The Usurper

27

“Gold, and power?” said Ingeld.

“Much gold, and much power,” said the visitor.

“How can that be?” asked Ingeld. “It is well known that such as you are sworn to simplicity and poverty, that you abhor luxury and shun wealth, that you are professionally destitute. How many pennies do you collect in your temples?”

“I do not speak of pennies,” said the visitor, “even of mountains of pennies, gathered on a hundred worlds, but of armies, and ships.”

“Take down your arm from before your eyes,” said Ingeld.

“But the creature beside you,” said the visitor. “Be so kind as to conceal her. Have her crawl behind your chair, if nothing else.”

“Remain where you are, as you are,” said Ingeld.

“Yes, Master,” said Huta.

“Spare me this distress,” said the visitor. “We are a pure, holy, ascetic faith, a spiritual faith, a koosian faith.”

“Spare me your hypocrisy,” said Ingeld. “It wearies me. Save it for the cattle you slaughter, skin, and milk. I know of your public meals, and services, with your dram of water and your bit of bread, and the secret banquets in hidden chambers. Your plumpness is not the product of pans of water and crusts of bread, designed to bring you closer to the mysteries of the koos. And your exarch, a pompous, sanctimonious, clever scoundrel, has enough blubber to be the envy of aquatic mammals traversing polar seas. And I know about the plate in the temples, the golden vessels, the secret storerooms, the credits in a thousand banks, the treaties with kings, the bribings of tyrants, the suborning of officials.”

“You mistake us, great Lord,” said the visitor.

“Coarse cloth lined with rich fur,” said Ingeld.

“No, Milord,” said the visitor.

“Perhaps you would like a repast at my table,” said Ingeld, “though it be a humble one and of this world, a repast with scarlet wine, from the terraces of Chiba, the Wine World, or honeyed bror, from Cirax, with juicy, steaming, roasted meat, from cattle fattened on the plains of Tangara, with candies, custards, cakes, and fruits?”

“A swallow of water, and a crust of bread, would be more than ample, Milord,” said the visitor.

“Save your posturing and platitudes for your stricken, guilt-ridden, moaning, whining believers, who take such things seriously,” said Ingeld.

“You mistake the joys of Floon,” said the visitor.

“You rule through flattery, lies, and guilt,” said Ingeld. “You capitalize on loneliness, disappointment, failure, and fear. You teach your followers that they are esteemed and special, unique and inestimably precious, far above others, if not in this world, in another world, one conveniently invisible; you twist the powers and joys of organic nature, for your purposes, into sources of humiliation, doubt, suspicion, misery, and terror; you will have your benighted followers understand their most normal and natural impulses, things as inevitable as the surging of tides and the rotation of worlds, as things of which they should be afraid, of things to be eschewed, things of which they should be ashamed, things for which they should feel guilty, and then you dare to palliate for a price, for your support and enrichment, the effects of the poisons which you yourselves have brewed; you make aberrations and illnesses of what is fine, beautiful, robust, healthy, and inevitable, and then charge for the cure of these tragic diseases which you yourselves have wrought. It is a marvelous fraud, worthy of brilliant and unscrupulous minds, minds skilled in the architecture of control and torture, or minds originally sick, pathetically intent on spreading their own infections to others.”

“You mistake us, Milord,” said the visitor.

“What is most brilliantly insidious in this cultural malaise,” said Ingeld, “is that you inflict this pathological madness on the young and innocent, on the unquestioning, trusting, and gullible, who will believe whatever is taught to them, and do whatever is told to them. It is a sowing of seeds from which to harvest future crops. From such dismal gardens one will reap gold.”

“Surely you do not see such a pure and holy faith as contrived and mercenary?”

“Its effects belie it,” said Ingeld.

“We have thousands of ministrants,” said the visitor. “Surely you do not suspect they serve Karch with duplicity and calculation.”

“I am sure many do not,” said Ingeld. “Worlds are filled with the innocent and trusting, the well intentioned and ignorant, products of the same disease which they then mindlessly propagate, and would fear not to do so.”

“It was not to discuss or defend the truths of the one true faith that I have sought this audience, great Lord,” said the visitor.

“The joys which you denounce and dread,” said Ingeld, “in many faiths are understood as nothing to be feared or doubted, as nothing to be ashamed of; rather, they are understood as, welcomed as, and treasured as, the gifts of the gods themselves who, in their generosity and bounty, would bestow such happiness, such delights, and riches on all rational creatures.”

