The Tyrant

Epilogue

Demansk, leaning on the balustrade, admired the sunset. In the three years since he'd transferred his capital-in practice, if not in legal theory-to the new city he was having built on the isthmus, he'd come to appreciate the place more. The weather was still too hot and muggy for his tastes, but the sunsets were frequently gorgeous. Granted, he'd been able to enjoy the sight of the sun setting over the ocean on his old estate. But the typically clear skies there didn't produce the same magnificent color patterns.

Hearing someone padding up behind him, Demansk shifted the weight on his elbows and craned his head around.

It was Thicelt, not to his surprise. The big Islander was Demansk's only close associate who actually "padded" when he walked. The old habits of a robber, Demansk wryly suspected.

"So?" demanded Sharlz, waving a hand at the sunset. "Have you finally become reconciled to admiring sunsets instead of sunrises?"

Demansk smiled. He'd still have preferred founding this city on the eastern side of the isthmus. But… that would be a little too near the Reedbottoms. Here, the Confederacy was close enough to crush them if necessary, not so close that the Reedbottoms could overwhelm the new capital with a sudden attack.

He left all that unsaid, however. Thicelt's words, though the admiral had not intended them to do so, gave Demansk the opening he needed.

"As it happens, 'sunsets and sunrises' are the reason I summoned you all here."

Thicelt's face grew still then, even solemn. "Ah." He glanced at Demansk's oldest son-oldest living son-who was seated at the huge table on the balcony, chatting amiably with his sister. Helga had the third of her children, a baby girl, perched in her lap.

"Ah," he repeated. "Have you discussed the matter with Olver?"

Demansk was pleased, even delighted, to see that Thicelt's quick wits had not slowed down any since he'd seen him last. Sharlz had been gone for over a year. At Demansk's command, Thicelt had led a fleet on a circumnavigation of the entire continent.

A very slow voyage, that had been. Thicelt had spent considerable time in every significant port. Laying over to take on provisions and allow his crews shore leave, officially. In reality, to drive home-none too subtly-the immense power at the disposal of the new regime of the Confederacy.

He'd also, of course, taken the opportunity to crush every nest of pirates along the way. And-this had been the most time-consuming part of his expedition-he had founded no less than nine new cities at strategic places he'd selected as he went. Two of them on the western coast of the southern continent; five along its southern coast; and two more on the small new archipelago he'd discovered a few hundred miles off the east coast.

Again, being none too subtle. All of them had been given the name of "Demansk," in one variety or another. Sharlz had used local dialects-Demansk City; Demanskburg; Demanskville; Demansk Town-everywhere except in the new archipelago, which was uninhabited. There, founding the two new cities which would stare down the Reedbottoms, Thicelt had eschewed subtlety altogether. He'd simply called one city "Demansk" and the other… "Demansk Too." The pun didn't work in the language of the Confederacy, but it did in the tongue of the Reedbottoms-for whom the word "also" was a homonym for "two."

So, Thicelt had been gone during the entire period when Demansk had slowly come to the decision he would implement today. Had never exchanged so much as a single word on the subject with his ruler and sovereign-in-all-but-name. Still, he'd understood immediately, simply by a subtle reference to "sunsets and sunrises."

Gods, I've missed him. Especially now, when I can relax enough-I think-to enjoy a simple friendship.

"You'll be stationed here for quite a while, in the next period," Demansk mused. "Come visit, will you, Sharlz?"

Thicelt eyed him for a moment. Then, obviously realizing that this was a friend's request and not a tyrant's command, simply nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Verice. Although…"

Demansk chuckled. "Yes, yes. I can well imagine that organizing a circumnavigation of the entire globe will consume much of your time. Most of it, even though the expedition is still at least two years off."

He swiveled his head and studied Olver. "Yes, I've spoken to him. Quite some time ago, in fact-he was the first one I approached." Firmly: "There'll be no problem."

Thicelt rubbed his nose. "Didn't expect there would be. Olver's… ah, what's the word?"

For a moment, Demansk's face grew stiff. It still hurt, even after three years. "The opposite of Barrett, we can say."

