commoner like me as your emperor?”
Lady Kalira started to say something, but Vond held up his hand to stop her.
Sterren wondered suddenly just what sort of whispers Vond had actually been hearing. Was it whispered rumors that had upset him, or was there another sort of whisper entirely that was getting on his nerves?
Then he forgot about that, as Vond turned and addressed him directly. “So, my lord chancellor, why is it you chose only the old nobility for your council?”
The question itself was easy to answer, so easy that Sterren wondered what Vond was really after.
“Because, Your Majesty,” Sterren said, “no one else in your empire has had any training or experience in governing.”
“And you did not see fit to train them?”
“No, Your Majesty, I didn’t; I was trying to set up something to handle governing now, not at some indefinite future time. Besides, I don’t know any more about governing or training peasants to govern than you do.”
“It wouldn’t have to be peasants; couldn’t you find merchants or tradesmen? Running a country can’t be that different from running a business.”
Sterren had some serious doubts about Vond’s statement, but he ignored it and answered the question. “I didn’t try to find tradesmen, because I didn’t see anything wrong with using nobles who already know the job. Besides, there aren’t that many tradesmen around here; it’s not exactly Ethshar. I mean, in Semma, they had a Lord Trader, how much of a merchant class could there be, in a case like that?”
“You didn’t see anything wrong with using the nobles I threw out of power?”
“No, I didn’t!” Sterren answered. “What are they going to do? You’d kill anyone who got out of line, and they know it.” He gestured at the councillors, reminding Vond that they were listening.
“They could stir up discontent,” the warlock suggested.
“Why should they? Listen, Vond, I don’t think you appreciate what these people have done here. I picked the most competent people I could, without worrying about where they came from. Each of them agreed to help run the empire because they could see that it was here to stay; and each one of them was labeled a traitor by his friends and family because of that! They put up with that because they want to see their people, nobles, peasants, merchants, everybody, ruled fairly and well. If your empire ever did fall, and the old kingdoms were restored, they’d probably all be hanged for treason for having helped you!”
“You think so?” Vond said, his expression unreadable.
“Yes, I think so!” Sterren snapped.
At that point Ildirin entered quietly, bearing a tray that held a full decanter and a dozen wineglasses. He proceeded around the edge of the room to the emperor, who court etiquette required be served first.
“And I don’t suppose,” Vond said, “that you might be trying to put the nobility back in power, leaving me just a figurehead!”
“Why would I want to do that?” Sterren asked, genuinely puzzled.
Vond accepted a glass of wine. “Because you’re a noble yourself, of course, Sterren, Ninth Warlord!” He drank.
Sterren’s mouth fell open in astonishment. One of the councillors giggled, then quickly suppressed it. Ildirin silently poured wine.
“Me?” Sterren said at last. “I’m an Ethsharitic merchant’s brat! I’m no noble; my grandmother ran away from home, and I don’t give a damn who her father and brother were. I’m no more a part of the old nobility here than you are!”
Vond’s expression stopped him, and he corrected himself, “Well, not much more. I didn’t know I had any noble blood.” He glanced at the councillors and said, “Besides if I were trying to restore the old nobility, wouldn’t I have put kings and princes on the council, instead of these people?”
“Kings would be a little obvious,” Vond pointed out, “and you did put a few princes in here, didn’t you?”
“I did?” Sterren looked at the councillors again and recognized Prince Ferral of Enmurinon.
“Oh,” he said. Defensively, he added, “Only one. Out of seven.”
“So far,” Vond said.
Ildirin had served all the councillors, now, and approached Sterren with a filled glass. He waved it away; it appeared he needed his head clear if he was going to keep it.
“So far,” Sterren said, “and forever, I don’t choose new councillors; I don’t know who can handle the job and who can’t. I let each councillor choose his own successor.”
Ildirin, still holding the glass he had intended for Sterren, looked around the room and noticed that the emperor’s glass was empty. He stepped back and started gliding silently along the wall, back toward Vond’s place at the head of the table.
“Oh, I see!” the warlock said, sneering, “You won’t put any kings on the council, but if these seven name kings as their heirs, then retire, there’s nothing you can do to stop it!”
“Don’t be silly,” Sterren said, and he heard someone gasp quietly at his audacity in addressing the warlock emperor thus. “The Imperial Council serves at my pleasure, as well as yours, your Majesty. I can dismiss any councillor any time I please. So can you, just as you can dismiss me as your chancellor. And I assure you, I’d dismiss any king or queen, and probably whatever fool named him as heir.”
“Ah, you would? Why?”
“Because we don’t want the old royalty back in power. We don’t want one councillor, by virtue of his former station, to perhaps sway the rest of the council unduly. We don’t want to confuse the peasants by restoring a king to any semblance of authority.”
“That’s right,” Vond said, accepting the full wineglass from Ildirin. “We don’t want any of that. I’m sure the peasants resent me, consider me a usurper...”
Algarven, once royal steward of Semma, coughed suddenly, choking on a sip of wine. Vond turned to glare at him between sips from his own fresh glass.
“Excuse me, your Majesty,” Algarven said, as soon as he could breathe and talk again, “but the peasants... why would you think the peasants resent you?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Vond’s face.
“I’ve overthrown their kings,” he said.
“Forgive me, your Majesty,” said Berakon Gerath’s son, once royal treasurer of Akalla of the Diamond, “but so what? What did the old kings ever do for the peasantry? You’ve built roads and houses, put an end to wars, and even done what seemed impossible and regulated the weather. With all this, your taxes are no higher than the old. Believe me, your Majesty, the peasants don’t mind at all that you’ve replaced the old kings, though they do worry a bit about the inevitable price for this bounty.”
Vond handed his empty glass to Ildirin, who struggled a moment to balance everything on the tray before he could accept it. Vond threw him an annoyed glance.
“All right,” Vond said. “Forget the peasants. You say nobody here wants the old kings restored, but you have a prince on the council; what happens when his father dies?”
“Your Majesty,” Prince Ferral said quietly, “my father has been dead for five years now. You deposed my elder brother, not my father.”
“All right, then,” Vond said, as Ildirin fumbled with the decanter, “what happens when your brother dies?”
“Nothing much, your Majesty. He has children and other brothers older than myself. I am eighth in the line of succession.”
Vond glared and reached for a glass of wine just as Ildirin started to hand him one. Their arms collided, and the wine spilled down the emperor’s chest, staining the golden embroidery on his black robe an ugly shade of red.
The warlock stared down at the spill for an instant, then shrieked, “You idiot!” He waved an arm, and Ildirin was flung hard against the marble wall. The crack as his spine broke was clearly audible to everyone in the room. Vond waved again, and the servant’s head was crushed, the bones shattered, leaving the skin a limp sack. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth as he died. The corpse fell heavily to the floor and lay in a pool of gore.
Sterren and the councillors stared in shocked silence.
