Wrath of a Mad God Read online

  raymond e. feist

  the Golden Throne. It was the ultimate prize for any ambitious Tsurani noble. “It is to our cousin, Tetsu of the Minwanabi, I turn.” He looked toward a grizzled noble, still powerful in bearing despite his heavy physique and grey hair. “Will you don this heavy burden, my lord?”

  Tetsu of the Minwanabi bowed his head, barely able to contain his emotions. “Gladly, Majesty. I live to serve: my life and honor are yours.”

  The Emperor turned to the assembled lords. “Send word to your commanders, my lords. The nations go to war. Go now and return at the second hour after sunrise tomorrow and we shall ready ourselves.” He turned to his First Advisor, an elderly man named Janain who had previously been his father’s First Advisor.

  “Send word to the Priests of Jastur. I will arrive at noon tomorrow to break the Holy Seal.”

  Miranda glanced at Alenca, uncertain what this particular order meant. The old magician gave a slight shake of his head.

  But she could tell from the attitude of every man in the room that this announcement was both important and alarming.

  The Emperor continued, “I will take counsel with the Lady Miranda, the Great Ones with whom she arrived, and the Warlord.” He paused for a moment, then ended the assembly with the formal dismissal, “Honors to your houses, my lords.”

  He stepped down from the dais and everyone in the room bowed, the common servants going to their knees. As the Emperor swept past, he glanced in Miranda’s direction, and indicated that she should follow.

  As the newly appointed Warlord fell into step behind the Emperor, Alenca held Miranda back for a moment. Without preamble, he said, “By breaking the seal on the temple of the War God, the Light of Heaven ensures all other matters become moot. No faction struggle, clan feud, or debt of blood may be undertaken until the temple door is again resealed, and that will not happen until final victory is achieved.” He glanced around as if worried about being overheard. “You must understand the gravity of this. He has told them that not only are we preparing for the possibility of war, but that we are going to war.”

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  Miranda was confused. “Isn’t that what we wanted?”

  Alenca said, “It is not what I expected. Moreover, I never believed any emperor would again revive the office of Warlord.

  To promote a Minwanabi to that position . . .”

  “What does it mean?” asked Miranda, wishing not for the first time but with more fervor than ever before that her husband were here. Pug would understand all of this.

  “There is an old saying, one that I am certain you have among your people as well: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. The Minwanabi were defeated by the Acoma, the Emperor’s ancestors, and rather than the usual obliteration, with every living member of that family put to the sword or sold into slavery, the great Lady of the Acoma, the Mistress of the Empire, in a gesture of mercy unimaginable to any Tsurani ruling noble, allowed the Minwanabi to survive. That made one of the original five great houses a vassal to a lesser house, an insult to our ancestors despite the generosity of the gesture.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Miranda.

  “You would have to be Tsurani to understand fully, I fear,”

  said Alenca, motioning for Miranda to follow. “A minor cousin, one of the last surviving members of the last true Minwanabi lord was made ruling lord and he later married an Acoma cousin, further binding the two houses together, but the insult to the Minwanabi by the Acoma was never forgotten. I suspect that breaking the seal on the temple and putting the most dangerous man in the Empire in charge of the war is our Light of Heaven’s tactic to ensure that his most bitter enemy within the High Council is otherwise occupied for the foreseeable future and not exploring the possibility of regicide.”

  Miranda took a deep breath to calm herself and wondered, not for the first time, if the Tsurani were truly mad.

  Miranda continued to observe the young Emperor as he over-saw the conference in his private chambers. They had met only briefly on two previous occasions, the first when he was a boy in his father’s court, and the second time when he assumed the throne. The latter event was so dominated by Tsurani tradition 6 5

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  that she had been in his presence for less than five minutes, and the entire conversation had been between the young Emperor and her husband. Miranda had found it annoyingly ironic that she was soundly ignored by a tradition-bound young man who owed his position entirely to a tradition-breaking woman, his great-grandmother.

  And again she was being left on the edge of the conversation while the newly appointed Warlord and the Emperor maneu-vered the bulk of the questions to Alenca and the two other senior magicians from the Assembly. At one point in the hour-long interrogation she had verged on volunteering an observation, but Alenca had shot her a warning glance and a slight shake of the head and she had remained silent. Because of her husband’s affections for the old man and her previous dealings with him, she followed his lead, but wondered at what he was playing.

  Despite the injury done to her pride and independent nature, Miranda was impressed by how deftly the Emperor ma-neuvered the discussion in the direction in which he wished it to go, deftly controlling the flow of debate and manipulating opinion. After another hour of discussion, she was now certain that despite his youth, this Sezu of the Acoma, First of that Name, Emperor of all Tsuranuanni and Light of Heaven, was nobody’s fool. When the meeting came to a close, he had fashioned a consensus without once having to appeal to his own authority.

  As she rose, the Emperor said, “Lady Miranda, a moment please.”

  Alenca hesitated, then bowed slightly again to the Emperor and with an expression of curiosity indicated to Miranda that he’d wait outside for her. Once the Tsurani nobles and magicians had departed, the Emperor said, “May I offer you something?