Thicelt gave his head a little shake. "That's simply a negation, Verice. Unfair to both sons, truth be told, Olver even more than Barrett. Olver is… steady. To the point of saintliness, I sometimes think. He'd have made a good priest for Jassine."

Demansk barked a laugh. "Please! Do not mention that around Arsule. She gives me enough grief as it is on the subject of her favorite project."

He cast a sour glance toward the city on his left. There, in the very middle of it, the gigantic temple of the cult of Jassine was rising.

Still rising. Demansk was beginning to entertain dark suspicions that Arsule intended to keep the construction going until the peak of the temple overtopped even Demansk's palace-which had the head start of being perched on a bluff overlooking the city.

Thicelt cleared his throat. "Speaking of your gracious wife, are you-"

"She'll be allowed out of seclusion for the evening," growled Demansk. His eyes ranged the walls surrounding the palace, much as a general's survey an army camp. "No more, though. I don't dare let her out of her quarters onto the grounds itself for longer than that. Not unsupervised-and except for me, I can't trust anyone to keep an eye on her. The last time I let her onto the grounds, she and her damned priests started communicating with mirrors."

Thicelt started chuckling heavily. "Oh, Verice-give it up. Especially with Trae here for-what's it going to be? three months? — you don't have a chance. The boy dotes on his stepmother, you know he does. You think Trae can't figure out something which will undo all your strenuous efforts to keep her under control?"

Thicelt cleared his throat. "Have I mentioned Trae's latest enthusiasm? Something he got from Adrian during your son-in-law's last visit to Chalice. I don't really understand the principles that well, but here's…"

A few minutes later, Demansk was scowling at a sunset whose colors he no longer found splendid in the least.

Darkness, darkness, everywhere.

Radio?!

When Arsule made her entrance, however, just in time for the feast which was being prepared on the balcony, Demansk found his gloom lifting. Despite himself, Arsule always had that effect on him. Especially when her dark eyes sparkled so, as she gave him a sultry glance.

Whenever Demansk imposed his authority over her-which happened at least twice a year-Arsule immediately retaliated by locking the doors to her private quarters. Demansk could, of course, have ordered those doors broken down by his soldiery. But… leaving aside everything else, that would be so undignified.

Besides-also predictably-the doors never stayed locked for more than a few weeks. No matter how often they clashed, the fact was that Arsule and Demansk had grown very intimate over the past three years. As intimate, he would now admit even to himself-more intimate, in some ways-as he had ever been with Druzla. And…

The feast was starting. The Paramount Triumvir, master of the world, took his seat next to his wife at the head of the huge table. In every aspect, from his stern visage to his ponderous way of moving, he exuded the dignity one expects from such an august personage. All of which was actually quite at odds with the thought uppermost in his mind.

I'm getting laid tonight.

Under the table, unseen by anyone because of the rich cloth spilling over the edge, Arsule's slim fingers stroked his inner thigh.

Oh, yes indeed.

When the meal was finished, Demansk rose. Silence fell over the table. He gave the crowd gathered there a long and slow examination.

All my family.

His eyes fell on a slim and very pretty blonde young woman, seated not far down the table to his left. She was erect in her chair, very stiff, and looked nervous. Not surprising, of course, since it was the first time she had ever participated in such an affair.

Kata too, now that Arsule finally got the adoption through the bureaucratic maze. His lips quirked a little. He had no doubt at all that Arsule's present warmth was due to the adoption. Demansk himself, at the end, had settled the issue. Amazing, really, what the banishment of one obstreperous official to a remote post had on the efficiency of all others.

There was some sadness, seeing Kata at the table. It reminded him of Ion, whom he was coming to miss all the more as time went by. But not much. Whatever else, Demansk would be able to face Jeschonyk's shade in the afterlife.

Close advisers, most of them. Many of them, I think, now friends as well. Hard to tell, of course, with any except Sharlz.

Prit was there, naturally. As the highest financial official of the Confederacy, Sallivar was resident in the new capital.

So were Forent Nappur and Jessep Yunkers, who were also sitting at the table. Demansk would allow the Council at Vanbert to retain their illusions of still being the "seat of power." His son Olver, who now resided in Vanbert, was always present at the Council to give his father's view on things. And while Olver had come to this gathering, Kall Oppricht had remained behind. To keep on eye on things, so to speak.

