” Sevelia exclaimed. “We forgot about it!”
“To the demons of darkness with my hair!” Uni replied. “Vordius, let’s go. You, too, Mother. I’m off on a grand adventure today,” and he gestured theatrically toward the door.
Outside, they were met by Sorgius and Luvia.
“I didn’t know I had so many close relatives,” Uni said. Vordius just smiled.
“Aren’t you happy to see me, you old drunk?” winked Sorgius as he threw an arm around Uni’s shoulder.
Luvia was truly glad to see him. “How are you feeling?” she asked shyly.
“I’m fine!” Uni told her happily. “Thanks to you and your father for taking care of me!”
“You can tell him yourself,” Luvia said with a smile as Vordius took her by the hand. “He is allowed to be here because of his rank,” she told Uni.
“I doubt you’ll see him,” Sorgius remarked patronizingly as he tried to remove an eyelash from his eye. “Each person at the palace has, what was it called? ‘An assigned place to be and time to speak.’ And you’ll be standing in different places,” the short Vuravian explained to his friends. “Uni, you go over there,” and he waved up and to the right.
Uni looked and saw two well-dressed men greeting guests as they came up from the Cathedral of Light to the square in front of the Imperial Residence, which was cordoned off by guardsmen shining in gold.
“The rest of us have to go this way,” Sorgius added. “We’ll be waving at you. Don’t miss it.”
Is this it? Uni felt agitated. He couldn’t wait to be there on the square. He turned to his friends with an embarrassed smile. Vordius grinned. There was nothing in his sincerely joyful eyes that could have aroused the least suspicion. Drawing Uni into an embrace, he hugged him until his friend thought his ribs would break.
“Take care of yourself, brother,” he whispered with unexpected warmth. “I’ll find whoever it was that tried to hurt you. They won’t get far, you know me.”
“Please don’t, Vordius!” Uni was truly afraid for his friend, knowing his hot temper and his tendency to decide problems by the most direct means. “You told me that there were important people behind it. I think I may know who they are.”
“What?” Vordius took a step back in surprise. “You know who ordered the assassination and said nothing this whole time?”
“I didn’t exactly say nothing,” Uni kept his voice down so his mother wouldn’t hear too much. Vordius nodded and took him by the elbow. Together, they went away from their group into the crowd, where the noise provided them something like privacy. “And second, the idea literally just came to me.”
“Don’t keep me waiting!”
“Digenius Forsey,” the young diplomat sighed. He was dead-set against the delegation. But that’s just a guess. Anyone with a financial interest against ties with Virilan could be behind it,” he gestured around at the crowd.
“That dried fish? And he calls himself a tutor!”
“Don’t, Vordius. Please. Everything will quiet down once I’m gone. If you stir things up, it will be worse for everyone. You wouldn’t go up against a man like that, would you?”
“We’ll see about that! He’s been a thorn in our side long enough.”
“In whose side?”
“The guards. The army. And some other people.”
“Vordius!”
“I don’t care! Someone tried to kill my best friend. Whoever it was, I’ll drag them out into the open!”
Uni started to feel ill again. “Listen, this is no joke…”
“Vordius!” Sevelia and Uni’s other friends were tired of waiting for the private conversation to end.
“One moment!” Vordius raised a finger and smiled. Then he put his mouth close to Uni’s ear. “Remember one thing, brother. My last piece of advice is this: don’t ever let anyone get away with anything. Ever!”
Their friends surrounded them, and there was no more time to talk.
Feeling weak, Uni clenched his fists and looked around at his friends’ faces. He didn’t even feel Luvia’s kiss, light as a breeze on his right cheek. Dag Vandey finally approached. Doing his best to look happy for his friend, he slapped the new interpreter on the shoulder and told him to make them all proud. Uni recalled Vandey’s talk about reforming society: how pale and unreal it seemed on a day like this one!
Sorgius, smiling like a friendly innkeeper, reached out and gripped Uni’s shoulder with a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Find yourself a nice girl,” he said quietly.
At the word “girl,” Uni shuddered. He had forgotten about the dream from that morning, but now it came roaring back in all of its excitement and beauty. That memory made him suddenly reflective, and he did a poor job of saying farewell to his mother as she embraced him and looked for even a small sign that he was sad to part with her.
“Goodbye, Mother. I hope you will be well,” was all he could manage. Sevelia kissed him three times, according to custom, and turned away, hiding the tears in her eyes with her brown head covering.
Uni turned to his friends and put his right hand over his heart. He smiled self-consciously and, shaking slightly with the feeling that something big and important was about to happen, turned and strode toward the palace, where the richest and most powerful men in the empire were waiting impatiently.
“Uni, I mean, Unizel Virando, interpreter,” he stated to the greeter in white. The man glanced up at him, and Uni’s insides quaked. I bet I’m in trouble. I should have been here earlier, he thought in shame. The greeter gestured to another man to show Uni the way and then promptly forgot about both of them. Uni’s guide was short, but he walked quickly, making it hard to follow him through the crowd. Instead of preparing himself mentally for what would come next, Uni was focused on not losing sight of his guide.
When they reached the line of guards, Uni shuddered again: he didn’t have any proof of his role in the delegation, and his stomach started to slide toward his heels. However, the imposing guards parted before him without a word, and Uni and his guide entered the square. The crowd inside the square was just as thick, but the people here stood in two neat rectangles, all facing the palace’s grand staircase. There was a walkway between the rectangles, and here Uni’s guide handed him over to another short man in a white robe.
“How many of these little guides are there?” the young diplomat wondered. His new guide quickly led him down the walkway toward the palace, and all the nobles in their bright robes stared at him as if he were being led down the gauntlet.
This torture ended when the sea of bodies opened and Uni caught sight of the column of Norius the Founder, which portrayed the leaders of the eleven kingdoms raising their hands to hail the first Herandian Emperor, who held his palms up in praise of the Sun. There was a small group of people standing around the base of the column, and Uni suspected they might be the delegation. He was right. His guide led him to yet another greeter, who turned out – to Uni’s horror – to be the ambassador’s personal secretary, Zimius Groki.
That dirty fraud, he exclaimed to himself, keeping his eyes off to one side as if he didn’t see his recent adversary. You’re the tool now, aren’t you?
Meanwhile, his guide opened a scroll and read from it, “Enel Unizel Virando, interpreter,” and waited for the secretary to respond. Groki turned to Uni with a look of skepticism and suspicion, as if he were about to snap at the guide, “Who did you bring up here, fool?”
Uni had steeled himself to be afraid of nothing, but now his heart hung over an abyss and goosebumps broke out on his skin. He knew that it was silly to be scared and that he didn’t need to prove or explain anything, but he couldn’t stop his stomach from quivering. A drop of sweat ran from his neck down his back. Groki leaned forward and gave a slight nod. The guide turned and was gone, leaving Uni alone with a man who was clearly his enemy.
“If you’re late again, we will leave you to bake in the desert!” Groki spat at him.
Uni nodded, trying to remember if there were any deserts in Virilan and what, now that he thought of it, the landscape and weather conditions were like. His place – at the far-left in the last row – spoke to his lowly status. The men standing near him turned to look at him before turning away in indifference. In the center of the front row, Uni spied Sanery’s extraordinary ears. The ambassador had heard his name announced and turned around to give him a slight but friendly smile. Uni was embarrassed, but reflected that a smile was better than nothing. The rest of the delegation ignored him, to his relief. The young diplomat stared at the men around him and soaked up the atmosphere of overblown formality.
The palace square was situated between the Emperor’s Residence, where the Great Lord lived, and the Cathedral of Light, which was the Empire’s most important religious building. Educated Herandians loved to argue about the proper relationship between religious and secular authority. On the one hand, the Empire’s subjects were exceedingly religious, referring to the Heavenly Deity early and often, in everything from market gossip to official documents. On the other hand, most people’s beliefs went no deeper than these words and the occasional attendance at a ritual. Judging by the prominent works of imperial art, the Empire was founded with the protection of the Heavenly Deity, and the Emperor was merely his steward. As the official imperial terminology put it, he was a servant like all the other subjects. In reality, however, the Empire’s religious leaders had so little influence on government matters that they were not considered a political force. Priests of the Sun were content with their many privileges and high salaries (paid each year by the treasury), and they rarely raised their voices unless the issue concerned their own internal affairs, which were always in a foul tangle.
Some people saw this as a sign of the inherent practicality of Herandians, while others complained that the government had drawn too close to the Cult of the Sun and strangled it in its embrace. The Emperor generally played the main role in the most important religious rites throughout the year, but he led the government on the basis of the law, the bureaucracy, and the army, not as a high priest, as was the custom in Mustobrim.
The Cathedral of Light reflected the fate of the religion underlying it. Built of granite and marble under Norius to host all manner of government ceremonies, it was soon competing with the imperial bureaucracy and the Great Lord’s Chambers. By the time of Uni’s story, delegations always left from the Palace Square, which represented a balance between the religious and secular centers of power. Coronations, funerals, and rituals associated with the solar cycle were still held in the Cathedral, so the priests still felt very much in the game. They would have retained the right to send off delegations, too, if it weren’t for an irritating footnote in the law governing official ceremonies that allowed diplomatic missions to leave from the Palace Square, provided that the weather was fine, because it was a shorter walk from the square to the river dock. The footnote was criticized by many for stooping to mention the weather and the walking distance, but it remained in force nonetheless.
Unlike his mother, Uni had never been particularly devout. He enjoyed the splendor of church services but secretly sympathized with the teachings of a sect of learned men who held that the sun could be worshipped for its life-giving rays without any need for cathedrals and priests. All one had to do, they taught, was rise at dawn, go to bed at sundown, and work hard in between. His job at the archive had kept Uni out of the sun for most of his young life, and he was especially glad on this day to part ways with his private fear that he would spend his best years shut away in a dank basement. He looked around at the sunlit square like a kitten that had just opened its eyes, nervous at first, but growing in confidence.
The crowd in the square was getting increasingly impatient. Uni sympathized. When would everything begin?
“Don’t squirm,” Groki barked from somewhere behind him. Or was he hearing things? Uni wanted to turn around and look, but suddenly a pure, deep tone rang out over the square. It was the Great Cathedral Gong, and the sound of its note penetrated deep in the heads and chests of all present. Even Uni’s nervous stomach was vibrating. It was time!
The sound of the gong melted in the mid-morning sun, leaving behind a light hum that did not dissipate, but instead grew stronger and stronger until it sounded like the droning of bees. Uni realized it was the sound of voices. Inside the Cathedral tower, a choir of children was singing the Hymn to the Sun. Uni’s head turned like a swivel. He couldn’t shake himself of the illusion that the singing was coming from the sky. Soon he heard the stronger voices of the older boys, and after a while they were joined by the powerful voices of the adult men. Uni knew the words of the ancient hymn by heart, which was always sung in the language of pre-imperial Herandia. He had always admired the hymn as a historical relic, but now he heard it with new emotion. This time, he did not find the pomp and spectacle amusing. Touched, and feeling serious, he looked away from the Cathedral roof just in time to see the most important moment unfold.
A long red and orange carpet had been rolled down the shining marble staircase in front of the palace. On both sides of the carpet, two lines of Imperial Guards descended the stairs in parallel lines. Covered head to toe in armor that shone with gold and copper, they stepped in perfect time down the stairs until they reached the polished granite of the square. The shining discs on their helmets all disappeared from view at once when the two lines turned to face each other and each warrior struck the ground with his spear. Then they froze, two living walls stretching from the square to the Heavenly Throne, that symbol of the Herandian monarchs that was without equal anywhere in the world.
According to legend, the throne was made from a single piece of sky-blue lazurite. By design, it was too large for even the tallest man to sit on, so the Emperor sat on a small pillow on top of the throne’s footrest. A large jewel was embedded in the back of the throne (perhaps a topaz or a diamond, Uni had heard several versions of the story).
The gong rang out again, and the singing grew louder. Now, the singing came from all sides of the great square. Priests in yellow, orange and red robes carrying banners of the Sun stood around the edge of the square. Their voices came together in a single current that overcame all who heard it. Again, Uni swiveled his head back and forth to see everything and almost missed the next event.
Just in time, he noticed that the crowd around the throne had grown. Dressed in elegant robes, shining cuirasses, or the red garments of the priests of the Sun, they were all part of the Imperial Council, which was the highest authority in the land and comprised 24 of its most influential and respected men. Uni had always suspected that most of them, despite their grand titles, had little to do with the actual process of determining the Empire’s policies and fates. The full council met rarely, and only for official events. It was said that the Emperor occasionally consulted with members of the council at large, but that most affairs were managed by the small circle of council members whom Uni had already seen. As he watched the members, he saw Licisium Dorgoe listening politely to someone he couldn’t see because he was hidden by another member’s golden armor. Just then, the crowd shifted, the owner of the armor took a step to one side, and Uni saw who Dorgoe was talking to: it was Manelius Ronko, dressed in a fashionably fitted, snow-white robe with a bright purple stripe down the middle. He was telling Dorgoe something with great animation when the large man suddenly took a step back, put his hands on his chest, and shook with rumbling laughter.
“May the Sun scorch me, would you look at that!” Uni thought with a prickling of envy. His eyes landed on another figure. “I wonder who that is? All the soldiers are wearing shining helmets. The one with long, dark hair must be Necium Tameto. He’s violating the dress code, but no one seems to notice. Those nobles don’t dare say a word to the man who protects the northern border!”
Tameto glanced around haughtily at his fellow officers. Uni recognized a few of them: Enritel Narzey, the commander of the Southern Fleet, Rarocium Hanmo, whose forces guarded Capotia and kept an eye on the Arincils, and Dergedium Lami, who often had to beat back the barbarians of Torgendam. He had heard rumors of money budgeted to repair ships that later disappeared without a trace. He had also heard that the Empire’s foot soldiers wore torn uniforms and were sometimes ”leased” into slavery, where they were glad to be given three square meals a day. He had no warm feelings for Tameto, but his seven-thousand-strong cavalry was considered the best trained in the entire Imperial Army, and its men had an irrational, dog-like loyalty to their brave leader. Uni assumed that the palace bureaucracy put up with the sad state of the rest of the army because it had been twenty years since the last war with the Torgs, the fearsome Arincils were far away, and only the northern border was ever breached by disorganized bands of Sotray nomads. And yet Tameto had left his men behind to take part in the luxury and intrigue of the capital, where backstabbing and infighting made up most of the officers’ combat experience. His interest obviously went beyond protocol. The man turned his hooked nose, and for an instant Uni feared that the scourge of the northern barbarians would strike him where he stood. Oh Heavenly Deity, my imagination is playing tricks on me!
The atmosphere of anticipation was electric, as if a storm was gathering its forces to rain down on the noblemen’s heads. Uni had been told what would happen, but he was completely unprepared for the experience of seeing it. He turned to the column of Norius and saw that the Founder’s hands where shining with a blue light – that was the effect of quartz-coated bronze mirrors on the hands that shone blue when they caught the sunlight. The effect was a stunning reminder of how Norius had been blessed by the Heavenly Deity when he founded the Herandian Empire four hundred years before. The flames in Norius’ hands flickered with the colors of the rainbow and shone in gold sparks. It was a sight to behold! Uni held his breath. The rainbow light reflected down on the delegation, himself included. Suddenly, he realized how wonderful the sight must be for the people in the crowd, where his mother and his friends stood. His heart filled with a warm joy. He would have liked to look for them in the crowd, but just then, Norius’ palms turned towards each other. A ray of sun shot out from between them and fell on the Imperial Palace, as if Norius were sharing the Deity’s power with his successor!
The ray of light fell on the throne, and the crystal embedded in it lit up with a blinding burst that made everyone squint. Uni had been looking in that direction to see what would happen next, and he slapped his hands over his eyes. The light from the throne was so bright that it made him dizzy, and the white spots on the backs of his eyelids pulsed with the rhythm of his racing heart. He heard the people around him cry out in amazement and fall to their knees. For the first time in his life, he followed along with everyone else. His only thought was a fear of going blind, and there was something comforting about the crowd and knowing that they were all equal in the face of the Heavenly Deity’s immeasurable power.