  Wine? I have several very good reds from your Kingdom of the Isles, as well as some of those that have been cultivated here, though I fear our hot climate makes for difficult vintages.”

  Almost charmed, Miranda realized he was attempting to get her to drop her guard. She said, “Water would be fine, Majesty.”

  He signaled and almost before the gesture was finished a 6 6

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  large ceramic goblet of fresh water was presented on a tray by a servant. While she drank, the Emperor waved away the servants and pointed to two chairs placed before a massive window looking out over the central courtyard of the palace. “Please, no formality,” he said in the King’s Tongue, almost without accent.

  She looked surprised.

  “My guards are sworn to protect me and my life with their own,” he said, indicating the four remaining figures in the room, men clad in the traditional white-gold armor of the Emperor’s personal guard. “But they are men, and as such, likely to suffer the flaws of men. A word here, a chance remark there, and we are undone. So, while many here in Kelewan speak one or another of your home world’s tongues, I ensured that none of these do.” He said this with humor, but his eyes were fixed upon Miranda and showed no mirth. “So, what do you really think?”

  “About what, Majesty?” replied Miranda as she sat in the proffered chair, a well-cushioned divan that faced the Emperor’s.

  She studied his face. Like the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh on Midkemia, the Tsurani Empire was made up of diverse people, so there was no true Tsurani “look,” save that they were a short people compared to those from Midkemia.

  Sezu was a bit taller than average, perhaps matching Miranda’s five foot nine—most Tsurani men were an inch or two shorter; some were barely taller than dwarves.

  Other than that, the young man appeared the icon of Tsurani nobility, poised, calm, and almost impossible to read. If there was one thing about the Tsurani in general that annoyed Miranda it was their seemingly implacable composure. One rarely heard a raised voice or heated e
xchange in public.

  The Emperor sat down. “You did well.”

  “Thank you,” said Miranda, “I think.”

  The young man smiled and years fell away from him. “I sometimes struggle to remember you’re quite old, for you appear not that much older than me, say an older sister or very young aunt.”

  Miranda said, “Very young.”

  The Emperor chuckled. “I have been told certain things re-6 7

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  garding your husband’s whereabouts. Are those reports accurate?”

  “As accurate as can be, given that he’s unreachable by any means, magic or mundane,” she replied.

  The Emperor leaned back, thoughtful. “He undertakes a journey of unimaginable risk.”

  Miranda’s expression revealed her concern, despite her attempt to appear calm. “As I know all too well, Majesty.”

  “Then there are things I must know.”

  “What would you know, Majesty?”

  “The truth,” said the young monarch. “Alenca and the others often think me still a boy—and I suspect from their vantage point of advancing age, I must be—but from your point of view they must seem as children.”

  “I learned a long time ago, Majesty, age has little to do with wisdom. One can endure a lifetime’s experiences in a few years or go through life blissfully unaware of the world’s troubles around you. It depends on the person. Alenca possesses a calm appreciation of the situation in the midst of chaos I can only envy.”

  The Emperor was silent as he considered what she said, then he spoke: “My hallowed great-grandmother, Mara, had enough experience and wisdom for a dozen lifetimes, it seems.”

  Miranda said nothing, wondering at the reference to the venerated woman.

  “I believe your husband knew her.”

  Miranda said, “I’m not sure, Majesty. I know they met at least once over the years, but you must remember Pug was not always a welcome sight in these halls.”

  The Emperor smiled. “The Imperial Games. Yes, I remember the story. My great-grandmother was one of the many nobles at those games when your husband shamed the Warlord publicly and ended his power. Did you know it took almost five years to fully repair the damage Milamber did to the great stadium?”

  Miranda repressed a smile. Pug, Milamber as the Tsurani called him, was perhaps the most patient man she had ever encountered—a quality that she alternately respected and found annoying—but when he finally did lose his temper the display 6 8

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  could be horrific. By all accounts his display at those games so many years ago could only be called heroic, even godlike. He had rained down fire, called up tornados and earthquakes, and had all of the Empire’s nobility trembling at his feet in terror. At last she said, “I had heard the damage was extensive.”

  The Emperor lost his smile. “That’s not what I wished to talk about. The point I am making is that your husband and my great-grandmother caused more change in the Empire within a lifetime than had been seen for centuries previously.” He looked reflective, as if choosing his words carefully, then softly added,

  “I am about to tell you something that no one outside my family knows—not our closest allies, not even cousins and uncles.”

  Miranda said nothing.

  “When my grandfather had been on the throne for a short while, after his father returned from your world, the great Lady Mara took Emperor Justin aside and told him a secret.

  He shared that secret only with his son, my father; then when I was almost a man, my father shared it with me.” The Emperor stood, and as Miranda started to rise, he waved her back into her seat. “No need for formality, Miranda: I am about to share with you the single most closely guarded secret in the history of Tsuranuanni.” He moved to a chest carved from a blond hardwood, its design intricate and ornate. It had been polished to a gleam and there was something about it that now caught Miranda’s attention.

