exist, becoming instead the Capital Province of the Empire of Vond.
CHAPTER 31
By the first of Greengrowth in the year 5221 Vond’s palace was complete, furnished inside and out. The streets of his capital were laid out and paved. His new courtiers, recruited from his three provinces, could all hold a simple conversation in Ethsharitic and were teaching the tongue to others.
Sterren of Semma, once Sterren of Ethshar, was now Lord Chancellor of the Empire of Vond.
His reaction to Vond’s announcement of this honor had been, “What’s a chancellor?”
Vond had shrugged. “Whatever you like. I don’t need a warlord, since I do my own fighting, and that Ophkarite warlord is in charge of my guards, but I wanted to keep you around the palace, so you needed a title. That was the vaguest high title I could think of. Make of it what you will.”
Sterren had kept it vague. His primary duty, he knew, was to provide someone Vond could speak to freely. Beyond that, he set himself no definite duties, but managed to imply that he was Vond’s second in command, an implication the warlock supported.
Despite his new title, he still maintained his quarters in the tower of Semma Castle, as well as in the new citadel, and had managed to retain command of what had been the Semman army. His men, or at any rate those who had not gone over to the citadel to sign up with the Palace Guard, were now the Chancellor’s Guard.
All three of his officers had resigned, at different times and giving different reasons. Captain Arl had submitted his resignation two days after Vond’s storm had routed the invading armies; that had been the earliest he had been able to speak to Sterren. He had done so on the grounds that his men had been inadequately prepared for battle, which meant he had failed in his duties.
Sterren suspected that Arl had expected to be asked to stay on, but he had accepted the resignation. Arl had failed in his duties. Besides, Sterren preferred not to have his great-uncle’s officers around.
Captain Shemder had resigned when King Phenvel surrendered, refusing to serve a foreign sovereign.
Lord Anduron had finally resigned when Sterren accepted the title of chancellor, saying he no longer understood what his position was supposed to be.
Sterren had named Dogal and Alder as his aides and lieutenants, but did not replace his captains.
His soldiers seemed to accept the new order, and Sterren’s place in it, readily enough. The Semman nobility were another matter. When Sterren encountered any of them in the corridors of the castle he was usually snubbed, or presented with a ferocious glare. Phenvel’s son Dereth, no longer a prince, spat on Sterren’s best tunic. Shirrin, upon seeing him, invariably broke into tears and ran, she obviously felt her hero had betrayed her. Nissitha sneered, but then, she always had. Even Lura seemed subdued and told him, “I’m not supposed to like you any more, but I don’t really see why.”
Sterren caught whispers in the hallways, whispers he thought he was meant to overhear, whispers containing words like “traitor,” “barbarian,” and “coward.” Mutters about his unfortunate ancestry, three-fourths Ethsharitic, were common. “Money-grubbing merchant’s brat!” was one epithet he encountered often. “Blood will tell” was another favorite.
Sterren did not let any of this bother him. He had chosen his path and he was committed to it. The only things that bothered him were Shirrin’s tears, and he thought that if he could manage a moment alone with her, he would explain to her why he was doing what he was doing. She was a very pretty girl, after all, and just turned fourteen, not that much younger than he was himself.
But no opportunity to explain himself to her ever came along.
Every so often Sterren wondered why he didn’t just leave and go home to Ethshar, but he always arrived at the same answer. He had brought Vond here, so he was partly responsible for him. He was the only one in Semma except Vond himself who knew anything about warlockry, which meant that he was the only one who could see and understand everything that was happening.
And he also thought he was a restraining influence on Vond. The warlock had no other friends or confidants at all. Besides, now that he was no longer the warlord, there was no great hurry about getting out of Semma, and there were clearly historical events happening that were interesting to observe.
Actually, life in Semma and even in Semma Castle had not really changed that much at all. Most of the nobles still lived in the castle, undisturbed; a few had slipped away, but the majority remained, still more or less acknowledging Phenvel’s authority. Admittedly, about a fourth of the servants had deserted them to work at the palace, but that did little more than reduce the crowding somewhat. For most of the castle’s inhabitants, life coasted on, and they tried very hard to ignore the warlock and his palace.
Sterren noticed that peasants no longer came to the castle much. No taxes were paid to King Phenvel any more, and the castle’s stores were being consumed but not replaced, taxes were now going to the warlock’s citadel. This did not affect Sterren directly, since he was welcome at Vond’s table, but it did not bode well for the other nobles.
Those few of the bolder aristocrats who departed had accepted that their old way of life was doomed and had gone looking for greener pastures, “visiting” relatives in other kingdoms, or simply seeking their fortunes, like so many failed apprentices.
The nobles who lingered all seemed to think that matters would somehow right themselves, and everything would go back to what it had been before, with Phenvel once more uncontested ruler of Semma, but none of them seemed to have any idea how this would come about, and none of them, so far as Sterren could see, were doing anything to help it along.
He was helping it along, at least slightly, but he did not dare explain that; instead he put up with being labeled a traitor. He was not entirely sure that in a sense, he might not be betraying Semma by working toward Vond’s downfall. After all, for the peasants, all the changes were for the better. Vond controlled the weather and regulated the climate to an unheard-of evenness of temperament. Rain came when needed, usually at night, and never more than needed. When days threatened to grow uncomfortably cool the clouds would be forcibly scattered, and when the sun was hot clouds would gather. As a result, the spring planting was begun earlier than usual, and the fields were already turning green.
Vond had promised that roads and houses would be built once the palace was no longer occupying his time and energy. The peasants Sterren had spoken to all agreed that this would be wonderful, but he thought they didn’t really believe it would ever happen. They were accustomed to empty promises from their rulers.
Somehow, this bothered Sterren far more than the hatred of the dispossessed nobles. He knew that Vond sincerely intended to carry through on his promises — not so much out of altruism as to enhance his own position. The ruler of a rich land accrues more power and glory than the ruler of a poor one, and the warlock knew that well.
But Sterren also knew that Vond might not have time to make his promises good.
He sat in the tower room the warlock had given him, staring out the window at the palace sprawling below him, and wondered what he should do.
He had encouraged Vond to build his citadel as lavishly as possible, big and elaborate throughout, and created entirely with magic. Not a single stone had been lifted into place by human muscle; even the carpets and tapestries, although woven by hand, had been delivered and laid or hung by warlockry. Sterren had steadily urged Vond to use as much power as possible, not that he had needed much urging. Warlockry was like a drug; the more Vond used, the more he could use, and the more he wanted to use.
And somehow, he did not see what the inevitable outcome of this would be.
Sterren thought that he, ignorant as he was of warlockry, knew what was going to happen to Vond better than Vond did himself. The warlock was having too much fun with his magic to see that in time, the Calling would find him even in Semma.
Sterren stared down at the citadel and wondered whether he should warn him. Now that the palace was complete, Vond might not throw his power around so freely.
That brought up the question, of course, of what he would do.
Well, Sterren told himself, he could hardly learn anything about Vond’s plans sitting in his room. He headed for the door. He had intended to go all the way down to the warlock’s audience chamber, but halfway down