The people around him were whispering, but Uni kept his head down and his eyes closed until he heard a deep voice from up above him call out “Most diligent servant of the Heavenly Deity, protector of his people, tireless guardian of everything under the skies, His Majesty the Emperor of Herandia Kergenius!”
Seated at the foot of the great throne in a robe that sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow was the man whose name was spoken with awe throughout the Empire and in all of Dashtornis. Every Herandian knew that the true honor and praise were due to the Sun, however, and at just that moment the fire of its eye on the throne was subdued, leaving nothing but a faint golden glow around the Emperor’s head.
“You are not bowing to me, but to our Lord. I am merely the most diligent of his servants!” Uni recalled the words spoken by Norius. Centuries had passed, but the ceremony remained unchanged, and it still made people quiver in amazement.
Later, Uni could never remember exactly what the Emperor said during the ceremony. There was something about the Empire’s unshakeable foundations, its great mission to support harmony and peace in the world, and the Emperor’s own duty to ensure the prosperity of his subjects. Uni’s whole being was concentrated on the glowing light around the throne. The man standing before him was not the same man who had spoken kindly to him just the other day; no, he was the steward of the Heavenly Deity! If he could have seen himself, Uni probably would have laughed at his enthusiasm. As it was, he stood motionless, staring at the glowing crystal on the throne, all other thoughts and concerns carried away as if by a river. If he had paid attention, he would have found things to add to the Emperor’s statement of the usefulness of initiating diplomatic and trade relations with the Virilans based on “mutual respect and sincere trust on the part of both parties.” And he would have been interested to hear that the Empire was destined to bring the Heavenly Deity’s light to the world, specifically to Virilan, “like opening the windows in an old house to let the sunshine and fresh air in.” But he did not pay attention, only waking from his happy daydream when the sounds of a march reached his ears and a wave of commotion swept through the rows of people around him.
Ontius Sanery left the delegation and, ears at the ready, swept up the grand staircase with a dignity that came from decades of government service. Trumpets sounded when the ambassador reached the foot of the throne. Uni expected to see him bow, but Sanery suddenly turned his back to the emperor and spread his arms wide. From behind, a strange object – part helmet, part mask – was lowered onto his head. Once Uni got a clear view of it, he saw that the object was a lightweight frame made of gold wire. The sky above the square fell silent as everyone waited for the culmination of the ceremony.
“Ontius Sanery, Steward, second class, are you prepared to bear the Great Lord’s will to the leader and the people of Virilan?”
Uni could not see who was speaking, but it seemed to be the Emperor.
“The Lord’s will is like the light of his eyes: it is the same for all of us and a source of joy for each! There is no choice but to obey. Our freedom is in his will!”
“Ontius Sanery, are you prepared to speak for the Great Lord in Virilan?”
“I am ready!” the ambassador intoned after a decent pause. Two priests did something with their hands in front of his face. When they stepped back, Uni saw that a golden mouthpiece had been affixed to the mask on his head, large enough to be visible from the last rows.
“Ontius Sanery, are you prepared to be the Great Lord’s ears in Virilan?”
“I am!” Golden ears were affixed to the mask.
“Ontius Sanery, are you prepared to be the Great Lord’s eyes in Virilan?”
“I am!” Uni murmured to himself. A sliver of envy began to prickle him in a far corner of his heart. How he would have liked to be the first ambassador to that strange country and to be hailed as the one who opened it for Herandia! It was the world of his dreams – why had it been given to someone else? Uni felt like he was at a wedding where his best friend had stolen his bride and the only role left for him was as the groom’s best man. Why was life so unfair, even at joyous moments like this? Was it trying to show Uni his proper place? Yes, he knew his place.
I just want too much, he thought. “I’ve already been given a fantastic opportunity. Or is this a dream inside a dream?” His forehead went cold and he shivered. I must keep my imagination in check and praise the Sun for taking notice of me. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
In a flash, Uni felt that he was willing to pray to anyone’s God if only this tiny sprout of success would continue to grow and eventually bear fruit.
Meanwhile, Sanery had descended the stairs to the booming strains of a march. He had not looked the least bit ridiculous in his symbolic mask, and now he carefully carried a scroll. Uni knew that such scrolls usually enumerated the powers of the delegation and contained a greeting to the leaders of other states. As always, he had missed the moment when the scroll was handed to Sanery because he was daydreaming about his own glory.
He shook himself. “I really have to start paying attention! This isn’t the archive. I need to keep my eyes and eyes open at all times.”
When he reached the square, Sanery gestured for the delegation to follow him. In the pushing and shoving that followed, Uni tried to get closer to the head of the procession, but his neighbors used their elbows to keep him where he belonged. All he could do was give his body up to the stream of people slowly making their way through the streets toward the riverbank, singing hymns as they went. When they finally reached the river, Uni saw that the ambassador’s ship was at the dock. His attempts to find his mother or his friends in the crowd following the delegation were unsuccessful.
As he turned his head from side to side, something heavy came down on his shoulder. He spun around and saw the closed helmet of a palace guard. The helmet leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Enel Virando? Follow me. You are expected.”
“Already? Am I permitted to leave the line?” Uni had lots of questions, but his intuition told him to let it go. As he followed the guard through the noisy crowd, he felt like a criminal until the guard stepped aside and he saw Manelius Ronko standing in a niche in the side of one of the buildings. He was grinning like a cat.
“Most honorable Enel Ronko, I am pleased to see you!” and Uni did his best impression of the long form of Herandian courtly greeting.
The Emperor’s advisor nodded with satisfaction and slapped him on the shoulder. “As I am to see you, my friend! I was disappointed that you ignored my advice about avoiding wine, but I was equally delighted that you made such a fast recovery after that terrible unpleasantness. You are well now, I hope?”
“Yes, Enel Ronko!” Uni tried to look like he imagined a hopeful young civil servant would look. “It was just a dinner with friends. And I’m absolutely fine now.”
“I’m glad to hear it! I was going to give you some final advice, and then I thought better of it. Anything I could tell you would be empty words. You are the one who bears the responsibility from now on. It was my job to find you, and now that the Emperor has chosen you, my job is over.” He leaned forward with a serious face. “That, Uni, is the best way to manage people. Do not tell them what to do – simply help each one find his place. Do you agree?”
“Of course, Enel Ronko. You know more about it than I ever would.”
“Perhaps,” and the man laughed softly. “Is there anything else you want to say to me, Interpreter?”
“I don’t know.” Uni floundered for a second. “Although there is one thing you might want to know. When you took me to the Emperor’s chambers, I saw someone there. He looked like an Arincil. At least, that’s what it seemed to me. That’s all I know. I thought it might be useful to you, but perhaps you already knew about it…” his voice trailed off.
Ronko’s attention was aroused. “Wait. Did you say an Arincil? Are you sure about it?”
“I’ve never seen one in person before, but he looked exactly the way they are described in books. Tall, copper skin, a hooked nose…”
“I see. Thank you for telling me. Do you know anything else about it?”
Uni briefly recounted what he had seen in the back room at the palace, wondering what role his crumb of information might play.
Ronko nodded, deep in thought. “Good. I’ll make use of that. And now,” he said, “it is time for you to go. Your delegation is moving like a regiment of tortoises, but eventually they will miss you.” Then he gave a wide smile that Uni had never seen on him before. He shuddered, but Ronko just winked. “No fear. I have a gift for you. Consider it my thanks for your quick eye.” The imperial advisor leaned over him and held out something with two fingers.
“A ring?” Uni asked, wide-eyed.
“That is correct.” Ronko turned it so Uni could see it from all sides. Then he took Uni by the hand and dropped it in his palm. “Keep this as a talisman of your success on this mission. And wear it in good health.”
“Thank you!”
The ring was smooth in his hand. It almost felt alive, as if made out of some magic stone rather than metal.
“I’ll need to find a leather cord to tie it around my neck,” Uni thought. For the time being, he slipped the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly.
“Just you look at that!” Ronko declared in surprise. “With a fit like that, it must be your fate to wear the ring.” He smiled again, this time with a blend of understanding and even melancholy in his eyes.


Later, as he followed the rest of the delegation onto the ship, Uni couldn’t shake the memory of that smile. He had a feeling that Ronko could see the future and knew what awaited them all. The man wore his smile like a mask because he was burdened with knowledge. It all made sense.
As he stood on deck, it dawned on Uni that he was a pawn in a very complicated game – or even a whole series of games with an unknown number of players – but that he was, nonetheless, a very valuable pawn. It was a risky position, to be sure, but it was also his door to real life. Later, when he thought back to that day, he was only sorry that he had not managed to see his mother one more time or waved to his friends. As the ship pushed away from the dock and started to drift down the broad Fela, Unizel Virando looked away from the banks of the world he had always known and turned his eyes to the bow, from which he expected to greet a new world, a new calling, and a chance at a better life.
Hey there, life! Here you are, carrying me along like the river carries this vessel, and the riverbed itself, in turn, is formed by the hills and the mountains, and those… well, something takes care of those as well. What is the essence of all things being under the Heavenly Deity? How does one even figure it all out? How does one see the world in a droplet of water? Or rise above being that droplet? Hello, Fate! Hello, Good Fortune! Let’s get to know each other!
* * *
The icy cold water tumbling from the artificial waterfalls cooled the air pleasingly. Red, green, and blue lamps hanging in the trees flickered invitingly from the dark woods. Young girls dressed as river fairies sang and danced on small islands to the enchanting music of sitars and flutes. A carved wooden boat with a canopy in the style popular in Ulin was drawn downstream by small canoes shaped like seahorses. Enel Dorgoe was slowly gliding along the winding canals that surrounded his villa, his large body arranged on soft pillows. His left hand held a cup that was made of green glass and filled with sweet Perian wine. Eyes closed, one of the most influential courtiers of the Herandian Empire enjoyed a relaxing moment while making his plans for the morrow.
“Master! Master!” came the voice of Huraria Zhoslo, his butler. The man was jogging along the bank to keep up with Dorgoe’s boat, all the while attempting to bow. “Please accept my apologies for intruding on Your Excellency’s peace and quiet!”
Dorgoe hated to be bothered when he meditated in the evening, but he felt it was his duty to be available to handle important matters. “Come here, my friend” he held out a hand to his servant.
Zhoslo, dressed as he was in an embroidered silver and dark brown robe, jumped into the canal and, up to his waist in water, made a heroic effort to keep up with the boat as it drifted further and further away.
He looks like a bear trying to swim, Dorgoe thought. “I see that you have something important for me,” he said with a smile.
“Yes, Master!” Zhoslo cried out, gasping for air. “Our guest has left the capital and is on his way to the Great Expanse. We have successfully…ensured the confidentiality…of the mission!”
“I am glad to hear it,” Dorgoe nodded and took a sip of wine. “You may hold onto the edge of my boat. I see you are tired out.”
“Thank you, Master!” Zhoslo gasped and wrapped his hands around a carved sturgeon on the boat’s port side, hanging there like a piece of eel grass.
Dorgoe set his cup on a small table with three thin legs, scratched his fat chin with his thumb, and sank into deep thought. It had been no small feat getting the Arincil out of the capital without mishap. But it would be utter foolishness on his part (and he knew it) to assume that his enemies would remain blind to his plans until the whole business was finished.
“Tell Asp,” he turned and rested his left elbow on a soft velvet cushion so he could better see Zhoslo, “that he will answer to me personally for the success of the operation. Personally, do you hear?”
“Right away, Master!” Zhoslo nodded emphatically. “I hope that he is still worthy of your faith in him!”
Dorgoe snorted, setting his cheeks aquiver. The man splashing in the water was the kind of servant who, if shown a chest containing his master’s darkest secret, would dust it every day without even the slightest desire to open it. The de facto minister of foreign affairs reflected that the best protection was often offered by the narrowest mind. Zhoslo had no clue that the small war that would result if the Jaguar returned home (and which Herandia would have to lose) would help Dorgoe discredit the Imperial Army, one of the few institutions that had so far resisted his hairy paws. If things went according to plan, he might be able to replace certain figures with his own people. But no, it was too early to think of that!
His mind returned to what Zhoslo had said about his faith in Asp. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he smiled. “And perhaps it was not a mistake after all. In any case, we have a backup plan. The most important thing is that no one suspect my involvement if the whole thing falls apart. Make sure Asp sends the key witnesses into the Shadows. I think Tameto is entirely too fond of his little men!”
“Yes, Master!” the butler bowed, accidentally putting his face in the water. “Shall I go?”
“Yes,” Dorgoe mumbled. “Would you like some wine?” he suddenly asked, holding up a metal pitcher made in Mustobrim.
“I thank you for your generosity, but I am not worthy of it!”
“Of course. And you still have to swim back. If I get you drunk and you drown, what would I do without you? Now get going!”
Struggling in his wet robe, Zhoslo stumbled along the sandy bottom toward the bank.
The star Utaru in the constellation of the Thief had been watching the whole scene from behind a cloud and winked dryly.

Part II. Blind Nobility

Chapter 1. How to Have Adventures
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“Of course it is.”
The two friends had stopped by the same place many days in a row, but only now was their persistence rewarded.
“I remember his face,” drawled Sorgius, rubbing his fingertips together comically. “Look at him smiling like a reflection in a bad mirror!”
The face of the dandy in a purple robe with gold embroidery who sat two tables away from them really did look like a flattened reflection in a crude mirror, the kind made by Torgendam craftsmen trying to imitate the work of masters from Capotia or the Empire’s central provinces. The effect was intensified by his hair, which was swept up and back in the latest style.
“I bet that haystack would burn if we touched a spark to it,” sniggered Sorgius.
“Only if absolutely necessary,” Vordius replied. “Here I go.”
“Patience, brother,” Sorgius stopped him. “Talking is my specialty. Sit still and watch the expert at work!”
Song of the Star had a dubious reputation among Enteveria’s taverns, and not just because it was frequented by people who earned their living by the knife. In the many years since the popular tavern had opened, no one had ever figured out what drew people to it: the food, the drink, the dancing, the easy women, or the wafting scent of aromatic weeds being smoked? At Song of the Star, family men and their wives sat next to arrogant toughs from the port discussing business affairs that lay most decidedly outside the law, all to the vulgar laughter of courtesans with kohled eyes and rouged cheeks. In this atmosphere, strangers often found themselves on friendly terms, and Sorgius used that fact to his advantage as he moved in on his target.
“Hello, old friend! You haven’t been here in ages. What are you drinking?” He eyed the man’s cup. “Never mind.” He caught the eye of a server and gestured confidently. “Waiter! Bring us a jug of Tasquilian dry!” And then, with a grin, he turned back to the stranger, who was now on his guard. “No worries, it’s on me.” The two young women who had been sitting with the man smiled brightly at Sorgius and waited to see what would happen next.
“I want to drink the health of these lovely ladies, so we must have the best wine!” he announced to his new friends. Two of the three smiled.
“Tasquilian is worth the money,” the man drawled as he put an arm around each young woman, “but we prefer dark Vuravian grapes.”
“Of course, I remember,” Sorgius leaned back in his chair, looking delighted. “You drank something like that two weeks ago. That was the time you were here with that little redhead. The one that came over and joined me later.” There was steel in his smile now.
“What little redhead? Asked the woman on the left. Her voice was deep and impressive, like her cleavage.
“I have no idea what he’s going on about,” the dandy tried to look indifferent. He attempted to change the subject back to wine. “I’m surprised you like Tasquilian. It knocks you off your feet.”
The young women laughed again, but this time awkwardly.
“Don’t you remember?” Sorgius pressed on, crossing his legs and staring down his adversary. “Her name was Fenia. Or was it Fellia? She told me all kinds of things about you. For example…”
“That’s enough!” cried his victim. “We weren’t bothering you. Why don’t you find another table? There are plenty of empty ones.”
“Oh, don’t get all riled up. I just want the address of that little redhead. She got me three sheets to the wind that night and then up and disappeared before I could get to know her better. You understand!”
“I don’t know any redheads!” the dandy insisted. He turned to his companions, “Don’t listen to him – he’s drunk!” Then he leaped up from his chair and quickly made for the exit.