More to the point, Enry Sharbonow was there with him, really keeping an eye on things.

But when it came to the two real sources of Demansk's power-money and the assegais of his regiments-there would be no pretense. As the Emeralds would say, the Form of power remained in Vanbert. The Substance… elsewhere.

Demansk's eyes ranged all the way down the long table on the balcony of the palace-the size of a galley on the ocean-taking note of all the officials and notables gathered for the occasion. Their faces were quite well illuminated by the new gas lamps which Adrian had designed and which had first been introduced, outside of Adrian's own palace in Solinga, in Demansk's new capital.

It was… impressive.

He had everyone's attention. It was time to do the thing. And, now that it was, Demansk was immensely relieved to recognize the emotion that swept through him.

Relief itself. I have not gone mad, after all.

"It is time to make a change," he said. Loud enough to be heard easily, but eschewing all traditional histrionics. In that, too, he had created a new style of rulership. Demansk was tired of drama.

"I am nearing sixty." He gave his belly a little pat. Rather a self-satisfied one, truth be told. There still wasn't much fat there. Despite his sedentary existence, Demansk maintained enough of his old exercise regimen to stay in good shape. Arsule certainly Feeling the heat building in his loins, Demansk pushed the idle thought aside. The official robes of office he was wearing were lightweight, as was necessary in the climate of the isthmus. An erection would be quite noticeable, to those seated nearby, and not even Demansk's new style of public rhetoric was that informal.

So, he pushed on firmly to the subject at hand. "Time, in short, for me to start thinking of retirement."

A little stir went around the table. Not much of one, however. Although few of the people at the table had discussed the matter explicitly with Demansk-only four, really; Demansk's own children-he hadn't expected anyone to be that surprised.

And, here too, he realized, his relief was well-founded. It came as a little surprise to recognize that perhaps he alone, of all those closest to him, had ever really worried about Demansk maintaining his sanity.

Well… leaving aside Arsule's frequent pronouncements on the subject. Private pronouncements, of course-but Arsule's definition of "private" hadn't changed in the least over the years, even as her salons and soirees and gala events had trebled and quadrupled in size.

He was startled to feel her hand slide into his, the fingers wrapping around his palm and knuckles and giving them a little squeeze. In public? How undignified! Was she mad?

Probably. But he did not spurn the fingers-even gave them a little responding squeeze of his own. It was a mad world, after all, and Demansk's own definition of sanity had undergone a certain transformation over the world.

Besides, I adore the woman-not that I'd ever say that except privately. And my definition of "private" is-my thoughts alone.

Arsule's thumb, hidden in his palm, began making a little movement which was so far removed from the concept of "august dignity" that it boggled the mind.

Although, I don't think I'm fooling Arsule any. The thumb moved, moved. Which is probably just as well. Best exercise I get.

He cleared his throat noisily. "As I was saying, it's time for a change. The beginnings of one, at any rate."

From there, his speech took on a more formal aspect. For some time, Demansk orated-hoping he wasn't simply "droning"-on the principles of rule. As exemplified in practice-good and bad-by the experience of the Confederacy; as illustrated in theory-good and bad-by the philosophers of the Emeralds. Perhaps more to the point, as deduced by Demansk himself from a lifetime of experience.

He saw no reason to add: a thousand lifetimes, actually, since I've spent more hours than I can remember talking to Adrian about it and, through him, his "spirits."

"— for which reason, until our populace enjoys the wealth and literacy which could make the Speakers' Houses-and the Council, of course-something which truly embodied and represented their desires and interests, it seems best to stabilize the current regime. Which in turn-"

Hours and hours and hours. Sometimes in face-to-face conversation-as weird an experience as any in Demansk's life, talking to one man who was actually three.

"— no desire, none whatsoever, to repeat the endless cycle of factional maneuvering for the mere sake of a year's worth of self-aggrandizement-to call it by its right name, plunder of the public treasury, as often as not-by gaining election to the Speakership-"

No, not that, really. Demansk had come to understand that while two spirits inhabited his son-in-law, they did not possess him. Any more than Demansk's own closest advisers "possessed" him. Adrian Gellert's mind was enhanced, surely. His soul remained his alone.

