The Merchant Emperor (29 page)

The carriage tilted at an extreme angle as the horses began to plod even more slowly forward.

“What—what is happening?” Beliac asked nervously.

“We are ascending the hill to the basilica. We have been for a while, but we are now almost at the summit.”

“How much farther, Talquist?” the Diviner demanded, removing Beliac’s elbow from his face for the fourth time.

“We are almost there,” the emperor assured him. “The basilica is within sight; it should only be a few more moments.”

“Thank the All-God, or whatever it is they worship here,” muttered Beliac. He was too busy trying to steady himself to notice the look of black anger that glanced across Talquist’s face, to be replaced a moment later by the same placid mien that had been there all along.

Finally, the carriage rolled to a slow, bumpy halt in front of a massive fountainbed that led up to the wide stairs of the basilica. The fountainbed was the size of three streets put together in both width and length, and running down its center from the edge of the street where the carriage stood to the steps of the basilica were apparatuses that at one time had sprayed curved ribbons of shining water in a multiplicity of colors, forming a shimmering representation of the star at the top of the Spire in the marble basin. Water still gurgled from those apparatuses, but weakly; what had once been a grand reflecting pool that mirrored the beauty of the basilica was now serving as a watering trough for scores of warhorses that were drinking from all four of its sides. Soldiers were bathing the beasts in the enormous basin as well.

Beliac, the sovereign of a highly militarized naval city, put his hand over his nose and mouth to shield them from the stench, and to hold back the nausea that had gripped him at the sight even before the smell did.

The carriage door opened, and the footman stepped clear; Talquist rose and allowed himself to be assisted out, then turned and offered his hand to the Diviner and subsequently to Beliac. The three royal men made their unsteady way along the outskirts of the reflecting pool to the steps of the great basilica.

Now the Spire was visible again; its base from which the tower tapered up toward the clouds was as wide as a city block, and it stood directly across the city from Lianta’ar. The gleaming radiance at the top came from the tiny piece of ethereal matter that had been affixed within a platinum star-shaped housing, and the light of midafternoon was catching in the sculpture’s rays, sending wild flashes around the streets.

The Diviner could only imagine that it was silently calling for help.

The monarchs mounted the stairs and made their way inside the massive basilica. Even before they passed the entry doors, the visiting kings had begun to marvel; the basilica had towering walls of polished marble and an overarching dome that was taller than any in the Known World. It had seating for thousands of souls who now no longer came to it seeking solace, but in spite of the signs of battle, the pitted stone still gleamed as evidence of a time of great architectural inspiration and ingenuity in praise of the divine.

Some of what were known to be the most beautiful and immense mosaics of tile ever assembled graced the floor and the ceiling of the basilica; the two visiting kings were led past the frescoed walls and windows fashioned in colored glass, many of which had been covered with long sheets of rough burlap.

When the Diviner looked questioningly at the obscured frescoes and windows, the emperor chuckled.

“Magnificent as the artwork in the cathedral is, some of it is representative of fallacies and lies from the Cymrian era, the distortion of history in some of the most egregious and appalling ways. Those which will remain in Lianta’ar are the depictions of nature and elemental lore that preceded that terrible, destructive time in the world.”

By now they had come to the central sanctuary of the basilica. In what seemed to be the exact center of the building a tall cylindrical rise stood, atop which was the church’s altar, a large plain table formed of simple stone edged in platinum. Through the openings in the great dome above the altar, the Spire across the city could be seen, casting its radiance down in random flashes of sunlight. By night, it was clear that the basilica would be bathed in ethereal light from the top of the tower.

“Why have you brought us here, Talquist?” the Diviner demanded impatiently. “The beauty of the place is extraordinary, true, but you know that we have much to attend to in our own lands.”

