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‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘I just assumed that the villagers all worshipped you. It’s sort of logical that you’d choose to be born in a village of your own adherents.’
‘You don’t understand Styrics at all, do you? That’s the most tedious idea I’ve ever heard of – a whole village of people who all worship the same God? How boring.’
‘Elenes do it.’
‘Elenes eat pigs too.’
‘What have you got against pigs?’
She shuddered.
‘Who does Zalasta worship if he’s not one of your adherents?’
‘He hasn’t chosen to tell us, and it’s terribly impolite to ask.’
‘How did he get to be a member of the Thousand then? I thought you had to be a high priest to qualify for membership.’
‘He isn’t a member. He doesn’t want to be. He advises them.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I really shouldn’t say this, Sparhawk, but don’t expect exalted wisdom from the council. High priests are devout, but that doesn’t require wisdom. Some of the Thousand are frighteningly stupid.’
‘Can you get any kind of clue about which God might be at the bottom of all these disturbances?’
‘No. Whoever it is doesn’t want any of the rest of us to know his identity, and there are ways we can conceal ourselves. About all I can say is that he’s not Styric. Pay very close attention at the meeting this afternoon, Sparhawk. My temperament’s Styric, and there may be things I’d overlook just because I’m so used to them.’
‘What do you want me to look for?’
‘I don’t know. Use your rudimentary intuition. Look for false notes, lapses, any kind of clue hinting at the fact that someone’s not entirely what he seems to be.’
‘Do you suspect that there might be some member of the Thousand working for the other side?’
‘I didn’t say that. I just said that there’s something wrong. I’m getting another of those premonitions like the one I had at Kotyk’s house. Something’s not what it’s supposed to be here, and I can’t for the life of me tell what it is. Try to find out what it is, Sparhawk. We really need to know.’
The council of the Thousand met in a stately marble building at the very centre of Sarsos. It was an imposing, even intimidating building that shouldered its way upward arrogantly. Like all public buildings, it was totally devoid of any warmth or humanity. It had wide, echoing marble corridors and huge bronze doors designed to make people feel tiny and insignificant.
The actual meetings took place in a large, semicircular hall with tier upon tier of marble benches stairstepping up the sides. There were ten of those tiers, naturally, and the seats on each tier were evenly spaced. It was all very logical. Architects are usually logical, since their buildings tend to collapse if they are not.
At Sephrenia’s suggestion, Sparhawk and the other Elenes wore simple white robes to avoid those unpleasant associations in the minds of Styrics when they are confronted by armoured Elenes. The knights, however, wore chain-mail and swords under their robes.
The chamber was about half-full, since at any given time a part of the council was off doing other things. The members of the Thousand sat or strolled about talking quietly with each other. Some moved purposefully among their colleagues, talking earnestly. Others laughed and joked. Not a few were sleeping.
Zalasta led them to the front of the chamber where chairs had been placed for them in a kind of semicircle.
‘I have to take my seat,’ Sephrenia told them quietly. ‘Please don’t take immediate action if someone insults you. There’s several thousand years of resentment built up in this chamber, and some of it’s bound to spill over.’ She crossed the chamber to sit on one of the marble benches.
Zalasta stepped to the centre of the room and stood silently, making no attempt to call the assemblage to order. The traditional courtesies were obscure here. Gradually, the talking tapered off, and the Council members took their seats. ‘If it please the Council,’ Zalasta said in Styric, ‘we are honoured today by the presence of important guests.’
‘It certainly doesn’t please me,’ one member retorted. ‘These “guests” appear to be Elenes for the most part, and I’m not all that interested in hob-nobbing with pig-eaters.’
‘This promises to be moderately unpleasant,’ Stragen murmured. ‘Our Styric cousins seem to be as capable of boorishness as we are.’
Zalasta ignored the ill-mannered speaker and continued. ‘Sarsos is subject to the Tamul Empire,’ he reminded them, ‘and we benefit enormously from that relationship.’
‘And the Tamuls make sure we pay for those benefits,’ another member called.
Zalasta ignored that as well. ‘I’m sure you’ll all join with me in welcoming First Secretary Oscagne, the Chief of the Imperial Foreign Service.’
‘I don’t know what makes you so sure about that, Zalasta,’ someone shouted with a raucous laugh.
Oscagne rose to his feet. ‘I’m overwhelmed by this demonstration of affection,’ he said dryly in perfect Styric.