“False gods, of course,” said the visitor. “Perhaps next you will commend sacral prostitution, the solicitations of priestesses in public thoroughfares, exchanging embraces for coins, the public intoning of hymns to vulgar goddesses, the garish clash of cymbals and tambourines in caves and groves, the scandalous movements of temple dancers.”

“I am sure it is true,” said Ingeld, “that you did not approach the high seat to discuss or defend the doctrines of your faith.”

“No, great Lord,” said the visitor.

“You still avert your eyes from the slave at my side,” said Ingeld.

“Might she not be covered, or withdrawn?” asked the visitor.

“Perhaps you should regard her,” said Ingeld. “It might do you good.”

“Please, great Lord,” said the visitor.

“Face me,” said Ingeld. “When you speak, I would see your eyes, your expressions. Much may be read from such small things.”

“I would rather not, Milord,” said the visitor.

“You would prefer to be a martyr to Floon?” asked Ingeld.

“Milord?”

“The limbs are tied to four horses,” said Ingeld. “The horses are then, in four directions, driven apart.”

“I would be pleased to gaze on the gracious countenance of the great Lord, Ingeld, of the Drisriaks,” said the visitor.

“Do so,” said Ingeld.

The visitor complied, while, at the same time, averting his eyes from the lithe, splendid animal kneeling to the right of Ingeld, he, the second son of Abrogastes.

“Abrogastes, your father,” said the visitor, “refused to see me.”

“Why?” said Ingeld.

“The great Abrogastes,” said the visitor, “is older, and, I fear, more rigid, less practical, than his noble son.”

“He is trammeled with honor,” said Ingeld.

“The war of the empire and the Aatii, and their numerous allies, waxes fiercely,” said the visitor. “Fleets clash. Planets are riven. Worlds are broken from the chain of their star. Systems hesitate to declare themselves. Who would not prefer to wait, to see how the die falls? Yet neutrality is not easily purchased. The empire, its resources strained, trembles. It fears a looming dawn, implacable, of unstayed barbaritas. Much fighting has been done, much munition expended. Indeed, the war now, so many resources exhausted, resources of many worlds, on both sides, may be fought in narrow corridors, and hang on small battles. Two great weights, largely inert, depress the scale. A penny or a bullet might tip the scale and plunge one weight to the earth, the other to the sky. It could be a small thing, a skirmish leading to a thousand reactions; even a surrender in Telnar, a mistake or defection, a palace coup, could decide matters. It is difficult to see, at this point, the future.”

“Men are fond of their empire,” said Ingeld. “My father does not intend to destroy it. He intends to own it, in one way or another.”

“The empire is unwieldy, and vast,” said the visitor. “It will break apart.”

“It will be held together, by the sword,” said Ingeld.

“But by whose sword?” asked the visitor.

“By that of the Alemanni,” said Ingeld.

“I can guarantee that,” said the visitor.

“That is the purpose of your visit?”

“Of course.”

“How can it be guaranteed?” asked Ingeld.

“You are aware that a Telnarian, Julian, of the Aureliani, a pretender to the throne, recruits comitates amongst barbarians, in particular, the Vandals, and has already entered into understandings with two of the Vandal tribes, the Otungs, and a lesser tribe, the Wolfungs.”

“The People of the Van Land, the Forest People,” said Ingeld, “are hereditary enemies of the Alemanni.”

“It is his intention to employ such allies in the defense of the empire,” said the visitor. “Already, on a dozen worlds, they have made their landings, navigated rivers, seized strategic points, entered cities. The empire, with such allies, stiffens, takes heart, senses renewed hope, is reinforced.”

“The Vandals,” said Ingeld, smiling, “will prove a dangerous ally. They will not be immune, no more than the Alemanni, to the lure of worlds, of arable lands, of gold, and women. As well, as the saying is, bring in vi-cats to guard vardas.”

“But,” said the visitor, “they, leagued with the empire, may counter the incursions of your father, great Abrogastes, check his ambitions, even drive him back, to far worlds.”

“It would be unwise for either the Alemanni or the Vandals to exhaust their resources on one another,” said Ingeld. “Indeed, if they sufficiently weakened one another, a preserved empire might then turn on the remnants of both, with ensuing destruction or, as before, with enforced relocation and exile.”

“Precisely, Milord,” said the visitor.

“The Alemanni and the Vandals must be wary of one another, and both of the Empire.”

