Irona 700 (39 page)

“You said that, love, not me.”

She sighed. “I'll take him to the First in the morning so he can hand over this draft treaty he claims he has.”

“Make sure His Excellency is well guarded,” Veer said. “His daughters must be too old to interest your boy, but he may have grandchildren who would.”

Podakan's miraculous return sent the city insane. He had won an incredible battle, he had brought peace, he had claimed a daughter of the king of kings as his concubine, he was the hero of the century. When Midsummer came around and Caprice chose a boy called Ayakan, the similarity of his name was at once taken as proof of her approval.

Irona watched her son perform in the Scandal Market and Assembly Hall, and he always impressed. The studied vulgarity he threw at her and Veer was completely absent. In public he was an earnest, respectful, and hardworking young man. She knew it was a mask, but she saw it slip only once.

He was elected to both the Customs Board and Treaty Commission, prestigious offices normally reserved for much older Chosen, but he was kept away from the military committees. A man who is captured by the enemy but released with a king's daughter and a great fortune cannot be free of suspicion. When a vacancy among the Seven came up, young Meluak 723 nominated Podakan 725. That was too much, and not just for the old guard: he was defeated fifty-three to five. He returned to his seat with fists clenched and face scarlet with rage. One thing he had in common with Irona was that they both hated to lose.

Interlude: 728–734

P
olitically the next few years were uneventful in Benign. Mallahle kept the ship of state on an even keel but explored no new oceans.

True to his word, Podakan did buy a fine palace for his illegal wife, spurning Irona's offers of better homes for token rents. He took on enormous workloads, so that other Chosen hated being on his committees, which might labor far into the night. He was well thought of otherwise, but still excluded from military affairs.

Early in 728, Koriana bore a handsome son with surprising ease for a woman of her gracile build. Podakan refused to name him after his grandfathers, as was customary. Vlyplatin, he said, had been a loser and Koriana's father boasted a dozen names, all unpronounceable. So he named his firstborn Avazan, which he said was High Cabalian for “noisy,” and therefore very apt.

In 730 came news that the king of kings had died in spectacular fashion at a banquet. Bloodshed had begun in the palace that very night; civil war would likely follow. The Seventy reacted with cheers and derision, plus many speeches about the drawbacks of hereditary rule, as opposed to Benign's resplendent theocracy. Since Podakan had left the city the previous day on a mission to Genodesa, Irona took it upon herself to break the news to Koriana.

It would also be a chance to meet with her grandchildren. She rarely got to speak with her daughter-in-law at all, and never without Podakan present. Koriana was a recluse. She had used two pregnancies in less than three years as an excuse to decline invitations, but even before or between her confinements, she was rarely seen in public. She still spent more time staring at the floor than looking people in the eye, and she spoke little, although she was now competent in Benesh. So far as Irona knew, she had no friends.

Irona was shown to an upstairs nursery, where she found her daughter-in-law nursing Adwa, her six-month-old daughter. Avazan was sitting in a corner, hammering wooden blocks relentlessly, and ignored his grandmother's arrival. No Benesh woman would have received even a close family member bare breasted, but Koriana seemed quite unconcerned and just asked forgiveness for not rising. She looked lovelier than ever. Veer had begged to paint her, and Podakan had predictably refused. Veer had done so anyway, from memory.

“I am so sorry to disturb you. … Goddess, but she's growing fast!”

“Not fast as Avazan. He will have like his father's bigness.”

“Yes, he will. Adwa's a lovely name. What does it mean?”

For once, Koriana caught Irona's eye before quickly looking down at her child again. “My husband told you it is most suitable, being Cabalian word for ‘messy.'” A rare smile touched her lips.

“I know. But what does it really mean?”

“Dark Jewel.”

“She is a jewel, certainly. And what does Avazan mean?”

“He Who Conquers.”

“That is good, too.” And typical of Podakan. “Koriana, my dear, I am afraid I come with very terrible news.”

“You heard that my father is dead?”

For a moment Irona was speechless. Then: “How do you know that?”

“A dream. I told Podakan forty days ago.” She spoke with certainty but showed no emotion except happiness as she regarded her nursing child.

“I am sorry. I know how devastating it is to lose a father, although I admit I was not close to mine.”

“I never met him.” Koriana gently touched Adwa's cheek with one finger.

“Never met your father?”

“And my parents never saw me. Women of our family are very ill-omened. Only our mothers are immune to the bane of our eyes.”

