The Children of Jacob Part 5/10

     News that an army was coming from the south spread quickly, causing great excitement amongst the people of Narrum.  For the past two weeks they had eagerly been awaiting forces from the house of Yedinay to aid in an assault on the enemy house of Sallah to the north.  Their feud had begun in the deep past, beyond the reach of memory, and never had either house been able to gather the strength to claim victory.  The fortuitous arrival of a stranger from the south a fortnight ago had promised to change that.  Why Abar had been wandering through their land they never found out, but they nevertheless welcomed his pledge of friendship and offer of soldiers to aid in their war.

            Soon the army was close enough for the pine tree and rising sun to be discerned on their banner, confirming that it was indeed Abar bringing the promised troops.  By the time they reached the edge of the forest, hundreds of people had gathered to greet them.  The hostilities with the house of Sallah had brought many hardships to their land, not the least of which was a constant dearth of food.  Now the people rejoiced at the sight of the men who would end their hunger.  Adding to their excitement was the fact that even the oldest members of their community had never seen anyone who did not belong to either the house of Narrum or the house Sallah until the arrival of Abar.  The coming of a single stranger had been a great enough novelty in itself, but now to be visited by an entire army of foreigners was sufficient to fill even the grayest heads with the youthful fantasies of childhood.

            “Abar, sir, thank you so much for coming,” said the head of their house.  “Whatever your men need is yours.  Just tell us your wishes and we’ll do everything in our power to fulfill them.”

            “Thank you for this gracious welcome,” answered Abar as he dismounted.  “Both these men and their horses are thirsty from their journey.  Could you please show us to some place where they might refresh themselves.”

            “Of course.  I’ll take you to the reservoir right away.”

            The man began walking with Abar at his side, followed by the men of his army and behind them by the many curious onlookers.  They soon came to the reservoir which could be seen to be a river dug out wider than its natural banks for a stretch of several hundred feet.  At the northern end of this widened section was a dam that cut off the flow of the waters below it.  When they had reached the water’s edge, one of the Yedinay soldiers dismounted and walked over to Abar and the Narrum leader.

            “Men, draw your swords,” he called out in a loud voice.  Then turning to the head of the Narrum he growled, “Tell your men not to attempt to fight back.  If they do, we’ll kill you first, and many of them will surely fall as well before they manage to scurry back to their homes and find their arms.”

            “Why are you doing this?” stammered the terrified man.  “We have no quarrel with the Yedinay.”

            “But these are not my men,” answered Abar.  “These are men of Sallah who I agreed to lead into the heart of your forest under my banner.  I suggest that you do as they demand.  If you give the order to fight you will be condemning your men to being slaughtered unarmed.”

            “But...all right,” he said to Abar and the Sallah captain.  In a louder voice he then called out, “People of Narrum, we have been betrayed and defeated.  We have no choice but to yield to these men for the time being.”

            “Thank you,” said the man from Sallah.  “Now let’s start by tearing down this dam.”

#

            His first month of travel had given Abar a new perspective on the meaning of the word “huge.”  Prior to leaving the valley of his family, his conception of size had been shaped by the mountains that he had seen every day of his life--towering slabs of rock whose peaks shot up far above the reach of humans.  Now he had seen plains stretching flat to the horizon in every direction, showing him that “huge” could be the very broad.  He had seen deep canyons carved by rivers over an unimaginable span of years, showing him that “huge” could expand into the dimension of time.  He had seen deserts filled with an uncountable number of grains of sand, showing him that “huge” could also describe the vast in quantity.  Nature had proven to be a much wiser and more creative instructor than he had ever hoped to encounter.

            As a corollary to his new-found appreciation for the size of the natural world, he had realized what a small place man occupied in it.  In fact, over the past four weeks he had had no direct contact with any other people, and he had come to believe that he could continue wandering at random for years without this ever changing.  If he wanted to fully experience the outside world, however, he knew that he could not restrict himself to the purely natural.  Villages were more likely to exist near sources of water, and assuming that the major rivers would be flowing northward away from the mountains, he made up his mind to walk due west until he intersected one of them.  Then he could follow it until it brought him to some sort of settlement.