“My goodness,” Sorgius raised his eyebrows. “How long has he been having these fits?” The young women glanced at each other, at a loss for words.
“Here you are again, fooling around with the women while your whole purpose goes up in smoke,” someone hissed in his right ear. “Just keep sitting there, big professional!” It was Vordius. As soon as he spoke, he was gone.
Sorgius pushed his chair back. “Ladies, this will just take a minute!” he tossed over his shoulder as he raced after his friend.
The two women cried foul. “You forgot to pay!” It was their first attempt at hunting for fat wallets among the ladies’ men of Enteveria, and they ended up having to pay out of their own thin purses for a jug of the most expensive wine in the house.
* * *
“Keep up with him no matter what, even if he notices you. When he turns around, wave at him friendly-like. I’ll be on the other side of the street…”
Sorgius looked doubtful. “What if he gets in a carriage and drives off?”
But they were in luck. The dandy passed by the waiting carriages and hurried down the Avenue of Twelve Virtues, trying unsuccessfully to melt into the crowd. He turned around frequently to see if he was being followed, and soon caught sight of Sorgius. This sent him skittering into a side street. Sorgius ran after him.
Again, he was in luck. The narrow lane was lined by high fences, and when the dandy finally found a gap and tried to slip through it, he ran right into a hulk of a man who threw him easily against the fence on his right.
“Watch out, Sorgius!” Vordius called to his friend.
His shoulder bruised, the dandy sized up the situation and pulled out a short dagger.
“Stay back or I’ll draw blood!” he said hoarsely, his eyes darting from one to the other.
“What is that you’re holding?” Vordius asked, hands on hips. “Civilians in the Empire are prohibited from carrying weapons of war…”
“Let me go!” screeched their victim, waving the dagger.
“…and I’m going to have to confiscate that from you,” the Imperial Guard finished his sentence.
He leaped smoothly to one side, tossing his cape over the dandy’s head and easily knocking his feet out from under him.
He picked up the knife while the dandy writhed in pain. “This isn’t good for much more than peeling apples, but you could put your eye out with it.” He stooped and retrieved his cape. “Now, what’s your name?”
“Sermey,” the dandy whispered. “Senius Sermey. I have money,” he touched his belt. “Just let me go!”
“Money is nice,” Vordius smiled, “but that’s not what I need from you.”
Sermey’s eyes were as round as plates as he imagined all sorts of unpleasant things.
“What I need is information,” Vordius continued in a conciliatory voice. “Now tell me, Senius Sermey, have you ever tasted a human eye?”
Poor Sermey’s heart was racing so hard that it almost broke through his chest.
“I see that you haven’t,” Vordius smiled and looked around in a stagey manner, as if to assure himself that they were still alone. “But there’s a first time for everything. There is a cocktail called Eyeball. You take an eye – yours, for example,” and he gestured with the knife, causing his victim to flinch. “You add two egg yolks, white wine, and a little salt. Do you know what you end up with?” he suddenly roared right in Sermey’s face. The man shook. His face was wet with tears, and the ground under him was wet with something else entirely.
“You end up with something really stupid!” he spat in the man’s face. “Because a nice young man like yourself ends up missing an eye. And why?” he asked, turning to Sorgius with a predatory smile. “Because he was too stupid to tell to fine, upstanding men the name of his girlfriend.” He paused. “She’s about five fens tall, red hair, green eyes, and she has a mole on her left cheek.” Each word hit Sermey right between the eyes.
“No, no!” he cried, his nose running. “She doesn’t have a mole. I swear it by the life-giving power of the Sun!”
“No mole?” Vordius repeated joyfully. “Then give me her name, where she lives, and her parents’ names. Slowly and clearly!”
Sermey wiped his face. “Her name is Fenia Brazelo. That was the only time I laid eyes on her, I swear!”
“That’s too bad. I’m sorry for you,” Vordius sighed. “Your choice. Left or right?”
“No, don’t! I beg you! May the Darkness take me if I’m lying!” Sermey was already foaming at the mouth. “The barber Taney brought her to the Fish that night. Ask him about her!”
“Who is this barber?”
“You don’t know Master Taney? He cuts the hair of many upstanding men,” the dandy tried timidly to gain ground.
“I don’t have to know him if you do.” Vordius chuckled. “Tell him I’ll be waiting for him today when the Heavenly Deity sinks to its outermost palace. I’ll be in the Ravine of Divine Song, just a few steps south of the Old Grotto. Tell him he’s mixed up in an attempt to assassinate an important member of the government. If he declines to spend an evening with me, he’ll spend the next few years in prison. The one we call Heavenly Submission!”
“I will tell him,” Sermey stuttered. “I’ll go right now.”
He stood and righted his dirty robe.
Sorgius turned to his friend with wide eyes. “I’m beginning to be afraid of you sometimes. This man is a nobody, but you worked him over like he was a black-hearted villain!”
“May I have my knife back?” Sermey piped up.
“Of course,” Vordius bowed. “I’ll lay it in your cold hands at your funeral. Now,” he barked, “get moving, scum! Or else this dagger will play havoc with your eyes…”“He’ll be here,” Vordius sneered.
The ravine was an excellent place to watch the sunset, but the friends had more important things on their minds. As always, Sorgius had studied the situation from all angles and chosen the least pleasant possibility to discuss in an attempt to rile his friend.
“We should have gone to his house…”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out, Sorgius! The dandy with the funny hair ran off as soon as you mentioned the girl, and that means he could smell his bacon frying!”
“I know that,” Sorgius sighed and scratched at a spot on his chin he had missed while shaving. “I’m worried about who the girl is. She didn’t look like a courtesan, and you can trust my experience on that!”
Vordius slapped his shoulder. “You certainly had time to look her over!”
“You can laugh if you like, but I didn’t.”
“What? Do you mean to say…”
“I do. Everything went just as I told Sermey and his girlfriends back at the Song of the Star. It was the first time in my life I felt used by a woman, if you can imagine.”
Vordius shook his head. “Well, you can cry about it if you want, but you’ll have another chance to win her heart once we find her.”
“How kind of you!” Sorgius turned his head to look up the path. “I’ll let you talk to the scissors man on your own. I don’t like watching you torture people!”
“Fine, if you’re that soft. Go sit in the bushes and wait until I call for you. Did you remember to bring what I asked for?”
“I most certainly did,” Sorgius threw a canvas sack over one shoulder and walked off into the underbrush.
Vordius stretched, rolled his shoulders, and strolled out from under the trees onto a bare patch of ground. Many years ago, before the opening of Enteveria’s central park, this place had been a popular spot for evening entertainment. Now, it looked wild and empty. When the young guard heard footsteps, he closed his eyes. “A man. Weighs about two hundred and fifty baklas. Short and stocky.” When he opened his eyes again, he was pleased to see that he had been right. All his eyes could add was the fact that the man was bald and wore a thin, black moustache with an unpleasant smile under it.
“A bald barber,” Vordius said. He scratched his head and returned the unpleasant smile with one of his own. “Just like a shoemaker with no shoes.”
The new arrival walked up and showed his teeth. “So you’re the handsome fellow that scared my friend half to death? That was a bad business. A very bad business. I hear you love the ladies. Redheads. Is that right?”
“They’ll soon be teaching you about love in prison. My name is Vordius Onato, and I’m a nicor in the Imperial Guards. Here is my badge. I’m investigating the attempted assassination of a high-level civil servant. We believe the redheaded girl had something to do with it. You have a choice. You can tell what you know about her to me, here and now, or you can tell it to the inspectors at Heavenly Submission tonight.”
Taney’s ugly smile turned really foul. His pig-like eyes were defiant, and his tiny mouth disappeared in the fat rolls of his chin.
“Boss, I’m as clean as a prison bowl after breakfast. I had nothing to do with it.”
“We’ll find out just how clean you are, you can be sure of that,” Vordius grumbled, cracking his knuckles.
“I’ll be happy to prove it,” Taney said sweetly. “I have a whole crowd of witnesses, and they can’t wait to tell you how innocent I am.”
The back of Vordius’ head went cold. Seven men suddenly stepped out from under the trees, and it didn’t take more than a glance to see that they were riffraff, young men from poor families who had willingly chosen a life of causing bodily harm to others.
“Let me introduce you to my apprentices,” Taney said. “They help me with my toughest customers.”
The young men nodded.
“Boys, this honorable Enel from the guards of our most beloved Great Lord Kergenius has asked us to render him services at home.”
The thugs laughed and made a circle around Vordius.
“Why at home, Enel? We can render you services right here. Snip-snip and you’re all done,” growled a man with a red beard and a fat nose as he drew a dagger.
Vordius didn’t move a muscle, but he was wound tight as a spring inside. He needed to do something and quick. He couldn’t take on the whole gang by himself.
While he was thinking, Taney stepped up and looked at his belt. “Look at what we have here! A sword. Just the thing for cutting hair. Enel Onato, will you allow a humble barber to demonstrate his arts?”
Without waiting for a response, Taney slowly put his hand on the hilt. The gesture violated everything Vordius believed about proper behavior, and there was only one possible reaction. He grabbed the man’s fat hand and twisted it hard. Taney cried out and fell to one knee. In an instant, one of the apprentices grabbed Vordius by the hair while another – a small hoodlum with a Capotian face – knocked his feet out from under him. Taney stood up, a shining razor in his hand. The phony smile was gone, replaced by an expression that boded ill for Vordius.
“Hold him while I give the Enel an intimate haircut!”
Vordius tried to hit the man behind him with his head, but he was held too tight. He was stronger than most men, but Taney’s apprentices were professional criminals who knew exactly what they were doing. His body was wet with sweat, but his mouth was dry, with a metallic taste. Is this really the end? flashed through his mind.
The man with the red beard gestured with his knife again, and the others laughed. Master Taney stepped aside, and his place was taken by giant of a man with a hunched back who grabbed Vordius’ belt with a hairy fist.
All of a sudden, there was a snapping sound in the bushes, like the sound of someone beating a carpet. The thugs let go of Vordius. The bearded man grabbed his buttocks and let out an awful cry, and the giant groaned. He turned and retreated with a limp. The small Capotian got the worst of it: a bolt no more than two hands long pierced both of his cheeks at once with striking accuracy.
Taney leaped toward the trees and crouched down. He looked around, trying to ascertain the direction of the attack. Vordius’ hobnailed boot made contact with his sweaty face. The barber fell back, dropped his razor and began to yell, his mouth spouting blood.
He must have bitten through his tongue, Vordius laughed to himself. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and barked at the unfortunate riffraff, “Put your knives on the ground and hands in the air! Take five steps back! Now lie down on the ground!”
This highly unusual turn of events had evidently hypnotized the thugs’ meager brains. Like sleepwalkers, they followed the orders of the man whom, minutes before, they had been intending to torture with the cruelty that was characteristic of the capital city’s underclasses.
“You fools, did you think I would come alone?” Vordius worked himself up, his fear turning into anger. “Who did you dare raise your hands against? I have a bowman behind every tree. One move and you’ll all look like pincushions, you lousy wretches!”
The ruffians lay quietly, their bodies flat to the ground. Taney shoved a corner of the fancy robe he wore into his bleeding mouth. He was in no condition to talk. Vordius walked down the line of hostages and put his boot on the head of a young ruffian with a shock of dark hair and a face that was too tender for his line of work. His check pressed into the clay, the boy squinted his eyes shut.
“You raised your hand against an officer in the Imperial Guards,” Vordius informed him. “Do you know what the punishment for that is? They’ll burn your eyes out with mirrors, char your skin off and throw you in a cesspool, where you’ll howl in agony until you die. Attempting to harm one of the Emperor’s guards is the same as raising a hand against the Great Lord himself, may the Heavenly Deity preserve him for ages!”
Shaking, the boy bleated out, “Enel officer, we never would have harmed a hair on your head! It was a stupid joke, nothing more! Take pity on us and we’ll do anything you ask!”
“What can you do for me, swine? You’re about as useful as a candle on a bright summer day! I’ll turn you over to the Guards and take my reward!” He turned back to the tress. “Hey, Svenius! Inpato! Bring the ropes!”
“Enel nicor!” came a deep voice to his left. “We know how it is. You want that girl. The redhead. We can help you out…”
“Speak for yourself, Bergius,” hissed a young ruffian in a leather tunic and braided leggings. “You’re the one Asp will cut into tiny pieces. Not the rest of us.”
“Not so, Nicius,” said the deep voice. “You’re all in it now.” The speaker was a young man with a simple, round face, low forehead and prominent cheekbones. He looked like a peasant. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life back in my village in Semeria than get fried alive because of some stupid business of that fat Taney!”
“Stop chattering!” Vordius cried. “I want her name, where she lives, and who her family is. Tell me everything you know, or I swear by my honor I will personally deliver you to the Heavenly Throne’s jailers!”
“We don’t know those things, Enel nicor,” the young man with the peasant face said apologetically.
“I don’t believe you!” Vordius hissed. He reached for the hilt of his sword.
“May the Heavenly Deity burn me from head to foot, I don’t know what you are asking!” The peasant was calm and sober, like a man who has accepted a twist of fate and is making the best of it. “We are little people. You need to find Fire Asp. In the port, not even the mice leave droppings without his permission. That’s the truth.”
“Fire Asp?” Vordius laughed. “Is that his name? And where would I find him?”
“Fire Asp is everywhere and nowhere,” growled the man in the leather tunic.
“Speak up!” Vordius turned to him.
The peasant spoke for him. “There’s a house-boat restaurant in the port called Lotus Petals. Taney is supposed to meet someone there tomorrow, at the beginning of the second watch. I’ve heard talk that Asp will be there, too.”
Vordius turned to the barber, who was moaning, his robe black with blood.
“Taney has more important things to worry about now,” he said. He eyed them all. “Think of it this way: you just made the best bargain of your lives. But this is no pardon. It’s a head start. I’m on your tails, and so is that Asp. So take your cripple and his tongue,” he speared the bloody piece of meat with the tip of his sword and held it out to the talkative ruffian, “and get the Shadows out of the city.”
Without waiting for further explanation, the apprentices picked up their master and hobbled away as fast as they could. Vordius put his sword away and sighed – he hadn’t gotten to use it for its intended purpose. Despite all his bravado, it had been his first truly difficult fight.
When he caught sight of Sorgius crawling out of the bushes, he did his best to hide how worried he had been. “What was that you were shooting?” he asked.
His friend smiled proudly and held out a strange device.
“Let me see that!” Vordius took it in both hands. “A Capotian multi-shooter? These are toys! I remember when some merchants tried to sell us some of these. The bolts barely pierce canvas. I’d rather spit toothpicks!” he laughed.
“There’s an idea,” Sorgius said, raising a finger. “I’ve been trying to come up with a name for it, and I think ‘Spitter’ is just the thing!”
Vordius made a face. “I suppose they’re fine for use in the city, especially at close range.” He turned the device over in his hands. “Where did you get it?”
“My Uncle Rikso brought it back from the homeland.”
“He brought it back, did he?” Vordius raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you know this thing is contraband.”
“I do know,” Sorgius replied, “and I also know that it saved your life.”
“What does this toy have to do with it? It was all you and your timing. I thought you’d gotten scared and run off, but you were right to wait for the perfect moment. You have no idea how happy I was to hear those bolts coming! Although, I guess I could have handled them on my own – just a bunch of rabble from the port!”
“You’re wrong about that, Vordius,” Sorgius objected, looking hurt. He took back the multi-shooter.
“Don’t get all puffed up like a Mustobrim serpent!” the guardsman said and put an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “We’re working together. Risking our lives for Uni! Have you heard anything about this Fire Asp they were talking about?”
“Of course I have!” Sorgius cut him off. He looked away so that Vordius wouldn’t see that his eyes were shining traitorously. He had known since they were boys that Vordius was vain about his strength, and he had always ignored that vanity because his friend had so many other positive qualities. Still, it stung to have his role in defeating the ruffians ignored.
“Well?” Vordius prodded him as they made their way out of the ravine together.