“Certainly, Milord,” said the visitor.

“And how would you resolve this most problematical situation, beloved ministrant?”

“By means of a league, a confederation,” said the visitor, “an alliance.”

“I do not understand,” said Ingeld.

“A joining,” said the visitor, “to destroy the empire, a joining of the Alemanni and Vandals.”

For a moment, Ingeld gazed upon the visitor with incredulity, and then, seizing the arms of the high seat, threw back his head and laughed. “Monstrous fool,” he said. “Seldom have I encountered one so abundantly endowed with idiocy.”

“Milord?” said the visitor.

“Oil and water,” he said. “Alemanni and Vandals? Better, put arn bears and vi-cats in the same field.”

“Crush the empire,” said the visitor. “Then divide the spoils.”

“I think I shall call for the ropes, and have the horses brought to the killing yard,” said Ingeld.

“Allow me to tell you a story, Milord,” said the visitor. “Long ago, on a world called Tangara, you know the world, Milord, there was one of many wars, one between Otungs and Heruls, which culminated in a bitter winter campaign. This took place in the Year 1103, from the Setting of the Imperial Claiming Stone on Tangara. The Otungs were bested. A great king of the Otungs, high tribe in the Vandal nation, was slain. His wife, a captive amongst herded prisoners, gave birth, beside the trail, in the cold and snow, to an infant. She died of exposure. The child, a son, was brought by a Herul warrior, a man named Hunlaki, to a schismatic festung, one espousing the despicable Emanationist heresy, on the heights of the Barrionuevo Range, the festung of the false saint, Sim Giadini, Saint Giadini. The child, originally given into the keeping of a Floonian brother, Brother Benjamin, a salamanderine, was subsequently raised in the festung village located at the foot of the pass, leading upward to the festung.”

“What has this to do with anything?” inquired Ingeld.

“With the child,” said the visitor, “was found an artifact, weighty and of gold, a medallion and chain.”

Ingeld leaned forward. “It does not exist,” he said.

“It exists,” said the visitor.

“It was lost,” said Ingeld.

“It has been found,” said the visitor.

“The symbol, the talisman, of the unified Vandal peoples,” said Ingeld.

“It was entrusted to the Floonian brother, Brother Benjamin,” said the visitor. “For years it reposed, encased, in his cell, its presence known only to certain members of the Brotherhood, creatures pledged to harmony and peace. The hated Julian, he of the Aureliani, pretender to the throne, seeking information as to the obscure origins of his colleague, Ottonius, seemingly an Otung, pursued the matter, met with Brother Benjamin, and ascertained the existence of the object. An Otung, Urta, a former King Namer, similarly inquiring into the origins of the new, mysterious king of the Otungs, Otto, or Ottonius, whom he resented and feared, also discovered the existence of the artifact.”

“And then?” said Ingeld.

“This Urta, once a King Namer of Otungs,” said the visitor, “anxious to recover lost prestige and power, dreaded that this object should come into the possession of the new Otung king, Otto, or Ottonius, for he might then hold sway over the entire Vandal nation.”

“The Vandals, the nation,” said Ingeld, “must not side with the empire!”

“They will follow he who holds the medallion and chain,” said the visitor. “It is sworn. The matter surpasses the will of kings and chieftains. If they do not submit themselves to the holder of the medallion and chain, declaring adherence to his banner, pledging themselves his loyal vassals, then their subjects and followers will desert them.”

“I listen,” said Ingeld, leaning forward, “speak further, and clearly, not in vague hints and obscure allusions.”

“It was clearly important to this fellow, Urta, consumed with envy and resentment, that the medallion and chain not come into the possession of Ottonius, new king of the Otungs, whom he despised, and because of whom he had lost his office as King Namer. He wished then, somehow, to obtain or destroy the artifact. But how might this be managed? He knew little or nothing, of course, of the joys of Floon, nor of ugly schisms, or dire heresies. He could not even, incredibly enough, distinguish between Illusionists and Emanationists, let alone between them and the one true faith. Many are the false prophets who, and many are the wayward cults which, arrogantly profess to proclaim the true messages and meanings of the Redemptor, Holy Floon.”

“I am sure of it,” said Ingeld.