There were cat-calls from the tiers of seats. The cat-calls died quite suddenly when Engessa rose to his feet and stood with his arms folded across his chest. He did not even bother to scowl at the unruly councillors.
‘That’s better,’ Oscagne said. ‘I’m glad that the legendary courtesy of the Styric people has finally asserted itself. If I may, I’ll briefly introduce the members of our party, and then we’ll place an urgent matter before you for your consideration.’ He briefly introduced Patriarch Emban. An angry mutter swept through the chamber.
‘That’s directed at the Church, your Grace,’ Stragen told him, ‘not at you personally.’
When Oscagne introduced Ehlana, one council member on the top tier whispered a remark to those seated near him which elicited a decidedly vulgar laugh. Mirtai came to her feet like an uncoiling spring, her hands darting to her sheathed daggers.
Engessa said something sharply to her in the Tamul tongue.
She shook her head. Her eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. She drew a dagger. Mirtai may not have understood Styric, but she did understand the implications of that laugh.
Sparhawk rose to his feet. ‘It’s my place to respond, Mirtai,’ he reminded her.
‘You will not defer to me?’
‘Not this time, no. I’m sorry, but it’s a sort of formal occasion, so we should observe the niceties.’ He turned to look up at the insolent Styric in the top row. ‘Would you care to repeat what you just said a little louder, neighbour?’ he asked in Styric. ‘If it’s so funny, maybe you should share it with us.’
‘Well, what do you know,’ the fellow sneered, ‘a talking dog.’
Sephrenia rose to her feet. ‘I call upon the Thousand to observe the traditional moment of silence,’ she declared in Styric.
‘Who died?’ the loud-mouth demanded.
‘You did, Camriel,’ she told him sweetly, ‘so our grief will not be excessive. This is Prince Sparhawk, the man who destroyed the Elder God Azash, and you’ve just insulted his wife. Did you want the customary burial – assuming that we can find enough of you to commit to the earth when he’s done with you?’
Camriel’s jaw had dropped, and his face had gone dead white. The rest of the Council also visibly shrank back.
‘His name still seems to carry some weight,’ Ulath noted to Tynian.
‘Evidently. Our insolent friend up there seems to be having long, gloomy thoughts about mortality.’
‘Councillor Camriel,’ Sparhawk said quite formally, ‘let us not interrupt the deliberations of the Thousand with a purely personal matter. I’ll look you up after the meeting, and we can make the necessary arrangements.’
‘What did he say?’ Ehlana whispered to Stragen.
‘The usual, your Majesty. I expect that Councillor Camriel’s going to remember a pressing engagement on the other side of the world at any moment now.’
‘Will the Council permit this barbarian to threaten me?’ Camriel quavered.
A silvery-haired Styric on the far side of the room laughed derisively. ‘You personally insulted a state visitor, Camriel,’ he declared. ‘The Thousand has no obligation to defend you under those circumstances. Your God has been very lax in your instruction. You’re a boorish, loud-mouthed imbecile. We’ll be well rid of you.’
‘How dare you speak to me so, Michan?’
‘You seem dazzled by the fact that one of the Gods is slightly fond of you, Camriel,’ Michan drawled, ‘and you overlook the fact that we all share that peculiar eminence here. My God loves me at least as much as your God loves you.’ Michan paused. ‘Probably more, actually. I’d guess that your God’s having second thoughts about you at the moment. You must be a terrible embarrassment to him. But you’re wasting valuable time. As soon as this meeting adjourns, I expect that Prince Sparhawk will come looking for you – with a knife. You do have a knife some place nearby, don’t you, your Highness?’
Sparhawk grinned and opened his robe slightly to reveal his sword-hilt.
‘Splendid, old fellow,’ Michan said. ‘I’d have been glad to lend you mine, but a man always works better with his own equipment. Haven’t you left yet, Camriel? If you plan to live long enough to see the sun go down, you’d best get cracking.’
Councillor Camriel fled.
‘What happened?’ Ehlana demanded impatiently.
‘If we choose to look at it in a certain light, we could consider the Councillor’s flight to be a form of apology,’ Stragen told her.
‘We do not accept apologies,’ Mirtai said implacably. ‘May I chase him down and kill him, Ehlana?’
‘Why don’t we just let him run for a while, Mirtai?’ the queen decided.