“What do you want to know?” Sorgius shrugged. “Everyone has heard of him, but I don’t know anyone who has seen him. Just imagine,” he warmed to his subject, “in just a year this Asp person managed to kick all the Iristenians out of the port, put down the local gangs and made it clear to everyone who was left just how much of the pie they could expect to get. All of this, and nobody knows where he came from!”
“What are people saying?” Vordius was intrigued. “Are there any clues?”
They were taking the long way out, stepping over toothy ferns and cracking branches under their boots. The sun was suspended right above the horizon, and its last rays penetrated the crowns of the trees growing in the ravine.
“I’ve heard people say he’s about thirty years old, barrel-chested, so tall he can barely walk through a doorway, and with a voice like a trumpet!” Sorgius shook his head. “But others say he’s this tiny old man with a beard that almost touches the ground, but his eye is so sharp that if he looks at you, you freeze! But yet others say…”
“I see,” Vordius interrupted. “All fables. We have to find a man that no one has seen!” He was silent for a moment. Then he put his hand on Sorgius’ shoulder. “What fools they were to attack an officer in the Imperial Guards. I’d like to know what herbs give a man that kind of courage!” He shook his head, “No, I don’t like the looks of this at all!”
“The port has laws of its own,” Sorgius said. “I know of several attempts to clean up the corruption down there, but none of them worked out. When the Solar Sentinels make an appearance down there, it’s just that – an appearance. Here’s what I think,” he squinted. “Whoever runs the port is paying sizeable bribes to the city government. What I’d really like to know is how Asp and Fenia are connected,” he said, shrugging out from under his friend’s heavy hand.
“Do you think she’s employed by him?”
“Who knows? Asp carries a lot of weight in the port, but I think our friend back there was exaggerating about the mice. There’s no proof that the girl is from the port.”
“True,” Vordius replied. “So why are we looking for her there?”
“Because, my helmet-headed friend, we don’t have anything else to go on,” Sorgius scored a point. “If you have any other ideas…”
“Ideas? I can’t begin to imagine how we’ll stick our heads in that louse-infested den. We can’t just walk into the Lotus and ask for Fire Asp!”
“You astound me!” Sorgius cried. “I was sure you would say we should run in, tie everyone up, and start serving eyeball desserts!”
Vordius blushed. “I can’t do that and you well know it. If my superiors find out what I’m doing, they’ll feed me to the pigs!”
“Exactly! You’re starting to show some common sense. You have a good career and a lovely fiancée. One wrong move and you’ll throw it all away!”
“If you’re scared to keep up the search, just tell me. I’ll do it on my own,” Vordius growled.
“I’ve no doubt of that. I can just imagine how you’ll go about it,” Sorgius snickered.
“Enough of that, fool. Tell me what you have in mind.”
“Don’t rush the wagon. It’s a slow wagon, but it will arrive on time because it’s carrying something very valuable! Now listen,” he lowered his voice. “And stop calling me names. Your Uncle Sorgius has an idea on how to get through the fog without falling into the chasm!”
* * *
Enteveria’s northern river port was used almost exclusively for the government’s ships, but its southern river port handled all the private merchant trade for the enormous city. Because of its connections with the Empire’s far-flung trading partners, the southern port district was inhabited by people from all over the world, as if it were a magical portal opening into all the cities of the Empire and beyond. The sounds and smells of its streets were so different from those in other parts of the city that wise men were of the opinion that the port district was the remains of a settlement that had existed long before Enteveria, perhaps even the remains of an ancient community of Nigmays who had lived in these parts even before the Herandians. The port’s residents, whose ethnic makeup could have served as a geography lesson covering all of Dashtornis, had little interest in such theories. Unlike the wise men of the Imperial Academy, the people in the port were engaged in work of a more practical nature: they loaded and unloaded ships, traded in everything that was prohibited from the central market, made money catering to all kinds of human vices and engaged in associated criminal activity.
People with upstanding morals and respectable lifestyles almost never visited the southern river port. It would be tempting to make an exception for merchants and their salespeople, but in truth, the men of those professions are not guaranteed to always be moral or respectable.
The same could be said of two men that were now making their way through the crowd at the port. Even the most distracted observer would have seen right away which of the men was in charge and which was there to offer protection. The shorter of the two men was dressed in a gold-embroidered cape of fine Ulinian silk and wide rub-red southern style pants (to be specific, they were exactly the color of costly Arincilian gagawa juice). His tunic, stretched tight across his belly, was encrusted with pearls, and his crocodile leather shoes were ready to convince anyone who doubted their owner’s wealth. A pointed cap sat atop a head that was going bald young, and his shaven cheeks oozed with the lazy hauteur that earned the Vuravians so much dislike throughout the Empire.
His companion was much taller and dressed in a Torgendam deerskin tunic that stretched tight across his powerful back and revealed the rock-like muscles of his arms. His face betrayed his roots in the Empire’s heartland, with an oval face, dark, slightly curly hair, and a striking nose above a stubborn mouth and a solid chin. With two broad leather straps across his chest and a massive leather belt, he obviously knew how to circumvent the rule that civilians were not allowed to wear armor. The same could be said about his knee-high boots, which, by the sound of them, had soles reinforced with nails. Such boots were a convenient place to hide a long Seregad dagger as sharp and strong as an axe. The only thing spoiling his physical perfection – which was capable of piercing the heart of any Enteverian woman enamored of male display – was the look of boredom on his face.
“How long do we have to keep walking like this?” Vordius finally asked. He had to catch up to Sorgius so he could whisper properly, and it was a miracle he managed to avoid stepping on his friend’s flapping pants.
“Stay calm, old man, stay calm. We have to get into our roles so that nobody recognizes us,” and he wrinkled his nose at a beggar boy. Vordius gave the boy a shove for good measure. “See!” Sorgius rejoiced. “You’re getting the hang of it!”
“You look like a clown,” Vordius grumbled. “Let’s go straight to the Lotus. I’m starving!”
“I knew it would end like this,” his companion sighed and led the way.
When they reached their destination, they saw that there were lotus petals scattered on three sides, as advertised (they couldn’t see the fourth side of the tavern, because it backed up to the water). There were three rows of galleries where guests could enjoy the fresh air surrounded by bronze statues and dark red lamps that were lit when the sun went down. The hum of stringed instruments and the reedy sound of flutes and a tarbon wafted out of the tavern. It was still early, and the most interesting entertainment was yet to come.
Sorgius chose a highly visible table on the middle terrace and, moving like an arrogant monkey, made himself comfortable on the sofa. Vordius sat next to him, a strained look on his face. He wanted to call loudly for food and drink, but he had forgotten to ask his more experienced companion (who was supposedly well-versed in the ways of the criminal underworld) whether or not such behavior suited his role.
“Stay still,” whispered Sorgius, as if he could read minds. “We have been noticed already.”
It was true. A waiter appeared out of thin air, as if he had an invisible door next to their table.
“What will you be having?”
He was a weasely man with a sharp nose and a toothy grin. Vordius stared at the list of dishes, but Sorgius was in no hurry. He let his eyes wander over to the river, as if he were too deep in thought to consider what he wanted to eat.
The waiter cleared his throat, looked the newcomers over, and said, “I’m pleased to greet you, dear guests! Our tavern is delighted to offer you…”
Vordius was having trouble locating on the menu the dishes the waiter reeled off when suddenly something hit his left leg hard. Finally guessing what Sorgius wanted, he interrupted the gastronomic monologue.
“Stop flapping your tongue like a fish in a bucket. You see who we are. Bring us the best of everything, and quick!” he waved his hand in front of the man’s face.
Suitably impressed, the waiter disappeared. To Vordius’ surprise, the best of everything at the Lotus was just as good as what one might find at the finest restaurants in Enteveria. Duck in lemon sauce, roast pig with a sauce of nuts and dried apricots, and a fantastic plate of fried fish of all sizes – these were just a few of the dishes the Lotus served to solid deal-makers. No one was expected to eat it all. The custom was to try at least six or seven dishes, sip as many varieties of wine, and then lean back on the sofa to discuss serious business over the delicious morsels left on the table.
Sorgius and Vordius decided not to deviate from that custom, all the more so since Sorgius could definitely afford it. They attacked their food with the naked zest for life that was typical of men with practical minds and violent hearts, men who sleep with one eye open and know the value of each second of life. After trying a dish of deer meat in lingonberry sauce, Vordius leaned back with a cup of red wine and almost choked in surprise. A stranger had taken a seat at their table. The man had deep wrinkles on his forehead and was radiating the kind of smile a child shows a dish of honey ice cream before devouring it.
“Allow me to introduce myself, dear Enels! I am Quandius Sapheley, the manager of this fine establishment. When I heard that we had such discerning guests with us tonight, I wanted to make sure that everything is to your liking.”
Sorgius put on a polite smile and exchanged basic pleasantries with the man.
“Agrisoban? Never heard of it,” Sapheley murmured as he poured himself a cup of wine.”
“All of Vuravia knows of the region now that my family has established peace and order there,” Sorgius proudly proclaimed.
“Of course, the breadbasket of Vuravia. I should have guessed,” and the manager winked at Vordius, who was doing his best imitation of a statue, and took another sip of wine. “But Old Frizey keeps a tight leash on things. I suppose you are in well with him?”
Sorgius grimaced. “Old Frizey used to be the biggest merchant in our parts, but he died three years ago, and his trade is now in the hands of the three Big Kinsmen who are like this” – he clasped his two hands together – “with Dracasium Nerey! My family answers to Kinsman Koshtey. My name is Grishtan Akroerty, and I’m here on business. This is Ihliy Hazo, my bodyguard.”
Vordius nodded grimly.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” purred Sapheley. “You can find people looking to buy and sell just about anything here. But please remember, if you strike a deal here, the establishment takes a share as a commission. It helps us keep up the menu,” he smiled sheepishly.
“The menu!” Sorgius laughed rudely. “Ihliy, people in these parts have a sense of humor!” He turned back to the manager, “How much?”
“A quarter of the transaction. And if it’s your first time here, we charge a modest fee up front, and the amount is negotiable.”
“That Asp is nobody’s fool, is he? Or is it all going in your own pocket, friend?”
The fawning smile disappeared from the manager’s face like crumbs blown off the table. Now they stared back at a heavy-set thug with the eyes of a butcher.
“Who told you about Fire Asp?”
“Told me about him?” Sorgius narrowed his eyes. “He’s the man we came to see.” There was an uncomfortable pause, so he went on. “My older brother’s wife is from the Mraheli family, and her sister, Vlaseney Krivo, the one who lives in Gorgendia, is married to Mercius Ahery, whose cousin is a lawyer named Mezolo. He’s the one who put us in touch with his kinsman, the barber Taney.” Here, Sorgius looked around at the other tables. “Where is that Taney, by the way? The old rogue promised to introduce me to Fire Asp!”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Sapheley replied dryly. “Although, I did expect to see Taney here tonight. What business did you want to discuss? Fire Asp doesn’t often talk to strangers in person.”
“I know he doesn’t,” Sorgius said, calmly looking the man in the eye. “But I think he’ll be interested in what I have to say. I’ll eat my sandals if anyone else in this harbor of vice controls a certain trade the way my family does.”
The man thought for a moment. “Are you looking to place a large order? Vuravians usually do.”
“You can rest assured that it will be a very big order!” Sorgius assured him. “We are the only ones trading this way in our city, and Kinsman Koshtey likes it, too. It’s an untapped market.”
“If your kinsman is involved, then you will have to go through one of the Vuravian banking houses,” the manager concluded. He leaned back and put his hands on his knees.
“That’s one of the things we can discuss with Fire Asp,” Sorgius shot back, “if he’s interested.”
Vordius expected the manager to take offense at this, and he tensed his right arm. Sapheley, however, just smiled sweetly and said, “Let’s find out.” Then he stood up and disappeared back into thin air.
Vordius leaned over the table and grabbed his friend by the collar, “May the Shadow take you, Sorgius. What is this trade you’re talking about? Why don’t I know anything about it? What do I do if they ask me questions?”
“I’m the one doing the talking. Your job is to nod and look tough.”
“I’ll show you tough!” his eyes glinted.
“Sit down. People are watching. And let go of my collar.” Sorgius whispered. When Vordius complied, he continued, “The trade I’m talking about is the black market for voluntary workers – poor men who can’t pay their debts. They work for food, and the people who buy them keep the profit.” He lowered his voice. “There are official quotas, of course, but men like this Asp know how to buy quotas from corrupt members of the chancery. And there’s a shortage of workers in Vuravia right now, so…”
“Do you think it will work? Vordius interrupted. “What if they decide to talk to the barber first?”
“Why would they do that? Don’t you understand anything? If they wait for him, they’ll have to share with him. They’re thinking that since Taney never mentioned me, he was planning to go around them and keep the money for himself. This way, he gets nothing. Now hush, he’s coming back!”
Sapheley slid up to their table oozing with decorum. “My dear Enels, you’ve been invited to share a bottle of wine. Follow me.”
The friends rose slowly and, moving with dignity, followed Sapheley into the tavern. They passed through a hall where guests hollered appreciatively at dancing girls and men playing stringed instruments and found themselves in a narrow hallway. The walls were hung with a tapestry of gold dragons romping on a field of pale blue velvet.
“I beg your pardon, but you will need to leave your weapons here,” the manager’s voice was silky as he held out a copper tray.
Looking disgusted, Sorgius slowly laid an aquamarine-encrusted Capotian dagger on the tray. Vordius, his eyes empty, added two long boot knives.
“I’m sure you understand,” Sapheley said as he stepped aside. His place was taken by a dour man with a pointed face and a sack-like figure. His large lips made his face even less pleasant. He felt both visitors down with palms so large that Sorgius and Vordius felt like toys in his hands.
“Good grief!” Sorgius thought with a shudder. Vordius tried to catch the large man’s eye with an aggressive glance, but he was ignored. The man was only interested in their clothing and whatever might be hidden in it.
“You may go in,” Sapheley instructed them, pointing at a door that was carved in the Torgendam style with spiraling patterns.
They entered a dim room with four bronze lamps shaped like writhing snakes that cast very little light. The flames coming from their open mouths cast flickering shadows on the wood-paneled walls. At the other end of the room, a man in a gray robe who looked to be about forty sat on a round antique stool. On either side of him stood a large bodyguard. Losing no time, Sorgius introduced himself with great magnificence and handed the man a gift, as was the custom.
“It’s real Cahadrian topaz!” he bragged about the bracelet, which his father had brought him as a gift from home just a month before.
Vordius inconspicuously looked around the room. The silence that followed did not bother him, for he had little interest in men from the criminal underworld who pretended to be kings. In fact, he was feeling quite confident.
“Greetings, friends!” the man finally said in the voice of one who sees the flaws in everything, even in the Heavenly Deity. His round face contrasted oddly with his sharp nose and thin lips.
“My name is Cordelius Yahey. When Fire Asp was told of honorable guests from the south, he asked me to receive them with all the proper hospitality. My words are his words. I thank you for the gift. Please sit down.”
The friends sat next to each other on a long bench that was a little too hard to be comfortable. Moving silently, servants came in and placed a small table in front of each of them. Then, cups of various sizes were set on the tables. This was the beginning of sei nifu, an Ulinian ritual that had become popular among the more powerful men of the Empire’s underworld.
“How was your road, dear guests?” Yahey inquired politely, lifting a small cup.
“It was a good road, and you are a good host,” Sorgius bowed, holding his cup with both hands.”
“Allow me to offer you some wine!”
They were poured a soft Ulinian wine that had been warmed to enhance the plum notes. After the first sip, the drinker always wanted to drain his glass and ask for more, but that was exactly what made the wine dangerous.
“Is our host well?” Sorgius asked the next question in the series and lifted a slightly larger cup that had just been filled noiselessly.
“Quite well, thank you!” Yahey replied with a bow.
“Allow me to offer you some wine!”
It was a game that could go on forever, but at any moment the guest could leave without losing face or offending the host. All one had to do was politely say “Thank you, the wine was delightful!” However, the two friends were in luck, and the conversation soon took a more pragmatic turn.
“How is my distant brother, Kinsman Koshtey?”
“He is well, thank you for asking.”