“I wanted you to see the beginning of the return to sanity for the continent, and, eventually, the world,” the emperor said quietly. “Unlike you both, I was not born into a royal line that led me to the throne of my native land. You, Hjorst, and you, Beliac, knew your destinies almost as soon as you knew your own names; I have had to search the entirety of the earth to discover mine. I have worked in almost every profession, traveled to each of the continents, sailed every one of the seas, all in search of what my purpose in life is supposed to be. I have finally come to understand it—and it is vastly more than merely sitting atop the throne of Sorbold, as Leitha did for three-quarters of a century, dressing in finery and consuming expensive victuals. I have a calling—and it is something I hope you will share in, given that the very survival of your lands may depend on its success.” He fell silent, looking up at the dome of the ceiling high above him.

“What is this calling?” the Diviner asked after a long moment with nothing but the vast echo of the basilica sounding in his ears. “What are you talking about?”

Talquist turned in a full circle at the foot of the cylindrical stairs leading up to the stone altar.

“I believe it is my life’s purpose not only to rule Sorbold, but to return it to a time before the scourge that was the Cymrian era took root in our homeland,” he said, a tone both inspired and bitter in his voice. “Those retched transplants, loyal to a king who could not accept his destiny, and that of his Island—to be stamped out by nature, destroyed in the volcanic fire of the Sleeping Child’s awakening—refugeed to
our
lands—some of the most magical, beautiful places on the Earth—and remade them in his image, bringing with him famine, death, disease, and discontent that eventually boiled over into a war that destroyed both the land and the population that had taken the Cymrians in, storm-tossed and dying as they had been from their trek across the world. This place, the holiest of their religious sites, is where the renewal of our history begins.”

“How so?” asked Beliac nervously.

“First, we will go back to the name of God that was perverted, made idiotic not only by the fools who followed the Patriarch, but those in the western forests who were overrun by the first of the fleets to come here, to the lands of Elynsynos, the dragon. The All-God, the One-God; ridiculous.”

“And what do you plan to see supplant those names?” The Diviner’s normally skeptical expression was somewhat less guarded.

Talquist smiled.

“He will be known, as He was in the time before the Cymrians came, as the Creator,” he said smugly, “as you have always called Him, Hjorst. The Sorbolds and the Icemen have always shared a purer faith, an animist belief, one tied to nature, to the demi-gods that symbolized the elements, the animals, the plant life, the weather, the stars, the land—none of the sheer nonsense that was practiced in this building for centuries. As a nation, an empire, Sorbold will return to those days, those beliefs, and they will guide, inform, and rule our commerce, our military, our family life, everything. The Spire, which for more than a thousand years supposedly directed the prayers of the mindless faithful of the Patrician religion to their ridiculous All-God, will be used as the great symbol of our returned belief system.”

Beliac ran a finger under the collar of his jerkin. “That symbol being what, if not what it was built for?”

The emperor smiled.

“It will symbolize many things, actually—a massive phallus, for fertility and masculine power and dominion, an elevated eye, for the clarity of sight across the continent, a giant spear, for military superiority—we will turn each of the Cymrian landmarks that we do not choose to destroy to a noble purpose, ushering in the return to a holier, cleaner, more natural time. But before we begin to undertake the replanting of that noble purpose, we will need to eradicate the remains of that apostate civilization, the interlopers, the rapists who took our magical, deeply beautiful realm and polluted it, crushed it under their heels. We need to remove every last trace of Cymrian rulership, and, with his assault on Sorbold, the Patriarch has given us the opening to now do what we should have done centuries ago. I assume that his allies, the Bolg king, who is building settlements within a league of your capital city, Beliac, and the Lord Cymrian, who is poisoning your populace, Hjorst, have given you both the same openings.”

The visiting kings listened intently, absorbing his words. Then the Diviner nodded in agreement, followed immediately by the king of Golgarn. Talquist’s face broke into a broad smile, and he clapped both men on the shoulders.

“Excellent! I see we have much to discuss. Now, come with me to my quarters within the city; I had the most sumptuous of the guesthouses that had once sheltered the royalty of the Alliance when they came to visit annexed for my own use while here in Sepulvarta. You will both be most comfortable there, I’m certain; we can sup and imbibe and discuss my plans for turning the unprovoked assault on Sorbold into a campaign to return the continent to what the Creator designed it to be—three allied exterior nations ruling, rather than being ruled by, the Middle Continent.”

