tunicked palace guards, and the rest were in rags.
Sterren saw to his horror that the ragged ones were in chains. Most of them looked resigned, but two or three looked terrified.
“Hai,” he called, “What going on?”
The foremost guard saw him, acknowledged his presence with a bow, and called back one word.
Sterren did not catch it; the guard’s accent distorted his Ethsharitic beyond easy comprehension.
“What?” Sterren called back.
“Slaves!” the soldiers repeated. “We bring slaves!”
“What for?” Sterren asked, as he and the guard approached each other.
The guard spread his hands in the Ksinallionese equivalent of a shrug. “The Great Vond ordered,” he said.
“Where did these people come from?” Sterren persisted.
The guard hesitated; clearly, his Ethsharitic was not very good. “We go to Akalla, buy them, bring them back,” he explained slowly.
Sterren stopped and stepped aside as the party marched up past him. He watched them go without interfering.
At least they had been slaves already, and not innocent peasants Vond had had enslaved.
In fact, he supposed that it was perfectly reasonable for Vond to keep slaves, but Sterren found it a little hard to accept. For most of his life he had been far more likely to deal with slavers as merchandise than as a customer. He had never quite been reduced to sleeping on the city streets, which would have made him fair game for the slavers, and he had never been caught stealing, which could also put cuffs on a person, but those had always been closer than the sort of wealth that would include buying anyone.
He had known a few slaves, either before or after their enslavement. He had never exchanged more than a few polite words with a slave-owner, except Vond. Or, he suddenly realized, perhaps King Phenvel; some of his castle servants might well be owned, rather than hired. He watched the slaves march into the palace. Vond was buying slaves and acquiring a harem. Was this necessarily tyranny? After all, he bought his slaves on the market, and his chosen concubines were there voluntarily.
No, Sterren decided, it wasn’t tyranny, but it wasn’t a good sign, either.
CHAPTER 33
Vond conquered Thanoria on the sixteenth of Green-growth, 5221. He took a sixnight or so to consolidate his conquest this time, taking care of details he had been rather haphazard about in dealing with Semma, Ksinallion, and Ophkar. He arranged for taxes to be paid into his imperial treasury, appointed provincial officials from the former royal government, selected candidates for his harem, and so forth.
That done, he conquered Skaia on the twenty-fourth.
Enmurinon went next, on the third of Longdays, followed by Akalla of the Diamond on the fourteenth. He took special care there, due to the presence of the port, and inquired after recent arrivals, hoping for word of immigrating warlocks.
He was disappointed by the replies he received, and on the nineteenth he returned to his palace in a foul temper.
He concentrated on other affairs for several days after that, building roads, tenements, and market halls, getting acquainted with his new concubines, and dealing with his subjects.
Rather to his surprise, he found that he did not enjoy actually ruling his empire. Settling disputes, administering justice, appointing officials, and the other traditional duties of royalty were dull and time-consuming, and provided no opportunity for him to display his magic.
Sterren had been expecting this realization. He had long ago concluded that kings were no happier than anybody else. Furthermore, he had noticed that for some time now, Vond had only seemed really comfortable and alert when using huge amounts of magic, as if warlockry were an addictive drug. When the warlock finally confessed his disappointment, late one night in a quiet torchlit arcade overlooking the palace courtyard, Sterren simply nodded and agreed, without comment. “You don’t seem surprised,” Vond said, irritably.
“I’m not,” Sterren said. “I never thought ruling looked like much fun.”
The warlock settled more deeply into the sling chair he sat upon. “It isn’t,” he growled, “but it should be.”
“Why?” Sterren asked.
“Because I want it to be,” Vond snapped.
Sterren made no reply.
After a moment of disgruntled silence, Vond said, “I just won’t do it any more.”
“Won’t do what?”
“I won’t deal with all these petty details, who owns what, how to punish this thief or reward that soldier, where to put the roads, how to collect the taxes, how much coin to mint, I won’t do it.”
“Someone has to,” Sterren pointed out, “or your empire will fall apart.”
“I don’t have to. You do. You’re my chancellor, aren’t you? I just decided what that means, it’s your job to take care of anything I don’t want to be bothered with.” Vond smiled an unusually unpleasant smile. “I’ll announce it in the morning; you’ll be in charge of the administration of the empire. I’ll take care of what I’m good at, building and conquest.”
Sterren had hoped and feared this might happen. After all, he was the only person Vond trusted. To all the native inhabitants of his empire, the warlock was something of a monster, alien and inhumanly powerful, conquering entire kingdoms in a single day; none of them could speak to him without fear, and he dealt with them, in general, with contempt. Besides, very few were really fluent in Ethsharitic, and Vond had not yet bothered to learn any other tongues. Warlockry, unlike witchcraft, did nothing at all to enhance his linguistic abilities. Warlockry was a purely physical sort of magic; it could not teach.
The other magicians were less contemptible than the ordinary citizens, but still did not provide very good company for the new emperor. From the start, both Annara and Ederd had held back visibly, refusing to speak openly with Vond, and he had noticed this reticence. Agor’s Ethsharitic was an impediment, and his eccentric behavior, cultivated since childhood to add to an aura of mystery, was another.
That left Sterren as Vond’s only friend, the only person he could talk with as one human to another, and despite Vond’s denials, Sterren was quite sure that the warlock was miserably lonely.
He had expected other warlocks to come and join him, and was growing ever more confused and dismayed at their failure to materialize. This drove him, more and more, to talk away long hours with Sterren.
Sterren was no warlock; he was unnaturally lucky with dice, but otherwise could barely stir a cat’s whisker with his magic. Still, he had known Vond when Vond was powerless, he knew something about how warlockry functioned, and he was not cowed by the imperial might. That made him an invaluable companion.
And Sterren had guessed that it might in time make him Vond’s partner in empire, as well.
Now that that guess had come true, he was ready. This was an opportunity far too good to miss. He could do far more to prevent tyranny if he were himself involved in governing.
He had seen, over the last few months, that Vond’s decisions, as emperor, tended to be quick and careless. He did not concern himself with right or wrong, with what would be best for those involved, but only with what was most expedient, what would settle matters most quickly, rather than most equitably.
Now he could change that.
He had no illusions about his own governing ability, however. He knew himself well enough to suspect that he, too, would opt for expediency after a few boring days.
“I’ll accent that on one condition,” he said.
Vond looked at him sharply. “Who are you, to be setting conditions?” he demanded.
“I’m your Lord Chancellor, your Imperial Majesty,” Sterren replied mildly.
Vond could hardly deny that, but he was not so easily soothed. “What condition?” he demanded.
“That I may delegate my authority as I please,” Sterren said, “Because as I said, I never thought ruling