“And his wife, that paragon of Vuravian womanhood – is she well?”
Sorgius tensed for a moment, but replied in a calm voice, “I am sure that her soul finds joy in the next life with the Heavenly Deity!”
Yahey’s face showed nothing as he replaced his cup on the tray in front of him. A long strand of light hair fell in his face.
“I have been told you would like to engage in trade?”
Vordius shook himself awake. Sorgius smiled broadly. “Exactly.”
“Who told you that we could help you?”
“The man you know as the barber Taney.”
“I do know a man by that name,” Yahey said. He was silent for a moment, and then said, “Was he supposed to introduce you to me?”
“He promised he would,” Sorgius said coldly.
“But he said nothing about it to me,” their host replied with a shrug.
“He was supposed to speak for us. We cannot speak for him,” Sorgius said.
The man’s lips stretched into something like a smile. “True. He wronged you if he gave his word and broke it.” He paused. “Or did he never give his word?”
Vordius gulped. Their host’s dreamy manner concealed something dangerous. He looked down and to one side to see if there was anyone behind him.
“Ask him yourself!” Sorgius said, looking surprised. “He’s late, but I’m sure he’ll be here.”
Yahey folded his arms across his chest. “Have no doubt that I will ask him. Unless someone else asked him first. Like, you, perhaps? What do you think?”
Sorgius had to work hard to keep from shaking.
“I’d have to answer to all the three families if anything happened to him. If it wasn’t that, I’d be happy to cut him. Cut him out, that is.”
Yahey narrowed his eyes and laughed. “I like you, Vuravian! What trade interests you? Carpenters, stone layers, plasterers? I hear that many new buildings are going up in Vuravia…”
“Oh no,” Sorgius chuckled. “I want the real goods, if you are getting my drift.”
“Of course!” Yahey nodded. “I understand you perfectly. We are the only ones who have the real goods.”
“I need girls,” Sorgius said, holding up two fingers as if they grasped a precious stone. “Pretty ones. Two hundred to start with.”
“Two hundred girls!” Yahey chortled. “Pretty ones! For a start! What on earth do you need so many of them for? Don’t tell me they’re all for your own town. It’s a lovely place, I’m sure, but very small.”
“Let me explain. Our town is small, but it stands on the border with Capotia. From there, it’s a short trip to Mustobrim, where girls from the Empire are hard to find.”
Yahey sat up straight. “You know the laws of Mustobrim, don’t you? The punishment for what you are proposing is death!”
“That should give you an idea how profitable it is.”
“But you need connections to move people over the border, especially if you want them to get there looking like anything.”
“My family has extensive connections. The Capotians have traditionally been the ones transporting girls to Mustobrim, but we looked into it and decided to give it a try. The market in Mustobrim is for blondes, but redheads are even better. Can you find me some nice redheaded girls?”
“Certainly! But let’s go over the details. How do you intend to pay?”
“The Halava banking house will issue a letter of credit once we view the goods.”
“Halava?” Yahey smiled. “Of course, my friend. What about delivery?”
“To the Vuravian border. We will take them from there…”
As the two men went into the details of the transaction, Vordius sat in silence and thanked his creator that Sorgius who had always helped his father in his trading business knew what he was talking about. It was unnerving for an Imperial Guard to listen in on the details of a criminal transaction, but Sorgius was like a fish in water. Vordius noted with wonder that his friend seemed to believe in the reality of what he was proposing.
“It will take time to collect the goods you want,” Yahey said. “But you can see some of the girls right away. Will that be good enough?”
“Thank you, friend. I saw a nice redhead here in the port recently. She was slender like a cypress with small breasts and a tiny waist. I saw her once and can’t forget her. She leans her head to one side when she smiles, and her voice is capricious. You would have to hear it to know what I mean.”
Vordius saw a shadow cross Yahey’s eyes, but they instantly softened again. “She sounds like the dream of any man! I have not seen her, I’m afraid, but Fire Asp will find anything you want. Perhaps not that girl, but a better one!” He looked up at the ceiling in feigned gratification.
“I bow to you from the entire Akroerty family. The barber Taney told me that our Asp is a real mensch. I see now that he was right.”
Yahey laughed courteously. “Did he tell you much about Fire Asp?” he asked craftily.
“No, he didn’t, actually. He said I’d understand when I saw him.”
“I see,” Yahey nodded. “Did you still want to see Asp?”
Sorgius shrugged. “You and I have decided everything so well already, and I don’t want to distract him from his important affairs.”
“But you are a guest,” Yahey smiled. “My master will be glad to receive you. Let me go inform him about our agreement.”
The friends were left alone in the room. The strains of music that had been coming up from the tavern below fell silent, and they could hear the sound of splashing water from outside. That, along with the barely noticeable rocking motion, indicated that they were in a part of the building that sat on a barge moored at the dock.
Vordius, tired of his taciturn role, was about to ask his friend a question, but Sorgius kicked him hard. They might be observed, and the tiniest mistake would give the game away.
Time passed, and still Yahey did not return. Sorgius looked around the room. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Vordius stood up and walked from one end of the room to the other. He walked over to a wooden panel in the wall and knocked lightly on it.
“Look here, it’s a window!” he exclaimed. “These are the shutters.”
Sorgius was about to tell him to shut up when the door suddenly opened. The friends sighed, but their relief was premature. Four large men barged into the room and held the self-proclaimed merchants’ arms behind their backs. Sorgius cried out in pain, accidentally knocking over one of the tables. The cups rolled across the floor.
“You want to see Fire Asp, do you?” Yahey growled from the doorway. His face had changed, and not for the better. “You will see him before your deaths, which will be drawn-out and agonizing if you don’t tell me right away what happened to our friend Taney and his apprentices!”
Vordius’ eyes went red. Ignoring his pain, he gave Yahey a look of hatred. “I am an officer in the Imperial Guards on a special mission, and I have a hundred of my men in ambush around this building! If we don’t walk out of here by the next watch, they will turn this den inside out!”
Yahey gave him a sugary smile. “Ambush, you say? Let’s call them together.” He looked up at the ceiling and his voice changed to a falsetto. “Men in ambush! Come out, come out wherever you are! The port ruffians have seized your officer!” He turned back to Vordius, “Now it’s your turn. Shall I open the windows so they can hear you better?”
There was a knocking sound and the shutters on the window opened. Outside, all was silent. Instead of the lights of the city, they saw only the riverbank lined with low, wooden buildings. The building they were sitting in was a boat, and it had left the capital without their noticing.
“Why don’t you say something, officer of the Guards? Is your throat dry?” Yahey stepped up to Vordius and tossed the rest of the wine in the jug in his face. The guardsman fell back and shut his eyes.
* * *
“Scoundrels! Asses! Mangy dogs!”
Vordius was beating his head against the logs that made up the wall. His efforts barely made a sound. His hands were tied behind his back, so this was the only way he could find release for his humiliation. His friend, who was in no better a position, stared at his own stomach, as if the answer to their dilemma would come from there.”
“Maggots! How dare they touch a member of the Emperor’s guard? When I get out of here, I’ll cut down the whole lot of them!”
“Go right ahead,” Sorgius said. “But we have to get out of here first.”
“So you think this a joke, do you? That’s just like you!”
“And you are being just like yourself. ‘How dare they touch me?’”
“I suppose you already have a plan?”
“I might. I’ve got three ideas I’m working on right now.” Sorgius moaned and leaned to his left. “They tie tight nots!”
“Three ideas? You’re the one who’s been knocked in the head,” Vordius leaned against the wall and laughed. “They’re going to strangle us and feed us to the fish by morning, and you say you have three ideas!” He turned and hit his head against the logs again.
This time, it was Sorgius who laughed. “Keep at it, friend, and you’ll solve our problems. Either you’ll break a hole in the wall and we’ll escape, or you’ll bust your head open. And that would be an escape of sorts.”
“Fine, oh deep thinker. What do you have? Entertain me while we’re still alive.”
Sorgius sighed and gave up trying to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists. “Here’s the first idea: lots of people don’t consider the consequences of their actions. When you deal with a person like that, you have to hit him in the head before he knows you’re there.”
“True enough,” Vordius grumbled. “I may be guilty of that. Sometimes.”
“And the second idea. This is the most realistic one. They simply don’t believe us.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like this: you come into their territory and try to fool them, so they grab you by the collar and it’s off to the knackers with you. In this world, everyone is lying all the time. Nobody believes you, even if you’re telling the truth.”
Vordius frowned and looked down. “What a stench! I never would have thought that fish could stink like that.”
“It’s probably some old stores,” Sorgius said as he tried to get a look at the roof, which was hidden in darkness. Their jailers had given them one small light, but it was not nearly enough for them to get a good look around them.
They were silent for a time.
“What about the third idea?” Vordius finally asked.
“You won’t like it,” Sorgius said slowly. “There’s a big man with his hairy paws mixed up in what happened to Uni, and he’s got rank. Probably somewhere in the palace. And he and the people under him don’t give a fig about a guardsman and his little Vuravian friend.”
“Is that even possible?” Vordius was incredulous.
“Anything’s possible. You didn’t bring your badge with you, did you?”
“You told me not to!”
“It doesn’t matter now. But if they kill you…”
“Us! They’ll kill us!”
“I’m sorry. If they kill us, it doesn’t really matter to anyone. Vordius Onato, a nicor in the Imperial Guards, disappeared while on his own time. Nobody knows what happened to him. Maybe he deserted, betrayed his beloved Emperor?”
“Oh Heavenly Deity, what have I done?”
“To them,” Sorgius pointed at the wall with his chin, “it’s all logical.”
“Only because we’re a pair of idiots! Good old Sorgius knows what to do! I wish I’d never listened to you. You’re a dead man!”
“You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but I still can’t see where we went wrong. I know all about the trade. I’m from Vuravia, after all. And that creeping reptile Yahey never let slip that he suspected something.”
They sat together in silence.
“Maybe Yahey is actually Fire Asp?” Vordius’ face lit up. “And if the redhead is his girlfriend, then he knew what you were after before you even opened your mouth. He was playing with us like a cat with a mouse, and we walked right in between his paws!”
“That looks like the size of it.”
“May the Shadow take you, Sorgius! This isn’t funny!”
“I didn’t say it was.”
A sudden, harsh sound made both friends jump, but it was just a door – an old door that didn’t fit its jamb and needed to be oiled. Vordius tensed his body and prepared to meet with a bitter fate ending in death, but once again he was tricked by an unexpected turn of events. A third person – small and limp – was tossed into their cell and landed in a heap on the floor, crying out in pain.
Before they had time to think, four ruffians entered the cell. They were all heavy-built and smelt of beer and unwashed bodies. One of the four squatted in front of Vordius and drew a knife out of a narrow leather sheath.
This is the end! flitted through the guardsman’s mind. He felt no fear. Instead, he looked straight in the thug’s eyes, firm in his intuitive decision that he would not look down, even when the knife went for his throat.
“You look like a carp on a hook with your eyes bugged out like that,” grinned the thug, showing his yellow teeth. His comrades chortled at what passed among them for humor. Vordius was distracted, and in that instant, the ruffian grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and shoved his face against the wall. The guardsman saw stars.
Now he’ll take me by the hair, pull my head back and cut my throat like a sheep! Heavenly Deity, what did I do to deserve this death?
And once again, the Heavenly Deity made it clear that no man knows his own fate. The ruffian pulled his arms over his head roughly and did something to his wrists.
“Let’s have that other one!” someone said behind his back. He looked up at his arms (which were so numb he could barely feel them) and saw that the cords that had bound him were gone, leaving only red marks on his wrists. Feeling almost drunk, he breathed in deeply the smell of rotten fish and thought: How wonderful it is to be alive!
Without waiting for an invitation, Sorgius turned his back and raised his bound arms as high as he could.
“Look at him! He wants it!” the ruffian guffawed, gyrating his hips at Sorgius’ backside. His colleagues laughed loudly, and the little Vuravian went beet-red, but his humiliation did not last long, and soon the cords were gone from his wrists, too.
The ruffian put the knife back in its sheath and growled, “You know what to do. We won’t get in the way.” And with that, they were gone.
“Did any of that make sense to you?” Sorgius broke the silence. Vordius shook his head as he stared off into space. Then he leaped up and looked around their cell. The body that had entered the scene first suddenly showed signs of life and began crawling for the opposite corner. It was hindered by the fact that its hands were tied, so Vordius caught up with it easily.
He looked at it closely. “It’s a girl!” he announced.
“No!” Sorgius waved his hands as if warding off a curse. “Don’t tell me it’s…”
“Have a look for yourself!” The guardsman took an oil lamp from the wall and knelt down in front of the young woman who had joined them in their misfortune. She crawled as far from him as she could until her back hit the wall. Sorgius peered at her over his friend’s shoulder.
“Stop shaking like that!” Vordius burst out.
The young woman’s red hair was plastered to her filthy, tear-stained face. Her dress, once obviously very expensive, was torn from hem to waist, and she tried in vain to hide the bruises on her long legs.
“It’s her!” Sorgius said quietly in the voice of a man who knows he is doomed.
“Are you sure?” Vordius turned to him. “Really sure?”
“Absolutely,” he answered flatly.
“We’ve got you now!” Vordius grinned, turning back to the girl. “It’s good to see you again, Fenia Brazelo. Do you remember me?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You tried to kill my brother, you vile piece of work! I’ll squeeze you so hard your heart will pop out of your mouth!” The young woman turned her face away.
“Stop it, Vordius,” Sorgius said in a voice that was still quiet, but suddenly firm. “Can’t you see she’s terrified? And she’s been beaten.”
“Let’s finish her off!” the guardsman cried, never taking his eyes off his target. “We’ve got her, Sorgius! The one who poisoned Uni!”
“We aren’t scum like those out there,” Sorgius nodded at the door.
“You’re right, of course,” Vordius agreed, “but what I see in front of me is one filthy hag. And I swear by the Emperor’s crown that she’ll tell me everything she knows and then I’ll…”
“And then what? Don’t you understand? That’s exactly what they want us to do.”
“What?” Vordius turned from the girl to his friend and back.
Sorgius’ voice got stronger. “Unlike some people, who let their anger get the best of them, I’ve given some thought to what is really going on here.”
“And?” the guardsman asked, scratching his shoulder.
“They tossed her in here for a reason. They want us to make short work of her ourselves!”
“But why? What would they gain by it?”
“Don’t you see? Imagine you’re Asp and the Imperial Guards are looking for a girl who did a dirty job for you. That makes her a problem, and you don’t need problems. So they grabbed her and knocked her around until she told them everything she knew. Then they tossed her in here for us to finish her off. Even if we manage to get away, we won’t be able to tell anyone what we found out because we’ll be charged with murder.”
“That’s a bunch of complicated nonsense.”
“Maybe it is, but I recommend talking to her peacefully. After all…”
Vordius put a palm to his forehead. “Of course. You’re always the lover, and you didn’t get enough small talk with her last time.”
Sorgius grimaced, “Don’t give me that garbage. You’ve known me too long for that. Save it to tell as a joke when we get out of here. Now move out of the way!” He pushed his friend aside and took his place.
“Hello,” he said, bending down and looking a little embarrassed.
Fenia stared out from behind her dirty hair with a hunted look. In better days, she would have tossed her hair over her shoulder with an elegant motion of her small head or blown it out of her face impatiently. Now, her dirty, greasy hair was the only thing between her and these frighteningly aggressive men, and she hid behind it in hopes of saving her fragile world from destruction.
“Please just listen to me,” Sorgius went on. “We are very worried about our friend Uni. Someone poisoned him while we were at the Fish. The only thing we want is to find out who ordered it and prove his guilt. You were just carrying out someone’s orders, weren’t you?”
The girl nodded.
“Then you have no reason to fear us.”
Fenia froze for an instant and stared up at Vordius.
“Take three steps back, please,” Sorgius instructed him without turning around.
The guardsman scowled, shrugged, and measured off the required distance with his boots.
“Please, go on,” he said in a falsely sweet voice. “I won’t watch.”
Sorgius bit his lip and looked down. Then he raised his eyes to the girl’s face. “He won’t yell at you again. Isn’t that better?” he asked softly.
