Chapter 16

“Can we meet in the palace this time?” Tairus asked. “Maybe a room with comfortable chairs? And no stairs?”

Rome laughed and clapped him on the back. “When did you get so old?”

“Since you became king and put me in charge of your army maybe,” Tairus grumbled. “If I’d known how many details and how many meetings go into being general, I would have arrested you when you showed up outside Thrikyl and turned you over to Rix myself.”

“Macht. I’m not the king, I’m the macht.” Rome had gone through with his plan to change his title and he’d sent criers through the city proclaiming it to the people.

“Sure, Macht,” Tairus said. “But I’ve been on my feet all day running your army—did you know I had to meet with the chief quartermaster three times today? I can’t stand the man. You’d think every sword and bent horseshoe belonged to him—and I’m tired. I want to sit down and have a servant bring me something to drink.”

“Okay, the palace it is,” Rome agreed. They were in front of the palace, in the grand, circular carriage way. Under Rix the carriage way had frequently had opulent carriages coming and going, ferrying the nobility to and from meetings with the king. Now the carriages were all gone and the only wheeled vehicles coming and going were wagons and carts, carrying food, weapons, and building supplies. Now when the nobles wanted an audience with their macht they had to leave their carriages outside the gates and make it the rest of the way on foot. They hated that.

Rome and Tairus walked into the palace. Two servants converged on the two men immediately, but Rome waved them off. “I hate having them bowing and scraping,” he told Tairus in a low voice. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“So order them not to,” Tairus responded.

“When I do that, they just look miserable. I can’t win with these people.”

“Which is why you hide in the tower,” Tairus said.

“I don’t hide in the tower,” Rome said indignantly.

“Call it what you want. Seems like hiding to me.”

They were in a large entrance hall. Statues stood in niches along the sides and tapestries draped the walls. Colored tiles covered the floor. Ornately-carved stairways climbed up both sides of the room to galleries on the second floor. Hallways led off in three directions. Everything was encrusted in gilt and filigree.

Tairus stopped and looked up. “I never noticed that before,” he said, pointing. On the ceiling high overhead was a mural depicting a majestic king leading troops into battle. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s not me. Why would I wear gold armor? Talk about making yourself a target.” Rome squinted at it. He’d never really noticed it before either. “I should have it painted over.” He waved his hand at the rest of the room. “I should tear all this out. It’s awful.”

“Give it time. You’ll get to like it.”

“I don’t want to like it,” Rome grumbled. “Come on.” He started up one of the stairways and when Tairus protested he said, “Oh, it’s only one floor. There’s something I need to do up here first.” At the top of the stairs he strode down a hallway, waving off another servant who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“You know, you could have one of them bring us some ale before you run him off,” Tairus said.

“Don’t worry. There’ll be another one. There always is.” They went down the hall a short way to a set of double doors. Rome opened one door and went in, Tairus following. The room was large, with a massive four-poster bed, heavy, ornately-carved furniture, and a big mirror hanging on the wall.

Rome walked over to the bed and proceeded to mess it up, pulling the blankets back, tossing the pillows around. He looked at it critically for a moment, then lay down on the bed and rolled around on it some more. He got up. “That should do it.”

Tairus gave him an incredulous look. “What are you doing?”

“Opus wouldn’t stop bothering me, so I told him I’d sleep in here once or twice every week,” Rome said, lowering his voice overheard. “I’m trying to make it look like I did.”

“You know that’s crazy, don’t you?”

“You don’t know Opus like I do. Trust me, this way is easier.”

Just then a servant emerged from a door near the back of the bedchamber, carrying a stack of linens. When she saw the macht she stopped. “Forgive me, Macht. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Rome told her hastily. He saw her looking quizzically at the bed. “Just do one thing for me, will you? Don’t tell Opus about this. This is our little secret, right?”

After the servant had mumbled her agreement and hurried from the room, Rome turned to Tairus. “She’s going to go straight to Opus and tell him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. Come on. Let’s leave before he shows up.”