He led the two stunned monarchs out of the basilica, whistling as he walked.

24

After night had fallen, eased down around him by sumptuous feasting and merrymaking, the emperor of Sorbold left the guesthouse in the company of his old friend, the Diviner of the Hintervold.

Hjorst had been silent for most of the evening; Talquist was accustomed to his quiet reflection, which was his nature and inclination whenever contemplating plans of even the smallest sort of change. Hjorst’s younger brother, a lesser diviner named Miraz of Winter, with whom Talquist had limited commerce, was a rash man, prone to whim. In constrast, the Diviner was a considered man, who ruled a realm, unlike Beliac’s religion-free kingdom, of deeply held beliefs and ancient practices from which his power emanated. He was careful about committing his forces and his aid without consulting his gods first through the practice of divination, from whence his title was derived.

Talquist, a believer in no god other than himself, had come to realize that while those who held such deep beliefs were among the most resistant to the manipulation to his will, they could be bent and eventually recruited, but only if his approach took into account the logic and emotion of the religion to which they were devoted. Beliac, having no belief structure to speak of, was putty in his hands, because Talquist knew his deepest fears and had already played the cards that ignited them, the fear of being consumed while alive by the Bolg. But Hjorst would be a harder sell.

Fortunately, Talquist was an expert merchant.

As they approached the great doors of the basilica again now in the dark, he signaled to the guards standing watch to open them, then withdraw to the edge of the exterior stairs.

As he suspected, the sanctuary was filled with the ethereal light shining from the Spire on the other side of the city, its radiance raining down through the windows in the dome high above. The stone altar glowed in the dark.

“I thank you, Hjorst, for being willing to undertake a divination on my behalf, especially so far after Yule,” he said as they made their way down the center aisle. “I am grateful to have a friend who has the power to aid in the mission we have undertaken.”

“We have not discussed your needs sufficiently, Talquist,” the Diviner replied quietly. “I have no idea what sort of divination you are seeking, and so therefore do not have all of the materials I will need to undertake one.”

“What are the options?”

The Diviner looked around the sanctuary, his eyes finally coming to rest on the stone table atop the cylindrical rise.

“First, is that the semen-soaked altar you referred to?”

“No, not at all,” Talquist said quickly. When he had undertaken the lie, he had realized almost immediately that it might negate the altar’s use. Given its sacred status in Lianta’ar, he assumed it would be the best place to make whatever sacrifice the Diviner required for conducting his ritual. “Even Constantin had a fragment of discretion. The altar I referred to is in the manse, where he and the highest of his clerics lived.”

“Ah, good. At least we have a place to perform the rite. Now, there are many different types of rituals, depending on what sort of answer you are looking for.”

“Such as?”

“Well, have you had a sign or an omen that you want interpreted?”

“No, not really,” Talquist said. “I went to Manwyn’s temple and paid for a prophecy, which she gave me, but it was incomplete.”

The Diviner sighed. “Perhaps we should begin with you explaining what it is you want to know, Talquist—completely and honestly. I do not judge those I divine for, but I hate being misled or lied to. When that happens, it would have been better not to have undertaken the ritual in the first place; there is a considerable amount of risk in it, both for you and for me.”

Talquist drew himself up indignantly.

“I would never lie to you, Hjorst,” he said, a haughty tone in his voice.

“I did not think you would, nor was I referring to you personally. I’m just explaining that you need not worry about the subject of your divination as far as I am concerned; I will not think ill of you, whatever it is.”

The Merchant Emperor closed his eyes. Telling the truth, something he undertook rarely, was easier if he did not have to meet the gaze of the recipient of that truth.

“I have finally ascended to the throne after—after a year I voluntarily spent as regent, rather than agreeing just to be crowned emperor,” he said haltingly. He had almost inadvertently revealed how long he had actually been planning his ascendancy, and the steps he had taken to put it in place. “I thought that a humble approach to my unexpected selection by the Scales was the best one.”