She closed her eyes and nodded. Her shoulders started to shake.
“We’re in the same boat,” Sorgius went on. “And there’s nothing any of us can do about it. But I promise neither of us will hurt you. If you want, I’ll leave you alone and you can sit here by yourself. Would you like that?”
Fenia shuddered and looked up at him. “Don’t leave!” she said with obvious effort.
It was only then that Sorgius noticed that her lips were puffy. A backhand blow, he mused. It doesn’t look like her teeth are broken. That’s good.
“I won’t leave you,” he said quickly. “But I will sit down, if you don’t mind, before my legs fall asleep,” and he groaned as he arranged himself in a seated position on the cold floor. “That’s better!”
For a while, they stared at each other in silence. Then, Fenia looked down and tried to wipe away her tears with a filthy shoulder. It didn’t go well.
“Can I help you?” Sorgius asked. “I can untie your hands.”
She looked back at him, but her eyes fell again. The Vuravian realized that her arms were tied behind her back, like his had been. And he remembered how ridiculous he had felt when the ruffians released him.
After an uncomfortable silence, he said “Listen, Fenia, we have to get those cords off your wrists. If we don’t, they’ll leave scars right where everyone will see them.”
The young woman’s face remained blank.
“Let’s do this. I’ll take a step back. Then you turn around and show me your hands, and I’ll do my best to get the cords off.”
She stood up.
“That’s right. Face the middle of the room.”
Fenia froze.
“Vordius, go stand in a corner. That’s a fellow.”
When he knelt in front of her, Sorgius caught a whiff of her incense, and it was incongruous given the circumstances, reminding him of that evening at the Fish and the continuation that had never happened. He would have given a great deal to return to that evening!
The knot was impossibly tight, and Sorgius’ well-groomed fingernails were not up to the task. Fenia looked over her shoulder to monitor the process.
“I know I’m not wanted, but perhaps I could help?” Vordius inquired from his corner. As a guardsman, he knew the art of making knots and untying them like no one else.
Fenia jumped away.
“Stop it!” Sorgius said testily to the back of her head. “If he was going to hurt you, he would have done it already.”
Vordius bent over the knot, doing his best to ignore the nearness of her body. “Hmm, I thought I could undo it with my teeth, but I see that won’t work. But no matter, it will just take some time. This goes through here. Watch your finger. And be still! That’s right. Like that. I know it hurts, but be patient. Heavenly Deity, I believe I’ve done it!”
The young woman leaped away from him and held her hands up for inspection. Her dirty face gave a child-like grimace – it was too dark in her corner for her to see. Moving cautiously, she joined Vordius by the oil lamp on the wall.
“The bruises will be gone in a couple of days,” the guardsman said in an attempt to brighten her up. While they had searched for Fenia, Vordius had hated her violently, but now that he saw her helpless figure, his revulsion drained away. “It wasn’t her idea, of course,” he said to himself as an excuse. “Someone threatened her. They made her do it.”
“I suppose I have to thank you,” Fenia said, coming round.
“Not yet,” Vordius shot back jokingly. “We’re still locked up.”
“Aren’t your friends from the Emperor’s guards turning the docks inside out like an old woman shaking a pillow?”
“I would give a great deal to see that with my own eyes,” Vordius laughed, “but I’m afraid that’s not the case.”
“What are you saying?” Fenia asked, narrowing her eyes, which made her look like a fox.
“We’re in this on our own,” Sorgius said, examining the damage her cords had wrought on his fingernails. “This handsome man’s superior officers have no idea where he disappeared to. And if they do find out,” he gave a long whistle. “Don’t argue with me, Vordius. You and I came up with what turned out to be the perfect plan for romantic suicide. I’ll admit my guilt if it makes you feel any better.”
“We just wanted to find the person who poisoned Uni,” Vordius shrugged his powerful shoulders. “And you were the first suspect.”
“You wanted to find me?” Fenia was incredulous. Her voice started to sound unhinged. “Are you serious? You wanted to find me?” She pointed at Vordius and her laughter grew louder. There was something wild and even sick about her reaction. “You wanted to find me, so here I am, right in front of you! What are you going to do now? Question me? Get revenge for your dead fool?” She pointed her chin at the door. “That’s exactly what they want! Come on, give me your worse!” She was laughing so hard that tears ran down her filthy cheeks.
Sorgius froze, feeling humiliated. Vordius glowered. Then he strode across the cell and slapped her face sharply, but not too hard. Fenia cried out. Her face turned pink, and the sense returned to her face.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I had no idea it was poison…”
“What?” Vordius’ jaw dropped.
Just then, the door bolt slid open and the same four ruffians came back in. This time, they had their weapons at the ready: two carried long Seregad daggers, and the other two held thick clubs of the hittle wood that grows in the thick Arincilian jungle.
“Look at them,” said one of the ruffians, a fat, older man with dirty gray wisps of hair behind his ears. “They’re all standing around laughing because they don’t know what to do! I guess they need help!”
“They know what to do. They just don’t know how,” broke in the man next to him, slapping his palm with his club. “Faces to the wall, sissies! Mickay will heat things up in here!”
Shaggy-headed Mickay stuck his dagger in his belt, wiped his hands on his bright green shirt, and then…
If Vordius had been alone, he would have tried to calculate the consequences, assess the risks, and come up with a rough plan of action. But now, his instinct to protect those weaker than himself took over. He grabbed the sputtering oil lamp and threw the oil in the thug’s face. The effect was immediate, but without a light, neither side could see what was going on in the melee.
Moving in on the cries of the burned man, Vordius grabbed him and wrestled the dagger from his belt. A few blows later, there was one less ruffian in the cell. The others were fighting all around him, and it sounded like they were fighting each other.
“Fenia crawl to the wall!” Vordius cried. He immediately realized that he had given away his location.
Following his intuition, he dodged left and barely missed a club aimed at his head. Crouching, he slashed at the shadows around him, crying “I’ll kill all you pigs! I’ll slash you into belt leather!” Someone screamed and began cursing like a sailor. An instant later, the door opened and one of the ruffians called for help. As the door slammed open, it let the deem light of the torches from the corridor in. Out of shock or fear, he didn’t know himself, Vordius started to feel or even sort of see the things around him: the silhouettes in the twinkling light of the candle, trembling in the stream of air from the door, and the shades of fire on the walls.
Expecting a crowd of the thugs to swarm into the cell any minute, Vordius made a terrible mistake: he threw his newfound dagger at the man in the doorway. The knife wasn’t meant for such use, and it hit the man handle-first. The Heavenly Deity, though, was on his side, and the knife handle somehow landed squarely on the back of the man’s head. He fell to the ground, his large body blocking the doorway.
Stunned by his luck, Vordius almost got hit by the third ruffian. He grabbed the man’s club at the last second, but the man let go of it and head-butted him in the face. Vordius saw stars and lost contact with reality for an instant, during which the thug threw him to the grown, sat on his chest and started beating him with his fists. He only got in a few blows before Fenia, silent as an owl, grabbed his hair in her left hand and, with her right, drove a dagger into his neck.
“Can you walk?” she asked the guardsman, who was sprawled on the floor.
“Of course!” he said cheerily, but he had a hard time getting up. He felt like there was a hive of bees buzzing in his head. His legs gave out and he grabbed the young woman’s shoulder, almost causing her to fall.
“You’re in bad shape! Where’s Sorgius?”
“Over here!” came a voice at the other end of the strip of light from the doorway. The little Vuravian was crouching by the wall with his arms over his head. “Is it all over?”
“Let’s go, may the Shadow take both of you!” the young woman said with a scowl.
“Of course! I’m running already!” Sorgius replied, tripping over the fourth ruffian, who was crawling across the floor with one hand covering a wound in his side. Sorgius hitched up his wide pants and kicked the man hard in the face. The ruffian cried out and started crawling in the other direction.
“Get moving, fearless leader!” hissed Vordius, cursing his own slow-moving body. Then he turned to the girl. “Let’s make for the river!” He pushed aside the body in the doorway.
They found the exit to the landing quickly. Gripped by fear, Vordius imagined a horde of cutthroats drawn by the sound of fighting, but the storehouses on the landing were abandoned and empty. Soon, however, they heard voices and saw flickering lights behind them. They would be foolish to expect miracles.
“We have to find a boat!” Vordius commanded. “Fenia, you look to the left. I’ll look to the right. Sorgius, find some oars!”
“Yes, Enel nicor!” grumbled Sorgius. He turned his head this way and that and dove into an old storeroom set back from the water.
“Where in the shadows are you going?” cursed the guardsman.
Sorgius didn’t even turn around.
Vordius clutched his head. Their enemies were getting closer, and he knew he didn’t have enough time to get them all safely away in a boat. A wave of nausea hit him, and something was pounding inside his left temple.
“I found some oars. They’re heavy!” puffed the Vuravian as he ran up, holding his elegant pants up with one hand.
Fenia cried out. When they turned to the sound of her voice, they saw her waving frantically. “Here! Here’s a boat!”
“Did you check if it’s sound?” Vordius asked as he jumped in. In the next instant, he realized she had already untied the rowboat from the dock. It buckled and slid away from the bank.
“What about me? You forgot me!” Sorgius cried out, standing on the bank with an oar under each arm. He turned around and saw the first of their enemies running down the landing.
“Jump, you fool!” Vordius screamed with all the love he had for his friend. He couldn’t imagine losing him so stupidly, right when they were about to triumph over some of the capital’s most hardened criminals.
Spurred on by this wise counsel, Sorgius, who was out of his mind with fear, made a pitiful face and leaped as far as he could – which wasn’t quite far enough. His oars almost knocked Vordius into the next life, but the guardsman managed to dodge the blow and grab hold of them, leaving Sorgius suspended above the water.
“Give me the oars! I need to row!”
“What am I supposed to hold onto?”
“Grab the stern, you clown!”
Fenia tried to help the ridiculous pair, stepping gingerly in their direction with an outstretched hand, but her added weight made the stern too heavy.
“Get back to the bow! Just sit tight and don’t move!” Vordius groaned weakly. He was praying that the ruffians weren’t armed with multi-shooters, and that there weren’t any other rowboats in the vicinity, and – for good measure – that he and his friends could just vanish into thin air. The way things were going, he feared they could all end up dead without any help from their enemies.
Sorgius finally let go of the oars, and Vordius quickly put them to good use.
“Hold on, do you hear me?” he ordered his friend, who was being dragged along behind the boat like a log. “Once I put some distance between us and them, I’ll help you get in. Don’t do it yourself. You’ll just turn us over!”
It was difficult to pick up speed with Sorgius holding on to the stern, but the friends had taken the only sound boat in the area. They did not know that, however, so Vordius pulled for the middle of the river where it was dark and he could rest a little.
“Give me your hand and crawl in slowly,” he said as he hauled his friend into the boat. “It’s so dark out here I can’t see a thing!” With Sorgius finally in the boat, Vordius let out a sigh and lay down in the bottom. “Praise the Heavenly Deity, we’re all alive!”
“Watch where you put your feet. You aren’t the only one in this boat!” Fenia reminded him from somewhere in the dark.
“Ah, our redheaded beauty. How could I forget? Is that all you want to say, my dear? Don’t you have any gratitude?”
“You need my gratitude like the Heavenly Deity needs a torch,” the girl said with a cynical laugh. “You wanted to ask me about your friend, is that right?”
“I believe we already asked,” Vordius shot back. “Now tell us everything you know. We’re listening most attentively.”
“Let me get my pants off first. They’re full of water and I need to wring them out,” Sorgius broke in.
“I don’t care if you dance naked, just keep your mouth shut!” Vordius growled.
Fenia tittered in the dark.
“Don’t get distracted,” the guardsman said, keeping her focused on their grim reality.
“Of course. The poisoning. Why do you think it was me?”
“Sorgius, did you get your pants off already? Let’s tie her up in them and toss her in the river. I think she’s forgotten that we just saved her life.”
“I was just asking a question. Don’t get sore.”
“I saw you pour something on his food,” Sorgius bluffed. “I thought it was a spice, but it obviously wasn’t.”
“I didn’t know it was poison, either. May my eyes never see the Sun again if I’m lying!”
Vordius whistled. “What are you saying?”
“They told me it was a laxative.”
“And you believed it?”
“I didn’t care, honestly. Two hundred leros is serious money.”
It was Sorgius’ turn to be shocked. “Good grief! That’s an enormous amount of money for a prostitute.”
“I’m not a prostitute!” Fenia cut him off. “And don’t you dare call me one!”
“I can call you whatever you like, but it’s all the same.”
“You don’t know anything about me, and it’s not your place to judge!”
Sorgius smiled. “But of course. You just look for men to be friends with. Money’s got nothing to do with it!”
“Listen, Fenia,” Vordius rejoined the conversation. “This isn’t an official interrogation, but whether you meant to or not, you almost caused the death of our close friend. You have to tell us about yourself, your ties with Asp and who gave you the cistrusa!”
For a while, the only sound they could hear was an occasional fish splashing. Finally, the girl took a deep breath.
“Fenia is my real name. It’s a common name, so there’s no reason to hide it. I never had a family. I made up my last name, Brazelo. I was adopted by the Iron Carp gang before the Iristenians killed them all. Rich men hired us – pretty little girls – for parties and other events. We danced for them. Sometimes they told us to just stand around smiling like nymphs. People at the parties told us we were beautiful, and we were glad if they gave us something to eat. We slept together on rough mats, and when it was cold at night, we huddled together for warmth. We were always hungry, but…” she paused, “…it was the best time in my life. The nightmare started when the Iristenians took over the port. They murdered all the Iron Carps and made all of us sisters sell our bodies. If a girl tried to refuse, they would beat her and then rape her. All of them.” Fenia was silent for a moment. “They couldn’t make me do anything, so they tossed me, beaten and bloody, onto the trash heap for the dogs to finish off. I still see one of those dogs when I close my eyes. We stared each other in the eye, each of us trying to survive. It wanted to fill its belly and the bellies of the other dogs with my meat. I wanted to force it to find easier prey. I don’t know how, but I won that staredown and the dogs left the trash heap. For a while, I lived there, eating whatever I could find. I was thirteen when I killed my first dog and ate it. I still remember it.”
She fell silent again, and Vordius thought he saw tears in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for a person who had suffered more in her short life than he and Sorgius had been through, even put together.
Fenia took a deep breath. “I never thought I’d get out of that hole, but then everything changed,” she continued her story.
“Asp showed up?” Vordius asked eagerly.
“Yes. He brought together what was left of the old port gangs and kicked out the Iristenians who had grown soft and stupid because they thought they had absolute power. They had all the civil servants and the guards on their side, but Asp…they were like mice compared to him.
“Have you ever seen him?”
“Are you kidding? Nobody’s ever seen Asp, except his most trusted chiefs. He is his own weapon and his own army. The Iristenians had nine elders – nine gray-headed leaders. Asp killed all of them with his own hands, some at night, some in bright daylight in front of their own bodyguards. He is invulnerable. He always appears out of nowhere, strikes like a snake, and disappears as if he had never been there at all. The Iristenians were warriors, puffed up with their own bravery and fearlessness, but he turned them into cowering dogs. They panicked like sheep. When the destitute people of the port realized what was happening, they raised up and turned on the Iristenians. It was a bloodbath. People wanted revenge for seven years of oppression. When it was over, Fire Asp owned the southern port and he put everything back in order. Every single person knew his place and his share. There was no more infighting. Under Asp, people are earning more. We’re doing business with important people from other provinces, but we make sure that part of the profits go to help the poor, the sick, and the orphans.”
“You make him sound like a humanitarian,” Vordius noted sourly. “I guess he’s been good to you.”
Fenia stared back at him. “He gave me a chance to do work that I’m good at. Yahey, his right-hand man, said that my body is beautiful, but it does not feel pleasure. Still, it would be a crime not to use it. So I work as an actress and I’m proud of what I do.”
“An actress?” They all heard Sorgius slap himself on the forehead. “How did I miss it? Your figure distracted me, that’s how.”