"— hence the reintroduction of the hereditary principle seems called for, although-"

He gave a quick glance at his daughter, seated just four chairs to his right. And, slightly behind her, the stools and attendants which kept her offspring in something vaguely resembling "order" at a public event. Three of them, now-with, judging from the swell of her midriff, yet another soon to join the world.

Sure as anything, no spirits did that.

As he droned on-orated, rather-Demansk had to repress a grin. He had no doubt his grandfather would have fiercely disapproved most of what Demansk was doing, not least of all the way he was favoring an Emerald son-in-law. But on one subject, at least, the stern old man would have grudgingly given Adrian Gellert his approval. Keep 'em barefoot and pregnant, whatever you do. Barefoot, you can negotiate, now and then.

"— so, to conclude, I propose a modification which, I think, will give us, dealing with present circumstances, the best of all possible worlds."

He was tempted to add: as shown to me by a machine which knows all possible worlds. But he left it unsaid. For almost all of the people gathered around this table, as well-educated and sophisticated as most of them were, the explanation would have been indistinguishable from "magic." Given that Demansk had not yet seen fit to eliminate the laws outlawing magic, that would be… awkward.

He was nearing the end of his speech, which was going to probably be awkward enough.

"— each Triumvirate, therefore, to become a cycle. A training ground, as it were, the senior Triumvirs-with the approval of the others-adopting their own successors. Neither relying on the vagaries of fate-"

As always, the memory of Barrett ached. Not so much, true, yet never absent. But Demansk had long since realized that particular ache was the surest sign he was still sane.

"— nor the whims of factional strife-"

Drone, drone-wrap it up, damnation.

"So, in conclusion, I take this occasion to announce my own successor. A choice which, I might mention, has the full approval of both of my fellow Triumvirs as well as"-here, his voice grew stern: the patriarch in full glory-"my own magnificent sons."

And… that's enough. There'll be endless time for all the squabbling. I'm tired of drama. Have been for a long time.

He simply pointed to Adrian, seated three chairs to his right. With no one between him and Demansk except Olver and Trae.

"Him." And sat down.

Three things happened simultaneously.

Dead silence fell over the small crowd. Except Olver and Trae both shot to their feet, holding up their goblets of wine and calling for a toast.

Arsule leaned over and whispered into his ear: "I thought you'd sworn off drama and histrionics."

The fourth thing which happened, of course, was a given. Far down the table, one of the officials from-Demansk couldn't quite remember which branch of the bureaucracy; some post in the Registry-rose to his feet and began speaking.

"— fully agree with the political insights of the Paramount-"

Again, a whisper from Arsule: "I told you to have the whole lot of them executed. Exile just one of them! Ha! Like trying to drown a redshark."

"— still, a well-nigh insuperable problem. Difficult, at the very least. As the Paramount's son, of course, the august Gellert will have no choice but to divorce his wife, she now being his sister. But-"

Adrian choked on his goblet of wine. Helga sat up straight in her chair and bestowed upon the far distant bureaucrat a glare of fury that would have wilted anyone except "I'm telling you, Verice," whispered Arsule, "they're not really human. Trust me! According to the high priest of Jassine, bureaucrats are actually-"

"— leave the legal problem of the status of the children to be decided. By rigorous interpretation of existing law, of course, exposure on a rock is the only-"

What followed next confirmed for Verice Demansk, anew, the wisdom of always having two strings for his bow. His daughter had long since given up the practice of bearing a sword in public. But-no fool, she-Lortz was always nearby, ready to hand it to her.

The official from the Registry did manage to escape from the palace grounds with nothing worse than a minor flesh wound. But it was a close thing; and, the guards who witnessed the events all agreed, was saved only by his pursuer's quite evident state of pregnancy.

When Helga stalked back on to the balcony, she returned the sword to Lortz. Then, glared at the crowd in general. Then, at Adrian.

To the first, she said nothing. Words would have been, indeed, superfluous.

To Adrian, hissed: "Go ahead. Say anything about the responsibilities of pregnant women."

Adrian, confirming again Demansk's judgement of his successor, maintained the silence of a sage.

For once, Arsule agreed with her tyrant husband. "Well, at least he's not crazy."