Again Irona was at a loss for words. This belief might explain why Koriana had been trained never to look directly at people. It certainly explained why the king of kings had married a daughter to his worst enemy.

“Does Podakan know this?”

“He laughed.” Koriana showed a trace of a frown, which was unusual. “He will not even let me keep Avazan away from Adwa.”

Not for the first time, Irona wondered if her daughter-in-law was insane. Was it the women or the mad who were regarded as baleful in Acigol-Nevsehir? She changed the subject. “We heard no details of what happened to your father, except that he died at a banquet.”

“Oh, no. He died in bed. I saw it.”

“
Saw
it?”

“In a seeing.” Koriana threw back her head as if staring at the ceiling, except that she covered her eyes with the backs of her hands in that strange gesture. “The hairiest man I have ever seen, in bed with two girls, young ones, new ones. They had been delivered to him naked, of course—no weapons—but they had hidden strangling cords in their bandages.”

“Bandages?” Irona asked, at a loss for anything intelligent to say.

“New girls, I told you! The king of kings lies only with blind women and their eyes had not yet healed. He mounted one, the other tried to garrote him, but he wore a powerful
tandikat
. So the cord snapped and it was the girl who choked to death. He laughed as he watched her death throes.”

Merciful Goddess!
“Just what is a
tandikat
?”

“Word means, ‘echo.' You would call it a fix. An assassin slayer. Only works once. He would have had a spare somewhere near, did not reach for it in time. While he was enjoying the first girl's death, the other brought out her cord and killed him.”

“You mustn't even talk about fixes in Benign, Koriana. Not even to me. Or about prophetic dreams. However your father died, I expect one of your brothers will succeed?”

“Two already have. More will. It takes a while.”

“Are you guessing, or are you certain of that? I mean, do you often have dreams come true?”

Uniquely then, Koriana looked up and stared at Irona for several seconds. Her eyes were enormous and incredibly lustrous. Although Podakan ought to have no complaints about his nursing wife's figure at present, her face was still as spare as carved and polished wood, perfect skin taut over slender bone. Her lips had the brilliance of rubies.

“Special dreams. My husband wishes many children. I have told him I must bear them quickly, while we have time.”

“No! You don't mean you will die soon? Or he will?”

“What is soon? Perhaps not dead but not child making. You …”

“What about me?”

Koriana changed her mind. “I cannot see so far. My babe has done milking me, go you must now.”

“May I just hold her for a moment?” Irona still had wistful hopes of being a better grandmother than she had been mother.

“That would not be proper!” Koriana said. “Or safe for you.”

“May I stay and play with Avazan?”

Koriana looked quite shocked. Bewildered, Irona apologized and left.

Koriana was as good as her word and gave birth more often than was decent. Irona, finding herself with so many grandchildren, accused her son of wanting to make her feel old. She was not entirely joking.

In 734, she turned fifty. By the standards of the Chosen, she looked much older, for she had never recovered the years she had lost in Vult and Kell without Source Water. Veer had grown fatter, but he remained undisputed champion among the artists of the Empire. Podakan had thickened, as men do after adolescence, but no one would have mistaken his brawn for fat. He fretted for action and admitted that he longed for another war.

In 734, he got his wish.

The Seventy were called into emergency session. The Treaty Commission presented an appeal from the city of Severny, complaining of raiding by the hill tribes of Muhavura, complete with the usual slaughter, looting, raping, and slaving. Navy reported that it could ship out a thousand men at dawn and muster at least ten thousand from the allies within a month.

Irona happened to be in the chair, but all she could remember about Muhavura was the story Jamarko had told her on her first day as a Chosen, how he had been born there and how lucky he had been to be enslaved. She watched the youngsters fidget in their seats until enough elders had mumbled enough speeches about waiting for more information, considering fiscal implications, and generally doing as little as possible. She recognized Podakan just before he exploded with impatience. He leaped to his feet.

“Your Reverence, what good is our Empire if not for mutual defense? That is what we promise. Here is an ally screaming for help as its men are slaughtered, its children stolen, its women violated—and we sit here talking of taxes? It is our sacred duty. …” He was not a great speaker, but he was loud and he could make his point when he felt strongly about something. Again and again, he roared, these barbarians who lived within the boundaries of the Empire had turned their savagery on peaceable people who depended on Benign to defend their homes, their loved ones … and so on.

