gates, back into the realm of taverns and guildhouses along the waterfront, the emperor accepted cheers from veteran soldiers, spoke kindly to women and children, complimented laborers and nobles alike on their work, their accomplishments, even their manners and dress.
At the intersections of the city’s great avenues, he found crowds of people gathered, for the heralds had gone out before him and were busy making it known to all that the emperor had issued a decree. Jaymes did not stop and listen to the heralds-he knew what they were saying-but instead he watched the people, studying their reaction to his words.
“The emperor and his Legion of Palanthas march to bring the insurrection at Vingaard Keep to an end!” the heralds proclaimed, reading from scripted scrolls at twelve different locations in the city. They repeated the message every hour of the day, so every citizen who was interested had a chance to be informed.
“Those who challenge the lawful authority of the New Council and the Solamnic Senate are nothing more than outlaws, and they shall be dealt with as such! Lord Kerrigan of Vingaard has refused to obey the lawful orders of his liege. The New Army of Solamnia, under the command of Emperor Markham, goes to administer the lesson in a manner that shall make His Excellency’s determination apparent to all!”
Some citizens muttered at the words, while others cheered, but all took note. And if the people who heard the news looked at him askance, Jaymes did not care. What was important was that they looked at him, saw him, knew him-and recognized his authority.
Perhaps he felt an occasional longing for the simpler life of a warrior. He spotted a dwarf at a waterfront inn who reminded him of his old trail mate Dram Feldspar, and the emperor had to suppress a desire to dismount, enter the tavern, and have a drink with the fellow. But that, he could not- would not-do. He was of the people no longer; they must come to see he was above them.
The first years of leadership had taken their toll on him in ways that could be detected even by a casual observer. Though he was not yet forty, his once-black hair was flecked with gray along the sideburns. His neatly trimmed beard was shot through with light hairs, giving the impression that it was crusted with salt. Crinkles of age ran from the corners of his eyes-the proof of too little sleep, of a host of problems that could never be completely solved.
Still, he rode straight and proud in his saddle, his strong features inspiring confidence in the men, his rugged handsomeness bringing flutters to the hearts of the women. His chest encased in black armor, with the mighty sword Giantsmiter hanging at his side, he cut a dramatic figure. Sergeant Ian carried his unique banner, the white field with the combined golden images of Crown and Sword and Rose, and the people understood that he was the Lord of No Sign and of All.
Reaching the waterfront at last, he and Sergeant Ian dismounted. The stevedores and sailors stood back in awe as he made his way to a massive trading vessel, the Star of Mithas, which had arrived in port just the previous day. Her owner and master was a minotaur of that eastern land, a towering bull named Horth Bearslayer. A new policy of the emperor’s had allowed minotaurs access to the Palanthian docks-subject to high tariffs and tight regulation-and the ship’s captain knew a benefactor when he saw one. He made a great show of welcoming the master of Solamnia to his own seafaring domain.
Horth Bearslayer covered his gangplank with red velvet and greeted the emperor with a formal bow-an honorific no minotaur offers casually.
“I am grateful for the chance to trade in these waters, Excellency,” the minotaur said solemnly. “The wisdom of the emperor is shown in the freedom he grants his merchants.”
“The success of the merchant is the pride of an empire,” Jaymes replied. He spent a short time touring the vessel, which was huge and tall, with a hull made from logs as big around as an ogre’s waist, and pronounced himself pleased. When he departed, the minotaur captain was beaming, and the people watching from the docks whispered that even greater prosperity lay in the near future.
On the way back to his palace, the emperor made one more stop: he climbed the steps of the great library on foot and was met at the door by one of the elder Aesthetics, a man named Pastorian.
“How can we serve the master of all Solamnia?” the Aesthetic asked with a low bow.
“I want to know more about the minotaurs,” said Jaymes. “What are their numbers and locations? I desire a complete order of battle of all of their troop formations on Ansalon and estimates as to reserves on their homelands. I want to know who their rulers are, how old they are, who will succeed them.”
“I understand, Excellency,” Pastorian replied with another bow. “I shall set my researchers on the task at once. Naturally, the information will take some time to collect.”
“That’s fine. You have the rest of the summer and the autumn to make your report. I would like to read your findings by the time of Yule-something to while away the winter nights.”
“Of course, Excellency.”
If the Aesthetic blanched a bit at the task and accompanying deadline, he could be forgiven. Given the widespread activities of the minotaurs since the conclusion of the War of Souls, the assignment was indeed daunting. They were known to be at war on the mainland, and they ruled the eastern seas with their mighty ships. The greatest efforts of the Aesthetics staffing the library would of necessity be devoted to the imperial commission. The true calling of the order, which was the recording of the day-by-day history of Krynn, would have to be diverted and delayed.
But Pastorian, too, had seen the emperor in action, and in that, as in all, the emperor would be obeyed.
Jaymes knocked on the entrance to his wife’s suite of rooms, high up in one of the great towers of his palace. She opened the door quickly, saw him, and turned and walked back into the room. He entered, closed the door behind himself, and approached her. When he put a hand on her shoulder, she turned and looked at him.
Her face was expressionless, but he noted suspicion-or was it fear-in her eyes. For a brief moment, he longed for the warmth, the unquestioned love, he had once glimpsed there. That was gone most of the time, and he knew it was folly to try to get it back.
Selinda was gazing out the window. She gestured at the great army column, already outside the city gates, lined up on the road, waiting for its commander.
“So you’re really going?” she asked. “Marching on Vingaard Keep?”
“I have to,” he replied. “Lord Kerrigan leaves me no choice.”
She spun around, glaring at him. “I thought your plan was to unite Solamnia? Forge one nation? Yet now you’re breaking it apart!”
“You don’t understand,” he said calmly, while wishing devoutly that she did. “Unity requires sacrifice, so the parts will make the whole stronger. Kerrigan will not accept that essential truth. His realm was spared the scourge of Ankhar’s war. Now Vingaard needs to make up the difference, give us men for my army, steel for the nation’s treasury. He absolutely has refused to do either.”
“And you are the new ruler of the nation. You’ve been emperor for less than a year, and you can’t let this refusal go unchallenged.”
Her sarcastic tone was lost on him. Instead he nodded, feeling a swelling of relief. Perhaps she did understand! She turned her back and walked to the high windows, the beautiful clear panes of glass that allowed her to look out over her city like a goddess viewing the world from atop a cloud. She had everything she needed in there; he had worked hard to make the rooms suitable for her.
He walked up behind her, leaning forward to inhale the sweet smell of her hair. Long and as bright as spun gold, her hair was a vital part of her beauty. His right hand caressed the curve of her hip, and he felt a swelling of affection and of proprietary pride. “You are still the most beautiful woman in all Solamnia,” he said, “and so precious to me.”
She didn’t turn, didn’t respond with the tender sigh that, a year earlier, would have been followed by a swoon into his arms. When she spoke, her words were controlled and aimed like darts at the window.
“I am a person, like any other. I wonder sometimes that I should be here simply because you find me beautiful.”
“Why should that make you wonder?” His left hand found her other hip; he moved close behind her.
“I wonder if it was ever my beauty that attracted you. Or was it the fact my father is lord regent, that he controlled the treasury of Palanthas-and of all Solamnia?”
He shrugged, giving no indication of offense. “It was a useful circumstance, true. But did you not come willingly into my arms? We chose each other, don’t you remember?”
Finally she turned to stare at him with pain in her eyes. “Then why are things so different now? Why do I feel