‘How long?’
‘How long would you say he’s likely to run, Milord?’ Ehlana asked Stragen.
‘The rest of his life probably, my Queen.’
‘That sounds about right to me.’
The response of the Thousand to Zalasta’s description of the current situation was fairly predictable, and the fact that all of the speeches showed evidence of much polishing hinted strongly that there had been few surprises in his presentation. The Thousand seemed to be divided into three factions. Predictably, there were a fair number of councillors who took the position that the Styrics could defend themselves and that they had no real reason to become involved. Styrics had strong suspicions where Elene promises were concerned, since Elene rulers tended to forget promises made to Styrics after a crisis had passed.
A second faction was more moderate. They pointed out the fact that the crisis here concerned the Tamuls rather than the Elenes, and that the presence of a small band of Church Knights from Eosia was really irrelevant. As the silvery-haired Michan pointed out, ‘The Tamuls may not be our friends in every sense of the word, but at least they’re not our enemies. Let’s not overlook the fact that their Atans keep the Astels, the Edomish and the Dacites from our doorstep.’ Michan was highly respected, and his opinion carried great weight in the council.
There was a third faction as well, a vocal minority so rabidly anti-Elene that they even went so far as to suggest that the interests of Styricum might be better served by an alliance with the perpetrators of the outrages. Their speeches were not really intended to be taken seriously. The speakers had merely seized this opportunity to list long catalogues of grievances and to unleash diatribes of hatred and vituperation.
‘This is starting to get tiresome.’ Stragen finally said to Sparhawk, rising to his feet.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Do? Why, I’m going to respond, old boy.’ He stepped to the centre of the floor and stood resolutely in the face of their shouts and curses. The noise gradually subsided, more because those causing it had run out of things to say than because anyone was really curious about what this elegant blond Elene had to say. ‘I’m delighted to discover that all men are equally contemptible.’ Stragen told them, his rich voice carrying to every corner of the hall. ‘I had despaired of ever finding a flaw in the Styric character, but I find that you’re like all other men when you’re gathered together into a mob. The outspoken and unconcealed bigotry you have revealed here this afternoon has lifted my despair and filled my heart with joy. I swoon with delight to find this cesspool of festering nastiness lurking in the Styric soul, since it proves once and for all that men are all the same, regardless of race.’
There were renewed shouts of protest. The protests were laced with curses this time.
Once again Stragen waited. ‘I’m disappointed in you, my dear brothers,’ he told them finally. ‘An Elene child of seven could curse more inventively. Is this really the best the combined wisdom of Styricum can come up with? Is “Elene bastard” really all you know how to say? It doesn’t even particularly insult me, because in my case it happens to be true.’ He looked around, his expression urbane and just slightly superior. ‘I’m also a thief and a murderer, and I have a large number of unsavoury habits. I’ve committed crimes for which there aren’t even names, and you think your pallid, petty denunciations could distress me in any way? Does anyone have a meaningful accusation before I examine your failings?’
‘You’ve enslaved us!’ someone bellowed.
‘Not me, old boy,’ Stragen drawled. ‘You couldn’t give me a slave. You have to feed them, you know – even when they’re not working. Now then, let’s step right along here. We’ve established the fact that I’m a thief and a murderer and a bastard, but what are you? Would the word “snivellers” startle you? You Styrics whine a great deal. You’ve carefully stored up an inventory of the abuses you’ve suffered in the past several thousand years and you take a perverted pleasure in sitting in dark, smelly corners regurgitating them all, chewing them over and over like mouthfuls of stale vomit. You try to blame Elenes for all your troubles. Does it surprise you to discover that I feel no guilt about the plight of the Styrics? I have more than enough guilt for things I have done without beating my breast about things that happened a thousand years before I was born. Frankly, my friends, all these martyred expressions bore me. Don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourselves? I’m now going to offend you even more by getting right to the point. If you want to snivel, do it in your own time. We’re offering you the opportunity to join with us in facing a common enemy. It’s just a courtesy, you understand, because we don’t really need you. Keep that firmly in view. We don’t need you. Actually, you’ll encumber us. I’ve heard a few intellectual cripples here suggest an alliance with our enemy. What makes you think he’d want you as allies? The Elene peasantry would probably be overjoyed if you tried, though, because that would give them an excuse to slaughter Styrics from here to the straits of Thalesia. Joining with us won’t ensure a lessening of Elene prejudice, but joining with our enemies will almost guarantee that ten years from now there won’t be a live Styric in any Elene kingdom in the world.’