Vordius was ashamed. “I apologize for calling you an unpleasant word. I didn’t know you were from the world of the arts…” He would have continued, but the Vuravian’s laughter interrupted him. He scowled. “Why are you laughing like a horse? I just don’t have time for the theater…”
“We aren’t talking about the theater, you fool. Were you thinking she plays queens and priestesses in history plays at the Honto theater? You’re absolutely naïve. When thieves say a woman is an actress, they mean she draws in dimwits off the street, gets them drunk and relieves them of their cash.” He turned to Fenia. “Now I know why they had her go after me.”
“But who did the choosing? That’s the question,” said Vordius, chewing on his bottom lip. “Describe the man. How did he find you?”
“He was a client like any other,” the girl shrugged. “He approached me and took me upstairs to a room. I thought the Heavenly Deity had sent me an easy mark. But as soon as the door closed behind us, he changed like a snake sheds its skin, and I froze. He tossed a purse at me and told me it contained a hundred leros. He asked if I wanted to earn as much again doing what I was already doing. He gave me a phial of something to use on your friend and pointed me toward Sorgius in front of the tavern. Once you were inside, it wasn’t hard at all for me to talk my way into your party.”
“Ha! And you had your eye on her!” Vordius needled his friend. Turning back to Fenia, he asked, “How did he know so much about us? He had to have known about Uni’s appointment, that we were getting together at the Fish, and that he had a friend with a weak spot for pretty women. He must have had a source at the palace.”
“I don’t know about that,” Fenia said simply. “He just said that your friend Uni had jumped over his head to get an important job and he wanted to humiliate him in front of his friends. With the laxative. I think you understand…”
“What nonsense!” Vordius exploded. “How on earth could you believe it?”
“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I didn’t really think about it. He gave me the money up front. It’s not my business what other people have in their heads!”
“Fine. But what did he look like? Can you at least remember that?”
“I can. I have a good memory for faces. Although I doubt anyone would forget a face like that.”
“Was he ugly?”
“Not exactly, but he wasn’t to my taste. I don’t like these folks from the plains. They’re worse than even the Iristenians.”
“Wait, he was from the wastelands?”
“Yes. He had a funny little beard and squinty black eyes. And his name was hard to pronounce. Abd…Abdarhyz, I think it was.”
Vordius threw up his hands. “And you believed that a nomad from the Great Expanse was angry at Uni over an official appointment?”
“I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not. I told you – I didn’t care. He had money, and that was good enough for me.”
“How stupid could you be? People die because of fools like you!”
“Stop it, Vordius!” Sorgius interrupted the guardsman’s outburst. “Now inform me, my dear, how do you know his name? Did he go right out and tell it to you?”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” she said cautiously. “He gave me another name first, and I didn’t even bother remembering it, because it was obvious he was lying. But later, when he took me downstairs to show Sorgius to me, a strange man came up to my client and wouldn’t stop talking to him. It seemed like he was an old friend or even a relative. He kept asking my client to drink with him, but the man put him off, saying he didn’t have time. Not now. The other man said ‘How about tomorrow?’ and my client said ‘No, I’ll be racing to Lumdyrbag tomorrow.’ So the other man sighed and asked him to caress the mouths of his relatives.”
“What?”
“She’s right, Sorgius, that’s how the Sotrays talk. But you can’t make me believe they were speaking Herandian. Or do you understand Sotray?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the girl.
“I don’t speak Sotray,” Fenia said with annoyance, “but it’s very close to Iristenian, especially the simple words, and I learned Iristenian on the docks when I was a child.”
“That could be,” Sorgius sighed. “Where does that leave us? A Sotray named Abdarhyz from Lumdyrbag. It’s enough to tie your tongue in knots! He’s obviously just a middleman, and anyway, he’s off racing his horse across the sands of the Great Expanse. You couldn’t catch him now, even if you had the world’s biggest net!”
“Don’t be so hasty, Sorgius. In case you didn’t know, Lumdyrbag isn’t a province. It’s a town. And the people who live there are more or less settled.”
“A town in the wasteland?”
“It isn’t exactly in the wasteland. To be precise, it’s located between the wasteland and the Zabotay mountains.” Vordius was enjoying himself. “There used to be a king there named Drazgarb who did a good deal of trading with the Iristenians. He tried to unite all the Sotrays under one throne, like our Empire, but it didn’t work out and he got himself killed. By his own men. Or that’s the official story. But he did manage to build a town or something along those lines. It isn’t a big place, but at least we have an address to start with.” He scratched his head. “Although to be honest, I don’t know what to do about it. Or what we are going to find there. The Expanse is a long way off…”
“Exactly. Right now, we’re the ones who need finding,” Sorgius sighed. “Now get up and row before the current carries us all the way to Ulin.
“But which way? It’s pitch black out here, and I bet all the cutthroats from the port are waiting for us on the bank. We’re Asp’s personal enemies.”
Sorgius laughed. “Didn’t you used to call them a bunch of rabble from the port?” He shook his head. “Just row in place for now. If we see a boat with lights, we’ll try to follow it. Once we get back to the city, we’ll find a place to jump off. But there’s one thing. What are we going to do with Fenia? They’ll chop her into tiny pieces if they find her!”
“She’s not my problem,” Vordius shot back. “I have a fiancée.”
“I can’t take her home,” Sorgius objected. “My father told me not to bring any more women home. After that one time…”
Something in the bow rustled and they heard Fenia’s voice. “Don’t bother. I already owe you my life. I’ll spend the night in some lice-infested hostel for the homeless, and in the morning I’ll strike out for one of the provinces.”
“How could I forget about the inn!” Sorgius exclaimed. “Have no fear, we will put you up in style. You’ll be fed and have a clean bed to sleep in.”
“Sorgius!” The guardsman sounded shocked in the dark. “You don’t mean…”
“I do! It’s all settled! Don’t bother arguing. Look!” he cried, “there’s a light just above the water. Stop talking and get behind it. I’m sure it’s a Capotian merchant. Don’t worry, Fenia. Your fate is in good hands!”

Chapter 2. All about Her
The man behind the table read the scroll closely, and the careless way he held it contrasted strangely with the deep attention in his eyes, which looked as if they were prying what he needed to know out of the very parchment. His chair was of light-colored Torgendam oak, but it had been made so long ago that it had turned dark red-brown. The rest of the furnishings in the room – rugs, paintings, a massive bronze lamp, bookshelves, a marble bust of Norius the Founder, and even the quill pens on the desk – had at least three things in common. First, all of them bore the visible mark of history, because they were very old, some of them even ancient. Second, they were extremely expensive, and not only because they were antiques. And third (which only an expert in antiques would have noticed), they had all belonged to different people in the long-gone past. To be precise, they all once belonged to the greatest emperors of Herandia, who had led the country for the last four hundred years. But the room’s inhabitant would not have liked a loud statement like that. He was vain enough to want to enjoy his treasures in the peace and privacy of his own study.
On the day in question, the lover of costly antiques had made an exception. This exception half-reclined on a sofa made of ekva wood, which only grows in one place on the island of Rbun, which is a two-day sail off the coast of Unguru. Some said that a sofa very much like it had been presented to Emperor Nazalio by an ambassador from the high priest of Mustobrim, who had hoped to prevail upon the Emperor to allow priests of the one invisible god to preach their faith in Herandia. The request had been denied, and now the sofa was occupied by a woman of somewhat less than noble blood. Perhaps it was this knowledge of her humble origins, which had caused her much suffering in secret, that caused her to compensate by means of the most extravagant clothes. Enormous gold earrings with turquoise stones matching the color of her loose dress of the finest Ulinian silk – all in the style worn in the times of the continent’s first kings – contrasted oddly with a lavish necklace of sparkling diamonds, emeralds and topazes, each the size of a fingernail. The effect was antiquated and even a little tasteless, but altogether, the woman radiated a strange, unapproachable magic.
“You’re early,” the man said in a monotone without looking up from the scroll.
“I know,” the woman said in a distracted voice. “But you’re still happy to see me, aren’t you?” The question did not sound like a question.
The man sighed heavily and set aside the scroll with the look of a man who knows that he won’t get much done today.
“You’re certainly dressed up!” he observed skeptically, casting a glance at his companion’s new image.
“I have to wear it all sometime,” she shrugged. “I always dreamed of wearing heavy earrings like these so that my earlobes would stretch to my shoulders like those gorgeous Unguru women's!” At this, she laughed.
“Very well!” the man smiled generously. He scratched his shoulder and began to massage his deltoid muscle. This was made easier by the simple sleeveless tunic of linen he wore.
“I hate it when you do that,” the woman said, making a face. “It’s unhealthy narcissism, if not worse.”
The man’s face took on a business-like expression. “Tell me, how are our affairs?”
“Did you see the report from the inspectors?” she replied with a question of her own.
“What’s the point?” the man yawned. “Sometimes I think we pay them just to distract attention from our real agents.”
“Perhaps, but you always manage to find something important. If not for the present, then for the future.”
The man leaned his head to the right and gestured with his left hand as if he was rolling a piece of bread into a ball.
“They met,” the woman said, sounding as if she were communicating a terrible secret.
“Yes! I knew it.” The man leaned back in his chair and held his arms up in victory. “In Vuravia?”
“In Vuravia,” the woman nodded. “Now I suppose you’ll say that your intuition never lets you down.”
“Who was there?”
“We’ll have a full list by evening. But I know there were Capotians, four of them.”
“From the Council?”
“One was a Secretary. There was also one from the navigators’ guild, one merchant, and a representative of the banking houses.”
“That all makes sense: men who know cargo, trade and finance. And the men who offer protection,” he added. “What about our own people?”
“The heads of all three banking houses – Halava, Repu and Mankarin – were there. All three Big Kinsmen. And a man from the shipbuilders’ guild was there on behalf of the Great Provider.”
“The same people, but from our side. What about the capital?”
“Just Mastersium Krikey.”
“Enel Forsey’s deepest pocket. That’s nice. Who else?”
“He was the only one.”
“That’s not possible,” the man rubbed his chin and gave the matter some thought.
“Here’s the most interesting thing. Do you know where they met? At Dracasium Nerey’s estate. What do you think of that?”
“Ha! Very nice. Vuravia’s richest landowner. Now it all makes sense. Wonderful. But one thing doesn’t make sense. They have to sell the grain once they get it to the Empire. It has to get to the port and then be transported to the granaries and the markets. Who is handling that part of it? And who stands to make money from it? Why didn’t he – whoever he is – send someone to the meeting?”
“What about Forsey’s man?” the woman raised an eyebrow.
“He was there to distract us. We already know Forsey is against the treaty.”
“What if they had a falling-out?”
“I doubt it. I bet they’re just being careful. That means that this meeting was just a first stage. There will be another one with more people from the capital. They have to meet with Fire Asp and his benefactor at the palace!”
“If that’s the case, then I don’t believe such a meeting will ever take place.”
He looked up blankly. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
The woman gave a cunning smile to show that she, too, was capable of complex logical deductions.
“Asp had some trouble at the port last night thanks to our dear boy’s friends, the brave but stupid Vordius and the Vuravian twit Sorgius.”
“What?” the man nearly leaped into the air in anger. “I asked you to keep an eye on them and stay a step ahead of their plans!”
“I apologize, but they went for almost a month without doing anything. They were sitting around in taverns like they always do. Then, just when my attention was distracted by the meeting in Vuravia, they went and beat up that pimp Taney and walked right into the Lotus the same day, pretending to be Vuravians, and asked to see Fire Asp. I don’t know exactly what happened, but Asp’s men tied them up and they let on who they really were.”
“Oh, no!” the man clutched his head. “Now Asp will think that the Guards are after him. He’ll call off the meeting and all our plans will march right to the Shadows!”
“Do you think so?” the woman smiled. “I suppose,” she continued with a sigh, “we should have them sent away from the capital. As far away as possible.”
“They’re still alive?” the man’s eyes were round in disbelief.
“Very much so. They escaped and took that redheaded…nuisance girl with them,” the woman said, making her opinion clear. “The same bitch that poisoned Uni!”
The man’s eyes grew even wider. “You mean to say they found her?”
“It’s a question of who found whom,” the woman snorted. “She says she was paid to do the job by a stranger, and that Asp’s men nearly killed her over it. Ha!”
“Of course she said that!”
Velenia slowly stood up and walked around behind the man’s chair. She stood there as if measuring something.
“Someday I’ll kill you, just like this!” they both said at the same time.
“But that isn’t all! The fools felt sorry for her and dragged her back to the Trout, like a pair of utter idiots.”
“We have to put a stop to this circus, may the Shadows take them all! I’d like to see all three of them exiled to the Expanse!”
“You may be right,” the woman said thoughtfully, “but I wouldn’t waste time on Fenia,” and she drew a finger across her throat. “Easier and safer that way!”
“Feeling bloodthirsty?” the man laughed. “She said she was paid to do the job. We’ll cut the throat of the man who paid her as soon as we prove his guilt.”
“Of course, of course,” the woman said absently, her eyes flitting around the room. “I suppose you feel sorry for Fenia. So young and beautiful…” she added, and her eyes shone dangerously. “Or do you really suppose I don’t know about your little rendezvous with her?”
The man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He studied his companion’s face attentively the way one might study a mosquito before slapping it.
“Don’t look so serious. I’m mixed up with her, too,” the woman said. “I’ll never forget her scream. So piercing…” and she gave a little laugh. “Relax. I understand. I suppose it has to be this way. I just wanted to remember the good old days.”
“These are different days,” the man said dryly, and a shadow of something cold and remote flashed across his face. “And the game has different rules. You’re useful to me only as long as you remember that.”
The woman looked at him for a full minute. Then she stood up and noiselessly left the room.
* * *
“Eat up, dear. And take seconds if you want! Just look at you – skin and bones!” Emel Virando said as she hovered over the girl. “Have another venison crepe – I made the lingonberry sauce myself!”
Fenia, her cheeks rosy from all the attention, chewed carefully and tried to keep her eyes on her plate. The whole group sat in a small alcove at the Happy Trout (which was usually reserved for very important guests), enjoying some of the capital’s best food as they talked with Uni’s mother.
“How could you hide such a lovely cousin from us for so long, Vordius?” Sevelia Virando asked reproachfully. Subconsciously, she had always felt like Vordius was a second son to her, and she was surprised to find that he had secrets.
“She’s actually my second cousin,” he replied, clearing his throat and looking down at the floor. He felt awful lying to his best friend’s mother, but he didn’t have a choice. “Father and I are always at the barracks, so there’s no one home to look after her. I was hoping, Emel Virando, that she could stay here for a few days…”
“She can stay for the rest of her life, if she wants!” Sevelia laughed. “Vordius, you know that I always wanted a daughter,” here she wiped her eye with a sleeve. “We never had the chance, my dears!”
Sorgius looked up from his roast pig and glanced around the table. His intuition told him that there was something here of importance to him and his companions, but he was not sure it would be right to call up tragic memories that most of them had already heard before. A moment later, Sevelia quieted his doubts.
“My poor Nurelius!” she whispered. “He never had a chance to give life to another child. He was killed in the wasteland on the northern border, in September of the year of the Heavenly Era 380.
“Uni was not yet a year old,” Vordius added softly. “His birthday is in the winter.”
“I wonder how he is faring, my precious boy,” Emel Virando continued, her eyes misty. “In that terrible, far-off Virilan, from which no one has ever returned…”
“That’s because no one has ever been there, at least from the Empire!” Sorgius said brightly. “Capotians go there all the time, and they always return. Your son will return, too, and unharmed. What could possibly happen to him while he’s with the delegation?”
“I pray to our Heavenly Deity that he will not leave a poor widow all alone,” Sevelia replied fiercely. Her eyes betrayed both hope and doubt.
“Mother Virando, were you ever in the Great Expanse?” Fenia suddenly asked with what sounded like childish curiosity.
“Me?” Sevelia said slowly. “No, I haven’t.” Her eyes were blank for an instant, and then it was as if a door shut behind them. “I wanted to go with him that last time, but Uni was still a baby…”
“How exactly did Uni’s father die?” Sorgius asked. “I don’t think you ever told us about it.”