They continued on down the hall until they came to another door. “Let’s try this one.” Rome opened it and looked inside. It seemed to be some kind of living quarters, with a bed, some heavy furniture and a door leading out to a small balcony. “No, that’s no good,” he said, backing out and closing the door. “It seems like half the rooms in here are bedrooms. I’m told all the important nobles kept quarters here in the palace. So they could be close to the king, I guess. Not anymore though.” He gave Tairus a wicked smile. “Kicking those lickspittles out of here was one of the best things I’ve ever gotten to do. You should have heard them.” Their outrage had been the talk of Qarath for a month and only served to make Rome even more popular with the ordinary citizens.

The next door opened on some kind of meeting room, with a large, circular table surrounded by chairs. “This will do,” Rome said, leading Tairus in.

“The ale?”

“Oh, right.” Rome went back to the door and leaned out into the hallway. A woman was sweeping a few doors down, her back to him. “Hey, you!” he called. She looked up, startled, tried to curtsy and dropped her broom with a clatter. “Get us some ale. Bread and cheese too.” She stared at him openmouthed, then hurried away.

Rome came back into the room shaking his head. He sat down with a grunt and put his feet up on the table. “Tell me what you found out,” he said to Tairus.

Tairus proceeded to fill him in on the efforts to recruit new soldiers. He followed that with some details on what they had on hand in weapons and armor and how fast the smiths could turn out more. Then he went into horses, feed, training. Rome had asked for an overview of the army and how fast Tairus thought it could be built up.

While he was talking servants brought in ale, bread and cheese. One tried to stay and serve them but Rome chased him off. “I’m not helpless. I can pour my own ale,” he said.

Tairus finished by saying, “We can put thirty thousand soldiers in the field tomorrow and maybe another ten thousand within a month, though they won’t be much good until they get more training. That’s not counting the five thousand garrisoned at Thrikyl. I don’t want to cut those numbers down more than that, not until we’re sure there isn’t going to be another uprising.”

“Nobody but Karthije can put more than half that number up against us,” Rome said. “If we can take a couple of the smaller kingdoms before they react, we can add some of their soldiers to our own and then we should be able to beat them.”

“So you say,” Tairus said sourly.

“You still don’t think much of my empire, do you?”

“No. I don’t. I think it’s a fool’s dream. I told you that before and I still believe it.” Tairus took a long drink from his ale and wiped foam from his mustache.

“But what if the threat from Melekath is real?”

Tairus belched and drank more ale. “Have you seen this Lowellin since the first time?”

“I did. He popped up in the tower a couple nights ago, when I was getting ready for bed.”

Tairus grunted. “Sounds like he likes popping up in the tower. You sure there aren’t some secret doors in that place?”

“I’m sure.”

“What did he want?”

“He was asking questions about the black axe, where I got it and such.”

“What did you tell him?”

Rome shrugged. “Not much. There isn’t much to tell. I found it in the desert.”

“How did he like that?”

“He didn’t. He accused me of not taking him seriously.”

“I don’t trust this man. I don’t trust him at all. He’s playing his own game and using us as pieces. We need to get rid of him.”

“You have any good ideas how to do that?”

“Post some guards in the tower. Arrest him the next time he shows up.”

“And if he really is who he says he is?”

“Then you won’t be able to arrest him, will you?”

“I don’t know. There’s something about him, something unnatural. Put that together with the rumors about those things roaming the countryside and the other weird stuff that’s going on…”

“What other weird stuff?”

“You know, the axe.”

“Okay, something is going on. I’ll admit that. But it doesn’t mean some crazed god is getting out of prison and coming to attack us.”

“No, it doesn’t. But if it does, Lowellin may be our best ally.”

“Or our worst enemy.”

Both men drank in silence for a few minutes. Then Tairus spoke again.

“I saw Quyloc this morning. Is he sick? He doesn’t look too good.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Quyloc. He won’t tell me. I hope he figures it out soon, though. He’s been skipping out on most of his work and eventually the city’s going to fall apart without him.”

“He asked me if I’d seen Lowellin.”

“He asked me too. There’s something going on there.”