“This Urta, then, fearing an inauspicious disposition of the medallion and chain, and covetous of its power, wished to either obtain or destroy it. But he knew not how to do so. How could he, an Otung, one who knew nothing of Karch, and his prophet, Floon, obtain the freedom of the halls of the festung in such a way that he might manage, sooner or later, to steal or destroy the Vandal talisman? Surely he would need a better leverage than that of a mere wayfarer or needy supplicant, in the guise of which he had conducted his original inquiries. Indeed, at this point it is not clear that he had even seen the talisman. He decided to seek the counsel of ministrants of Floon, naturally enough in Venitzia, the provincial capital on Tangara. And here we see the hand of mighty Karch at work, and his mysterious and wondrous workings, for, in Venitzia, who should Urta encounter but ministrants of the one true faith?”

“It is not so surprising,” said Ingeld, “for other versions of your faith in Venitzia, where not exterminated, had, following arson, looting, murders, and riots, been driven from the city. It does not seem to be an accident, for example, that the festung of Sim Giadini, a fortress as much as a holy place, was located in the remote heights of the Barrionuevo Range.”

“Urta proceeded as advised,” said the visitor. “He, the matter justified in terms of the end to be obtained, presented himself in the guise of a proselyte to the false faith of Emanationism, suing for admission into the Brotherhood. Accepted as a neophyte, he played his role well, earning the trust and respect of the brothers. In particular, he cultivated Brother Benjamin, whom he chose as his mentor. Needless to say, by means of visits to the festung village at the foot of the pass, he remained in contact with agents of the true faith in Venitzia. All was then in order. Brother Benjamin was drugged in his cell, and Urta seized the medallion and chain, and made his way down the long pass to the festung village, where our agents awaited him. In moments he and his prize, borne in a hoverer, were on their way to Venitzia, and the coded signal was transmitted to Venitzia, to the readied imperial cruisers, which then took flight, to attack and destroy the loathed citadel of Emanationist iniquity. In this way, the medallion and chain were acquired, and a villainous den of heresy, offensive to the true faith, was eradicated.”

“Where is the medallion and chain?” asked Ingeld.

“In a safe place,” said the visitor.

“Brands burn brightly,” said Ingeld. “They warm and loosen tongues. Pincers clutch and twist; knives cut; the spiked wheel turns unpleasantly; filchen flock to shed blood. Ropes and horses are far stronger than pale, bloated flesh.”

“I do not know its location, of course,” said the visitor. “I assure you I could not begin to withstand afflictions of the sort to which you allude. I suspect few could. On the other hand, I cannot reveal a secret which has not been entrusted to me. Surely you do not believe that I would be put before the high seat of the noble son of Abrogastes if I possessed such information. The ministrants of Floon are not naive; they are not unaware of the nature of the world they despise and repudiate.”

“You cannot use the medallion and chain,” said Ingeld.

“We have no intention of doing so,” said the visitor, “not directly.”

“To whom is it to be entrusted?” said Ingeld.

“To a suitable recipient,” said the visitor.

“I wonder if you understand its power,” said Ingeld.

“I think we do,” said the visitor.

“If the Alemanni possessed the talisman,” said Ingeld, “the Vandal nation must pledge itself our vassals.”

“And the empire would be doomed,” said the visitor, “and the Vandals could not in honor attack their lords.”

“What do you want?” asked Ingeld.

“The conversion of the Alemanni and the Vandals,” said the visitor, “and then that of the conquered empire.”

“I see,” said Ingeld.

“It is little enough to ask,” said the visitor.

“We would promote your faith with the sword,” said Ingeld.

“It is appropriate that the true faith be promoted,” said the visitor, “whatever might be the means at hand.”

“We would risk our treasure and blood in your behalf, fight your battles, suppress your enemies, extirpate your supposed heresies, burn books, cleanse libraries, close uncongenial schools, impose your views and values, abet your policies of shaping the young, gather and guard your wealth, drive the skeptical, reluctant, and indifferent to your temples, silence recalcitrants, enforce your collections.”

“You might put it so,” said the visitor.

“Yours is the wisdom of the hypocrite and coward,” said Ingeld. “Risk nothing, do nothing, and reap much.”

“The secular arm,” said the visitor, “is to be subservient to the koos, as the body to the mind. Its noblest mission is to serve the koos.”

“I see,” said Ingeld.

“And the work of the sword, you must understand, however necessary, is not the appropriate province of men such as I, men of the holy cloth, men of peace who dwell in holiness, devoting themselves humbly, exclusively, to matters of the koos.”

“Certainly not,” said Ingeld.