“That’s enough, Sorgius,” Vordius growled quietly.
“I was told that he went deep into the wasteland with a band of Sotrays – the ones who were on our side. But there were other Sotrays there, wild ones, and an arrow went astray. That’s what they told me. It was an accident. He went through the whole war with the Torgs without being wounded even once, and in the end a chance arrow took him! We do not understand the ways of the Heavenly Deity.” She sighed. “He was buried before sunrise, according to the custom of those parts, and only his things were returned to me. I’ll show you…”
“Don’t bother, Emel Virando!” Vordius exclaimed in embarrassment. “Maybe next time!”
“There’s just one small chest.”
Moving stealthily like a cat, Fenia stood up from the table and put her arm around the older woman’s shoulders. Her voice soft and throaty, she said “Mother Virando, it’s already late, and I believe it’s time for all decent girls to go to bed!”
“Yes, of course,” said Sevelia, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Forgive me, my dear, for getting lost in my memories. Come along and I’ll show you to your room.”
As soon as the women were gone, Vordius sat down heavily in his chair and grabbed Sorgius’ arm so hard that the Vuravian almost choked on his favorite cherry beer.
“Are you a complete idiot? Why were you bothering her like that?”
“What are you talking about? I just wanted to learn more about the Great Expanse. She mentioned it first!”
“Did she?” Vordius grimaced. “You were the one who brought up her dead husband. She loved him with her whole heart, can’t you see? There are times, Sorgius, when you ought to respect other people’s feelings!”
“I know that!” Sorgius said, wiping the foam from his lips with a sleeve. “She’s a nice old lady, but I don’t think she cares much for me.”
“Old lady?” Vordius spluttered. “She covers her head, but she isn’t bad looking. I bet she isn’t even fifty yet.”
“You think?” the little Vuravian asked doubtfully. Wrinkling his prominent nose, he gave the matter some thought, quite possibly even performing some mathematical calculations. “No, she’s an old lady,” he issued his verdict. “But she’s nice.”
Vordius shook his head and looked away.
“I’m no expert, friend,” Sorgius went on. “But anyone who’s older than me…” and he took a sip from his wooden tankard.
“Enough!” the guardsman exclaimed, slamming a fist on the table. “Let’s talk of our affairs.”
“What is there to say?” Sorgius shrugged. “We have to go, and that’s going to be a problem for you, my big, dunderheaded friend.”
“Why is that?” Vordius asked in a haughty voice. He poured himself more beer from a round jug decorated with images of the gods of the fields. “No matter how you consider it, my guards badge will help us.”
“Not a bit of it! Who in the wasteland cares at all about our Emperor’s guards?”
“Aha!” Vordius said, raising a finger aloft as he drained his tankard. “I see there is at least one thing you don’t know.”
“For example?”
“Guards officers get sent on regular inspections to all our far-flung garrisons. The idea is for them to get to know the locals. And, I suppose, so they wouldn’t sit around in the capital too much.”
“Oh my!” the little Vuravian leaned back in his chair and raked his fingers across his chest. “Do you mean you can bribe someone to…”
“I don’t need to bribe anyone! Do you think there’s a long line of people looking to get out of Enteveria so they can go sit in a circle on the ground with the unwashed nomads?”
“There’s weed though…”
Vordius snorted. “You know just as well as I do that you can easily buy it right here.”
Sorgius grinned like a cat after a heavy meal. “Sure, because your officers bring it back with them. No one searches their things on the border.”
Vordius shrugged and stuck a fork into a smoked sausage wrapped in bacon. “Here is how the thing works,” he mumbled as he chewed the meat. “I am an imperial military inspector, and you are my scribe.”
“What?” Sorgius asked, eyes round.
“Scribe!” Vordius repeated, this time after swallowing. “You’ll copy down any reports and check all their financial documents. It’s just a lot of boring, pointless work.”
“Sounds like just the kind of work for an inspector!” Sorgius said, pointing at his empty tankard.
“Not at all!” said the guardsman, shaking his head as he crossed his legs. Reaching out a long arm, he easily hoisted the jug and slowly poured its contents into his friend’s tankard. “I’ll be socializing with people. Wine, women, and the best, choicest weed for dramdalaki! And when I recover in the morning, you’ll write down everything I managed to commit to memory.”
With these words, he dropped the empty jug under the table and set Sorgius’ tankard in front of him.
The Vuravian looked down at the tankard and asked, “Did you perhaps forget something?”
Vordius slapped his forehead. “Of course!” He speared the last sausage on the tray and held it to Sorgius’ mouth. “Enjoy!”
The little Vuravian bit off a chunk of sausage the length of his middle finger. The white bacon resisted, like a length of white rope, preventing him from taking his prize.
“Shadow take it!” he muttered, using his teeth to saw through the last strip of bacon. When he was done, he sat up and reached for his beer, but Vordius held onto the tankard tightly with a huge hand.
“Hey!” his friend complained.
“Look!” the guardsman tried to warn him, but it was too late. Appearing out of nowhere, Fenia slid into the chair next to Sorgius.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she whispered. “Finish chewing before you answer,” she added.
Mortified, Sorgius nodded and swallowed the sausage.
“What are you doing here?” Vordius did his best to look offended while his eyes slid to the nightgown that the young woman expertly covered with a folded blanket.
Fenia sighed. “I didn’t think I’d ever get rid of her! The old lady wanted to sit there and tell me stories all night!”
“See!” Sorgius gloated. “The old lady…”
“Shut your mouth!” Vordius waved him away. “And you, what do you want?” he turned to Fenia with a scowl.
She pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side. “I just wanted to know what you’re talking about. We’re in the same boat, aren’t we? When do we leave?”
Moaning softly, Vordius leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Listen!” Sorgius gave a predatory chuckle and put his arm around Fenia’s shoulders. “I think you’ll make a good servant girl. Can you wash a man’s feet and bring him breakfast in bed, my dear?”
Fenia gave him a look of disgust and leaned away.
“Fine,” the guardsman sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “It’ll take me a day to get permission, a few more days to get the papers, a day to get our things together…” He looked around at the other two. “Four days from now, I want you to be ready to leave first thing in the morning. And Sorgius,” he paused, you’re going to get your father’s permission first. I don’t want it to be like last time. Remember the hunting trip?”

Chapter 3. Customs on the Northern Border
The road to wild Lumdyrbag plains turned out to be less difficult than the friends had expected. They started out by sailing down the Fela on a comfortable quadridera. River transportation in the Empire had long been established and widely used. All the way to the delta, both banks were settled densely with towns, villages and farmers’ carefully tended fields. As they approached Samran, the capital of the province of Iristenia, the banks grew wilder and more overgrown, and the river began to divide its waters into a multitude of tributaries. In the old times, bands of criminals and other outcasts had hidden entire villages here in the thick canebrakes, away from the eyes of imperial authorities. Now, the criminals owned lovely estates with elaborate staircases leading to their second-floor entrances, as was the local architectural tradition, and the descendants of the outcasts had given up their rebellious traditions and lazily gathered harvests of peaches and figs growing in the gardens of the delta’s new aristocracy.
Leaning against the ship’s side, Sorgius was rambling on about the Iristenian clans that were losing influence because of the arrogance of their leaders and their inflexibility in even the smallest matters, but Vordius was not really listening to him. He and Fenia were both standing on tiptoe and looking to the north. Their noses picked up the salty air of the Sea of Dragons wafting over the yellow houses of the city.
According to the history books, the sea got its name during the era of the Twelve Kingdoms because of the giant cheley fish – brightly colored sea monsters with huge, poisonous dorsal fins that inhabited it. The clever fishermen who managed to catch the scary-looking fish passed them off for enormous sums of money by claiming that they were sea dragons. Demand for the exotic fish eventually led to their extinction, except perhaps in the deepest part of the sea, but the name “Sea of Dragons” stuck. Some people still called it the Northern Waters, but unlike the Southern Waters (the Misty Sea), the Sea of Dragons was rarely crossed by bloated merchants, and the only military ships in the area were limited to a dozen patrol liburns – small fry by the standards of any real navy. The Sea of Dragons was isolated from the Great Ocean, and its shores were inhabited by barbarian peoples who rarely came to the attention of the Empire: Anshary in the west, who had lived there even before the arrival of the Torgs, Markutan in the north and Sotrays in the east. The southern coast and Untrasun, the only large island in the sea (which housed one of the Emperor’s most beautiful – and least visited – residences) belonged to Herandia. However, the guardsman and his friends were headed in an entirely different direction. Turning course to the east from Samran, the unwieldy merchant ship slowly bobbed up and down over the lazy waves, causing Sorgius to hang his head over the side from time to time.
“He’s not much of a merchant!” Fenia wrinkled her nose. She preferred to stand in front of the mast with her face to the wind. It whipped her red hair in all directions, but she did not even notice. The sailor whose job it was to keep an eye out for reefs and shallows hung around behind her. For some strange reason, he couldn’t get up the nerve to make her move.
“The sea is beautiful!” Vordius exclaimed in the voice of a false romantic. He pushed aside the sailor and took his place behind Fenia, standing so close that the top of her head hit his chin every time the boat rolled. “Is this your first time on a ship?”
“Yes,” Fenia answered dryly, closing her eyes.
“Look, a dolphin!” Vordius pressed on. Bending forward, he leaned against the nose of the ship, nearly crushing poor Fenia.
“Where?” she shouted, almost jumping for joy.
Vordius cursed and rubbed his nose.
“I’m sorry, did I get you with my head?” the young woman asked remorsefully.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, smiling to show that all was forgiven.
“Then move over. I’m going to go check on our Vuravian. He may need something,” she said and flitted away.
Vordius shook his dark curls. “Go ahead. Good riddance!”
Just then, the little sailor – who had finally regained his rightful spot – gave a shout. Vordius turned and saw the captain running forward.
“What’s he yelling about?”
“What do you mean?” the captain replied. “It’s Urbiv. We’ve arrived at our destination, Enel officer.”
“Is that possible?” Vordius was doubtful. “We’ve been at sea for less than a week.” He turned and examined the coastline. “Where is the dock?” There was none. The port was nothing but a few sad buildings sitting lopsided on a low beach.
“How will we moor?”
The captain shrugged. “It’s shallow here.”
“You mean we have to jump into the water?”
He heard a sigh in response. “That’s what we do.”
“Like a bunch of pirates.”
“I don’t know about that,” the captain said, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen any.”
“Lower the rowboat!”
“It’s full of holes.”
It was useless to argue. Irate, Vordius turned and made his way to the improvised tent at the stern to give his companions the news. To his great surprise, they took it philosophically. Fenia just chuckled at the thought of swimming to shore, and Sorgius was so seasick that he didn’t care.
When they looked over the side of the ship, they saw that the water was truly shallow enough for them to walk. The captain had skillfully brought the ship alongside a sandbar that acted as a natural jetty.
“Take him first,” said Fenia when the guardsman attempted to give her a hand. Muttering, Vordius threw Sorgius over his shoulder and carried him to shore like a nomad with a stolen bride.
“Don’t jostle me like that or I’ll throw up again!” Sorgius moaned. “I can’t stand the sight of all this water!”
Vordius stopped and turned his friend around, now carrying him like a bride who had agreed to the arrangement.
“How sweet!” Fenia waved from her perch riding piggy-back on the captain’s back. “Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding!”
Without a word, Vordius dropped Sorgius in the water and stomped off toward the shore.
The Vuravian stood up shakily and, rubbing his hip, shuffled after them.
“Don’t be offended. He’s just jealous,” said Fenia with a chuckle.
They received a less than hospitable welcome. Instead of a guard post or even a duty officer, they found a handful of men sitting between ramshackle buildings on the shore. The men were tied to each other with clumsily made wooden hobbles and were trying just as clumsily to get a fire going. A sheep bleated from inside a building somewhere nearby, and the air was heavy with the awful odor of animal skins.
“What is all this?” Vordius asked edgily.
One of the men seated on the ground looked up at the newcomers and slowly removed the wooden yoke from his neck. Then he stuck a piece of dried grass in his dirty mouth and began picking his teeth.
“What nonsense!” Vordius shook his head.
“Agreed,” Fenia declared. “The men are sitting on the ground while the sheep are inside.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Vordius said stiffly, trying to avoid the girl’s eyes.
“Slavery is against the law in the Empire,” Sorgius commented.
“Where did you read that, you silly man!” Fenia put a hand over her mouth, but they still heard her giggle.
“I’ll figure out what’s going on here,” Vordius muttered. He began to pick his way around the men seated on the ground. “No guards!” he said, as he watched where he put his feet.
“Why bother with guards?” asked Sorgius, who was skipping along to keep up with him. His seasickness had disappeared as quickly as it had come. “They can’t escape, what with the sea on one side and the wasteland on the other…”
Eventually, they found the guards house. They would have mistaken it for a stable if it hadn’t been for the symbol of the sun over the door.
“Anyone here?” Vordius called out as he bent over to enter the low door. He heard nothing but silence. After a while, their eyes got used to the dark and they saw a body sprawled lifelessly on a desk, covered with a blanket. Shaking his head, Vordius strode over and kicked the desk, which had had its legs shortened.
“Stand at attention and state your name!” he shouted.
Startled, Fenia grabbed Sorgius’ shoulder tightly with her fingernails.
“Ouch!” he whispered without taking his eyes off the show.
The body on the desk began to move slowly, like thick oil in a jug when it is carried, and eventually it sat up.
“Who’s here?” came the question in broken Herandian.
“Imperial inspector tencor Vordius Onato. With my entourage.”
“Oh my!” the body became somewhat animated. “Your papers, please.”
The civil servant opened Vordius’ papers and, without introducing himself, began to run his eyes over the mandate and the travel certificate.
“I wonder if he knows how to read?” Sorgius whispered to Fenia. “He looks to be at least half Sotray.”
“Looks good,” the man stated.
The man had a narrow face, like all Sotrays, but his nose fell short and its color indicated that he was a heavy drinker. Looking over his left shoulder, he said something in his own language. There was no response. Groaning, he stood up and hobbled through a doorway behind the desk and called out again.
This time, something happened. A skinny, dark-haired young man with a thin moustache and angry eyes appeared. The companions couldn’t exactly see his eyes in the half-dark, but they felt the electrical charge that entered the room with him, like a string about to pop.
“Follow him” the first man waved them away and lay back down on the desk.
“But what about…” Vordius tried to object, but he realized that the man had already reached the extent of his communication ability and his official powers. “Fine,” he drawled, and gestured for his friends to follow along with him.
The young man had left the building and was walking away from the sea, toward the wasteland. He paid no attention whatsoever to his Herandian guests.
“Hey! We need horses!” Sorgius cried, to no effect.
“Maybe he doesn’t speak Herandian? Fenia proposed. “We need to get our things. The sailors won’t guard them forever!”
The young Sotray turned suddenly. “Then go get them!” he barked.
“I can’t believe this!” Sorgius stared.
Vordius scowled and put a hand on his sword. “Stop right there!” he called out, quickening his pace.
The Sotray turned again and stared at him. Vordius was flabbergasted. He had never seen an underling behave this way before.
“Where do you get off being rude to us?” he said finally. “I’m an officer in the Imperial Guards.”
The Sotray stared him down and spat at his boots. “So what? You have a woman with you. Why do you want a free angyrs to carry your bags? I’m not a donkey.”
Vordius pulled himself up to his full height and boxed the man on the ear so hard that he flew back several paces.
“You have some nerve!” he growled, breathing heavily and trying not to show it. “No discipline whatsoever!”
The young Sotray had more surprises in store. Jumping up and shaking his head, he gave a guttural yell, grabbed a long dagger from his belt, and leaped at Vordius before the guardsman could draw his sword.
Sorgius let out a despairing wail – he was sure his friend would fall in the next instant with an awful stomach wound, followed rapidly by his own death.
But once again, fate showed them all that it could juggle their lives indefinitely. The Sotray, his hand raised to strike, stumbled – although there was nothing he could have stumbled over – and fell face-first at their feet. Vordius finally drew his sword, but it was unnecessary: a brand-new arrow protruded from between the shoulder blades of the discourteous son of the wilderness.

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