The old guard—and Irona was old guard now—listened stony faced. The firebrand young nodded and applauded. She wondered which way Ledacos would go. He could carry more votes than anyone except herself, and on this problem she had no strong feelings. It was obvious that Benign would have to do something, but what and how much? Send one thousand men or ten thousand? Or, as Podakan roared at the end of his diatribe, fifty thousand and wipe the vermin out?

He won applause, everything from standing ovation to a few polite claps. Irona must call for votes in a moment, but another hand rose, and she recognized Borawli 727. The solemn youngster who had been chosen on the day she returned from Elbrus was still a solemn youngster. He was a loner, belonging to no faction, usually working on judicial matters and the Education Board. He rarely spoke in the Assembly, but always made sense when he did.

“Your Reverence, as the noble Chosen are aware, Muhavura is a peninsula, fertile around its coast, where we count several prosperous cities among our allies. The center is mountainous and good for little but herding. I repeat these well-known truths because none of the previous speakers has mentioned the value of the hill people to our city and Empire.”

A few of Podakan's supporters made scoffing noises, which Borawli ignored.

“In peaceful times the hill folk trade wool and hides to the cities, who trade them to us, but they are valuable beyond that. They breed strong people! They breed far too many strong people. About every three generations, as our history shows, one tribe or another finds itself crowded to the point of starvation. Rarely do they try to take over the neighbors' lands, for those are fiercely defended, and the wealthy farmers and merchants of the coast seem more tempting. The young hill men start raiding. Our allies complain to us. We send an army. We kill off dangerous warriors and capture healthy women and children. Honorable Chosen may have noticed how expensive slaves have become in recent years. The supply we obtained from Elbrus is wearing out.

“Your Reverence, the last Muhavura uprising, in 672, was crushed by Chosen Byakal 633, of noble memory. The culprits that time were the Havrani clan, and they paid a high price, in that Byakal exterminated them. Their neighbors inherited their herds and lands, and peace returned. That was sixty-two years ago, so the timing is not unexpected. But I would caution this noble Assembly that the response should be measured. A good gardener will prune his trees to increase their yield. A forester will pollard his forest to grow fresh timber on the same trunks. Both cut; neither tears out by the roots. Clearly it is time to gather another crop in Muhavura, but let us not destroy the orchard.” He bowed and sat down.

This time the applause was general and accompanied by laughter. Benign would always support a worthy—meaning profitable—cause.

Discussion must now give way to decision. Irona heaved on her staff to stand up, a move that grew harder every year. There had been no formal agenda or time for prior discussion, so first she had to ask: “Your Honors, I put a question to you: Will you decide this matter now? Those responding ‘Aye' will raise their right hands.”

The motion carried easily.

“I put another question to you: Should the Empire respond to the appeal by our ally, Severny, by sending a fighting force to Muhavura? Those responding ‘Aye' will raise their right hands.”

Agreement was unanimous.

“I put another question to you. Who should lead this expedition?”

Several Chosen jumped up, but the senior was Ledacos, and he nominated Podakan 725. She was surprised that he had not nominated someone from within his own faction, but Podakan was an obvious candidate, especially after his rousing speech, and nomination by Ledacos made his election virtually certain.

Podakan came striding forward, eyes bright. He bowed to the First and turned to face the Assembly. Now what? The closest to an opposing view had been stated by Borawli 727, but he was no warrior to run against Podakan. By custom he should now nominate his own preference for leader.

Everyone waited. Irona watched whispers passing, lips pursing, heads nodding as the likely nominee was evaluated. It was a long time since he won the great victory of Podakan-Zaozerny, and the boy had shown no signs of disloyalty … this Muhavura nonsense had nothing to do with the Three Kingdoms … worked hard … respectful to his betters. … (
Little did they know!
) And he was the only military hero they had just then.

Borawli rose and was recognized. He moved that nominations be closed.

Podakan made a two-fisted
Yeah!
gesture not allowed under normal rules of procedure, but one that could be ignored in the thunder of applause. Irona sat down.

First Mallahle said, “Noble 725, you are appointed admiral and marshal to lead a force to the aid of our allies in Muhavura. You have the floor.”

Podakan did not hesitate an instant. He might have been rehearsing his response for years. “Your Reverence, I would consult with honorable members of the Navy Board right after this meeting, to discuss sending a token force of one thousand men ahead as soon as possible. Tomorrow I will meet with the Treaty Commission and other relevant bodies to finalize more ambitious plans. Noble 700, I ask that this meeting be adjourned until tomorrow evening, when I shall present a detailed proposal for Their Honors' approval.”