“Hopefully, by the second or third generation,” said the visitor, “the reddened sword may be cleaned, wiped dry, and sheathed.”

“By then no divergent options will be available,” said Ingeld. “Concepts will be rooted out. Language will be purified. Dangerous words will not exist.”

“The channels will have been prepared,” said the visitor. “Thought will then flow in them, as it must.”

“Minds will be unable to frame unwelcome thoughts. Men will know nothing else.”

“For their own good,” said the visitor. “Sheep need their shepherd, pigs their sty tender.”

“I fear,” said Ingeld, “you underestimate the curiosity, the inventiveness, the independence, the astuteness of men.”

“I do not think so,” said the visitor. “Men herd nicely. They are born to follow, and ask only to be led. Thus they are spared the uneasiness, even the torment, of thought. And dissidents may be done away with.”

“But they will rise,” said Ingeld. “And sow the seeds of thought.”

“When necessary,” said the visitor, “the secular sword, summoned forth, may once more depart its sheath.”

“I know little of gods,” said Ingeld.

“You need not be converted,” said the visitor, “only your peoples.”

“I see,” said Ingeld.

“We possess the medallion and chain,” said the visitor.

“And to whom are they to be delivered?” asked Ingeld.

“To a suitable recipient,” said the visitor.

“Have you chosen such a recipient?” asked Ingeld.

“Yes,” said the visitor, “one we believe most suitable.”

“Who?” asked Ingeld.

“You need not seek him out, and kill him,” said the visitor. “You would have no need to do so, and you would have little interest in doing so.”

“Who?” said Ingeld.

“Ingeld, son Abrogastes, of course,” said the visitor.

“Deliver it,” said Ingeld.

“Can I trust the great Lord?” asked the visitor.

“As I can trust you,” said Ingeld.

“The medallion and chain,” said the visitor, “will be yours within twenty days.”

“Apparently it reposes then in Telnar,” said Ingeld, “in the very seat of empire.”

“Perhaps,” said the visitor. “I would not know.”

“Kneel straighter, slave,” said Ingeld.

“Yes, Master,” said Huta.

“Behold this slave, comely and helpless, on her chain,” said Ingeld. “She was once Huta, high priestess of the Timbri, supposed servant of the supposed ten thousand gods.”

“False gods,” said the visitor.

“She is now the slave of Drisriaks,” said Ingeld, “owned as might be a pig or dog, a boot or shoe.”

“Excellent,” said the visitor. “Would that such a fate befell all priestesses, sacral courtesans, temple dancers, and such. Let them all be sold in public markets. Let them all tremble on the chains of Masters.”

“She fell afoul of Drisriaks,” said Ingeld. “Had she been less stimulating, stripped in a collar, or had she writhed less well, naked, for her life, embracing, caressing, and doing a slave’s homage to the mighty Spear of Oathing, she would have been slain.”

“Milord?” said the visitor.

“Such opportunities would not have been accorded a male,” said Ingeld.

“I do not understand,” said the visitor.

“It would not be well to fall afoul of Drisriaks,” said Ingeld. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Milord,” said the visitor.

“Clearly?”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Are we not all friends?” asked Ingeld.

“Most certainly, Milord,” said the visitor.

“Perhaps,” said Ingeld, “we may then prevail upon you to share our celebratory feast.”

“I would be honored,” said the visitor.

“Afterwards,” said Ingeld, “shall I have this slave at my feet sent to your quarters?”

“Please, no, Master!” begged Huta, and then put down her head, quickly, cringing, fearing to be struck, for she had spoken without permission.

“For what purpose, pray?” said the visitor.

“For the purpose of serving you, as the slave she is,” said Ingeld.

“I see,” said the visitor.

“Shall I have her delivered to you, naked and chained?”

“That would be thoughtful,” said the visitor.

“But woe,” said Ingeld, “I may not do so, for she belongs to my father.”

“Thank you, Master,” whispered Huta.

The visitor turned away.

“Hold,” said Ingeld.

The visitor turned about, to face the high seat.

“Within twenty days,” said Ingeld.

“As agreed,” said the visitor.

“You will, of course, attend the celebratory feast,” said Ingeld.

“Of course,” said the visitor.

“I shall arrange that, in your place, you will find a dram of water and a crust of bread,” said Ingeld.

The visitor then turned about and left the chamber.

With a rustle of chain Huta put down her head and pressed her lips softly to the dark leather boot of Ingeld. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered.