Shadows of the Scriptures

TWENTY-ONE: His Reverent Majesty

But Eoli’s smile seemed to have fallen in love with her lips. “They will remember you, my son, mark these words. History will remember you. As a great leader.”

“Sure. If I don’t lose my throne to that fucking rebel or fucking Ptirre, sure they will. Or maybe they’ll find an ape better fit to be king than I am. Pardon my language, mother, manners have never been my strong forte.”

“Before long that fucking rebel,” Eoli said, taking Alain by surprise, “will be kissing your boots. People like him always do. You think he really cares about the people? Their liberty and so forth?” She scoffed. “It’s all about power, in the end. Power and little else.”

“Well, he’ll have all the power he wants once my head is on a spike.”

“Don’t act an idiot, dear, it does not suit you. Listen to what I’m saying. Make him an offer he can’t refuse. Money, castles, whatever he wants.”

“Win their side to our side because we cannot prevail over them?” It was Alain’s turn to scoff. “Next there will another Shmeg’nar, and we’ll have to buy him too. Then another, and another, until the treasury goes hollow.”

“Valid point. Now let me make mine clear.” Eoli cleared her throat in a queenly fashion. “Raiders raid a farmer’s crop. The farmer has spent months growing it, but he lets them make what mischief they will because they are armed, and he has children he cannot put to risk. Next harvesting season the raiders come again. This time the farmer has made provisions. He makes sure their blood enriches the soil.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “you have to take measures you are not proud of. Measures you would not otherwise take. The Tethered Five are your children, Alain. Let the crop be taken for once. Let this Parush have his petty little victory. Next time some oaf decides he’ll make a better ruler than you, you can benevolently usher his head to the depths of our city moat.”

Alain chose silence.

Money talks, bullshit walks, had been another one of Aryan Khad’s favored sayings.

“Think about it,” she told him, adding: “Congratulation also on securing Dassan, that was nicely done.”

“It was my father-in-law that did the dirty work,” said Alain grudgingly. “He . . . confirms what others have been suspecting for a while now.”

“Really?”

“Your tone suggests you know already.”

“Know what?”

“The Rys Ami are not a fantasy. They are re –“

“I told you so! ‘Don’t trust your maidens or scriptures, mother, they’re stupid and so are you’.”

“That’s . . . not how I put it. And that is a poor impersonation of me.”

“What did you expect? I’m no actress.”

“No, but you’re sufficiently smug to be. Never too late to choose a new career, to follow your passion.”

“I suppose I'll enroll with the Gorub Pahnk within the month. That I’m the King’s mother should get me a few leading roles, don’t you think?”

“On a serious note,” said Alain, liking this leap to the light side his mother had made, “we have no idea how we’ll deal with them. They’re Shadows and Smoke. Here, this is what Sanghon tells us of them.”

He produced a chit from the sleeves of his coat, handed it to her. Eoli grabbed her jewel-studded optics from the bed and studied it for several seconds. “Do you have need of this?” she then asked him. When he shook his head she put it inside a baize-covered book. “How do you fight an enemy that steel can’t touch?”