“This isn’t going to end well,” Tairus predicted gloomily.

“That’s what you said when Rix sent me off to fight the Crodin,” Rome said, draining his glass. “And look how that turned out.” He held up his empty glass. It was a dainty thing, holding no more than two swallows. “Why do they bring me stuff like this?” he complained. “One or two swallows and it’s empty. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Well, I better get going,” Tairus said, finishing his glass too. “I have to go talk to Lucent. Someone needs to tell him we’re trying to attract new recruits to the army, not run them off.”

“Best of luck with that,” Rome said. They both knew how Lucent was. He’d been training new recruits seemingly forever; he’d trained both of them when they were new. He was a holy terror with only one volume and that was loud. He believed in beating down green recruits until they cracked. He believed those that didn’t might be worth something someday. Those that did deserved what he gave them.

Tairus left and Rome sat there alone, forgoing the glass and drinking straight from the pitcher of ale. Then the door opened and Opus came in.

“Pardon, Sire,” he began. “I came to remind you—”

He saw Rome’s feet on the table and gave a strangled cry. “What are you doing?” He hurried over to the table. “Take them off. Take them off this minute.”

The table was carved from heavy, black maple. Mother-of-pearl was inlaid in the legs, and silver filigree traced its way across the top. Rome’s boots had scratched the wood rather badly. “The table of Loness!” he cried. “You’ve destroyed it!” He produced a cloth from inside his jacket and wiped ineffectually at the scratches.

Rome belched and set the pitcher down. “I didn’t mean to, Opus. It was an accident.”

“An accident. You, Sire, are the accident. You have no sense of the propriety of your position. No sense of how a king should act.”

“But I’m not the king. I’m the macht.”

“So you say. Titles, titles. In the end you are the king and I would perish of joy if you would actually act like one.” Opus’s attention shifted from the table to Rome himself. “Look at yourself.” He tried to brush some of the dirt from Rome’s shirt. Rome had helped hold a horse that one of the farriers was shoeing that morning and had gotten kicked soundly for his troubles. His shirt was torn and there was manure on his pants. “How will people respect you if you won’t even try and act the part?”

“I’ll try, Opus, really I will.” The truth was that Rome did feel somewhat bad. It was a nice table. He hadn’t meant to scratch it. Some of the hobnails must be coming loose in his boots.

Opus gave up and stepped back, tucking the cloth away again. He took a deep breath and composed himself. “I assume from your attire that you have forgotten your appointment with the delegation from Managil, Sire.”

“Delegation?” Rome frowned and scratched his head. His scalp was itchy. Maybe he did need a bath. “Is that today?”

“Yes, it is. They are already waiting for you in the audience hall.”

Rome winced. “Can’t you find Quyloc and have him meet them? He’s really a lot better with delegations than I am. You remember what happened with the ones from Rahn Loriten.” A delegation had come from that kingdom shortly after Rome took power, to offer gifts and acknowledge him as king. Rome got drunk and ended up in a fight with the ambassador. He broke the man’s nose and, though he’d apologized sincerely afterwards, relations were still strained with that kingdom.

“Believe me when I say I do remember,” Opus said solemnly. “If I could locate the Advisor I would certainly have him present.”

“You can’t find him?”

“He can be more elusive than you, Sire.”

“Can we just put them off until you find him?”

Opus straightened his collar and shook his head. “They have waited an entire day already. You must meet with them.”

“Okay, I’ll meet with them,” Rome said grudgingly. He finished the ale in a long pull and stood up.

Opus held the door for him and as he passed through, he said, “May I suggest a bath, Sire? And some clean clothes?”

“I can do that,” Rome agreed, scratching again. Were there fleas in his cot?

“I will have a servant draw the water and set out suitable attire.”

“But not the crown,” Rome said. “That thing hurts my head.”

Opus sighed. “No crown, then.” As Rome started down the hall, Opus said, “One more thing, Sire?” Rome stopped and turned around. “Are the royal quarters to your satisfaction?” Something gleamed in his eyes. “Is the bed there to your liking?”

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