  “It’s magic,” she said softly.

  “Yes,” said the Emperor. “I have been told it would bring instant death to any but myself or my blood kin even to touch it—one good thing about absolute authority is that no servant has even attempted to dust it.” He paused for a brief second.

  “Though it never seems to need dusting.’ He slowly reached out, pausing as his fingers almost touched wood. “Each time I open this, I must admit to a moment of concern.” Then he gripped the top and removed it. It came off easily and the Emperor put the lid to one side. He then reached in and removed a parchment.

  Miranda felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. She had seen that parchment’s like before.

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  Without a word the Emperor handed the parchment to her.

  She unrolled it and read it. Then she let it fall from her hands, closed her eyes, and slumped down in the chair.

  After a moment of silence the Emperor Sezu said, “Apparently you understand what this means?”

  She nodded. Rising, she said, “If I may, Majesty, I need to consult with a few of my colleagues on my home world. I must seek other wise counsel before I begin to interpret this; its true meaning may be eluding me.”

  “The box has been in my family’s care for over a century,”

  said the Emperor, ignoring formality and kneeling to pick up the fallen parchment. He rolled it up and returned it to Miranda. “A few more days will have little bearing on what we do next. No matter what you decide this means, we must still mobilize.”

  “Now I understand why you put the nations on a formal war footing.”

  A look of sadness came over the young man. “No one must suspect what we are going to attempt until I am ready to order the nations to act. That is vital. My High Council is composed of very privileged rulers who will instantly obey like any good Tsurani soldier . . . until they’re given time to think. At that moment a civil war would be born.”

  “Alenca and some of the Great Ones need to be alerted.”

  “As few as you can, only the most trustworthy, and no one else, not until the precise moment I give the order.”

  Miranda nodded. “Very well, Majesty, but first I must return home immediately. If this is going to be your course of action, I have a great deal of preparation that must be started, as well as some very difficult people who are going to need convincing.

  Then I will return to speak with Alenca and the others.”

  “I shall leave word that you are to be permitted access to me at any time of the day or night, Lady Miranda. I shall provide you with whatever I may on this side of the rift.”

  Miranda said, “Farewell, Majesty, and might I suggest there is one thing we can both do: pray.”

  The Emperor was suddenly left looking at an empty chair, 7 0

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  for Miranda had vanished from sight. He glanced at the four guards in the room, but they were motionless, as they always were, their eyes locked forward, unmoved by the sight of a woman vanishing before them. Sezu, First of that Name, and Ruler of All the Nations of Tsuranuanni, sat down in his chair and began to compose himself. For whatever was coming, until it arrived, he had an empire to govern.

  Caleb looked up and felt an instant sense of relief at the sight of his mother. “I was starting to worry . . .” Her expression stopped him. “What is it?”

  Miranda said, “That animal Varen got me captured by the Dasati.”

  Caleb said, “Are you . . . ?” He let the question fall away, realizing that as far as he could see his mother was unhurt and had obviously escaped.

  “Only my dignity was injured. Pain, as you know, goes away.” She sat down in the other chair, a rolled parchment on her knees. “What news?”

  “Rosenvar and Joshua stand watch over the Talnoy, and Rosenvar reports that your experiments with Nakor have yielded good results. The control crystals work as well as the ring, with apparently no ill effect.” He began to sift through a pile of parchments and papers. “
I have his report here somewhere.”

  “I’ll read it later.” She sighed. “I know it’s pointless to ask about your father, brother, and Nakor?”

  Caleb nodded. There had been some hope that Pug might devise a means by which to send communication back to his son and wife, but everyone counted it a very slim hope.

  “No word from Kaspar’s expedition, either.”

  “The warning from . . . what do they call themselves?”

  “The Circle,” answered Caleb.

  “They’re interested in the Peaks of the Quor . . . that report was vague on any specific time, wasn’t it?”

  Caleb picked up another parchment. “Simply that we should expect them to appear in some force down on the lee side of the peninsula before the Spring Festival.”

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  “That’s another week, so they could be dealing with them now.” She glanced at her son. “Are you worried?”

  The dark-haired hunter pushed himself back from the table.

  “Always. Especially when you and father leave me in charge.”

  He rose and paced around the desk. “You know I am here only because I’m your son. There are others in the Conclave who are better suited—”

  “No,” she cut him off. “I know it is not your first choice, and you’d rather be out tramping through the woods or climbing some mountain, but the fact is you’ve been groomed all your life to take charge should anything happen to the rest of us. You know things, thousands of tiny details, that no one else, not even Nakor, knows. You just don’t know you know.” She was thoughtful. “But I think we need to find you an assistant, a magician—perhaps that young girl . . .”

  “Lettie?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. She’s not the best student we’ve had, but she’s got an uncanny grasp of how things fit together. Yes, I’ll have her sent here and you can begin to train her. I didn’t realize it until now, but we have no one ready to step in should anything happen to you.”