He scratched thoughtfully at his chin and looked around. ‘I guess that more or less covers everything,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you talk it over amongst yourselves? My friends and I will be leaving for Matherion tomorrow. You might want to let us know what you’ve decided before we go. That’s entirely up to you, of course. Words couldn’t begin to express our indifference to the decisions of such an insignificant people.’ He turned and offered his arm to Ehlana. ‘Shall we leave, your Majesty?’ he suggested.
‘What did you say to them, Stragen?’
‘I insulted them,’ he shrugged, ‘on as many levels as I possibly could. Then I threatened them with racial extinction and then invited them to sign on as allies.’
‘All in one speech?’
‘He was brilliant, your Majesty,’ Oscagne said enthusiastically. ‘He said some things to the Styrics that have needed saying for a long, long time.’
‘I have certain advantages, your Excellency,’ Stragen smiled. ‘My character’s so questionable that nobody expects me to be polite.’
‘Actually, you’re exquisitely courteous,’ Bevier disagreed.
‘I know, Sir Bevier, but people don’t expect it of me, so they can’t bring themselves to believe it.’
Both Sephrenia and Zalasta had icy, offended expressions on their faces that evening.
‘I wasn’t trying to be personally insulting,’ Stragen assured them. ‘I’ve heard any number of enlightened people say exactly the same thing. We sympathise with Styrics, but we find these interminable seizures of self-pity tedious.’
‘You said many things that simply aren’t true, you know,’ Sephrenia accused him.
‘Of course I did. It was a political speech, little mother. Nobody expects a politician to tell the truth.’
‘You were really gambling, Milord Stragen,’ Zalasta said critically. ‘I nearly swallowed my tongue when you told them that the Elenes and the Tamuls were offering an alliance simply out of courtesy. When you told them that you didn’t really need them, they might very well have decided to sit the whole affair out.’
‘Not when he was holding all the rest of Styricum hostage, learned one,’ Oscagne disagreed. ‘It was a brilliant political speech. That not-so-subtle hint of the possibility of a new wave of Elene atrocities didn’t really leave the Thousand any choice in the matter. What was the general reaction?’
‘About what you’d expect, your Excellency,’ Zalasta replied. ‘Milord Stragen cut the ground out from under the Styric tradition of self-pity. It’s very hard to play the martyr when you’ve just been told that it makes you look like a silly ass. There’s a fit of towering resentment brewing among the Thousand. We Styrics are terribly fond of feeling sorry for ourselves, and that’s been ruined now. No one ever really considered joining with the enemy – even if we knew who he was – but Stragen effectively bludgeoned us into going even further. Neutrality’s out of the question now, since the Elene peasants would come to view neutrality as very nearly the same thing as actually joining with our unknown opponent. The Thousand will assist you, your Excellency. They’ll do all they can do – if only to protect our brothers and sisters in Eosia.’
‘You’ve put in a full day’s work, Stragen,’ Kalten said admiringly. ‘We could have been here for a month trying to persuade the Styrics that it was in their best interests to join us.’
‘My day isn’t finished yet,’ Stragen told him, ‘and the next group I have to try to persuade is much more hard-headed.’
‘Might I be of some assistance?’ Zalasta offered.
‘I really rather doubt it, learned one. As soon as it gets dark, Talen and I have to pay a visit to the thieves of Sarsos.’
‘There are no thieves in Sarsos, Stragen!’
Stragen and Talen looked at each other, and then they burst out with howls of cynical laughter.
‘I just don’t trust him, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said later that night when they were in bed. ‘There’s something about him that just doesn’t ring true.’
‘I think it’s his accent, love. I felt the same way until I realised that while his Elene is perfect, his accent puts emphasis on the wrong words. Styric and Elene flow differently. Don’t worry, though, Sephrenia would know if Zalasta weren’t to be trusted. She’s known him for a long, long time.’
‘I still don’t like him,’ she insisted. ‘He’s so oily he gleams when the light hits him just right.’ She raised one hand. ‘And don’t try to shrug it off as prejudice. I’m looking at Zalasta as a human being, not as a Styric. I just don’t trust him.’
‘That should pass after we get to know him better.’