            After the third day of following this plan, he came across a deep ditch running roughly north and south that appeared to have once been a river.  The ground within it was still moist, so it could not have gone dry too long ago.  Deciding that it was more probable to find water upstream than down, he began walking south along its edge.  By the middle of the afternoon he was rewarded with the sight of smoke rising in the distance, and before the sky had begun to darken he found himself in a small village.  Judging by the suspicious stares locked onto him as he walked through the streets, it was a town that received few visitors and that was sufficiently small that the locals all recognized each other.  Women and children cautiously made their way indoors while the men were slowly gathering about him--keeping enough distance so as not to impede his motion, but remaining close enough so that there was no missing their presence--until he was surrounded by a group of about thirty.  Having nothing of value with him, Abar felt not fear but more of a curiosity at their behavior.  It was with a sense of childish playfulness that he would stop suddenly and turn one way, only to continue walking in a different direction all together.  More than once he caused the staring men to trip over their own feet or collide with one another.  At length he decided he had toyed with them enough and stopped to address them.

            “Greetings!” he started in a cheerful voice.  “My name is Abar, and I come from the house of Yedinay to the south, in the valley that cuts across the great mountain range.”

            The crowd of men stood in silence with some of them still staring at Abar and others glancing nervously at each other in hopes that someone would take the initiative to reply.  After nearly a minute of this, one of their older members finally said, “And what brings you to Sallah, stranger?”

            “I am wandering through the land, hoping to meet people from whom I can learn.”

            “Learn what?”

            “Whatever I can.  I have seen very little of the world and, consequently, know very little.”

            “He is a spy from Narrum,” shouted out one of the other men.

            The man who had spoken first said to Abar, “What do you know of the people of Narrum?”

            “I know nothing of them.  My home is many miles away, and I don’t know anything about the people who live in this region.”

            “What proof can you give us of this?”

            Abar thought for a moment before answering, “None that I can think of, except that if I were meant to be a spy, then I’d be making a remarkably poor job of it.  Still, I’ll admit that it’s hardly a convincing argument.”

            “That it is.  I think it would be best if you staid with me until we have learned more about you.”

            Whether it was because this man’s opinion was well respected among the villagers or because a month of walking and eating only what he could gather from the land had worn Abar down to a rather unintimidating physique, the other men all seemed satisfied with this decision.  The man escorted Abar back to his house while the others went back to their own homes.  There he was met by a woman who was the right age to be the man’s wife sitting at a table that had been set for dinner.  The man informed her that the stranger would be joining them and pulled up an extra chair to the table.  As they began eating, the conversation started out stiff and hesitant, consisting mainly of questions about Abar’s past.  The easy manner with which Abar answered them, however, quickly put his dinner companions at ease and soon the speech began flowing more freely.

            “How long has the river been dry?” asked Abar once they had seemed to finish their interrogation.

            “For about a week,” answered the man.  “It’s been dammed upstream by the people of Narrum.”

            “Why did they do that?”

            “They are jealous that our land is more fertile than theirs, and they hope that by cutting off our water supply they can force us to give it up to them.”

            “What led them to take such a drastic action against you?”

            “Nothing.  They’re simply an evil people who have hated us without reason for as long as we have both lived here.”

            They discussed the matter no further that evening, but a few days later as Abar and the man were walking around the village together, Abar said to him, “I’ve noticed that your houses are all made out of mud bricks.  I would have thought the climate here was too damp for that.  Wouldn’t it be better to use wood?”

            “You’re right.  The bricks require frequent repair, but there is no accessible supply of lumber.”

            “What about that forest just to the south?”

            “That is where the Narrum live.  They would never let us use it.”

            They continued walking for a few moments without speaking, and then Abar began again, saying “I want to go and talk to the people of Narrum.  Since I am not one of you, perhaps they’ll listen to me and I can convince them to restore the river to you.”

            “They will not.”

            “Talking to them couldn’t make things any worse.  How long can you survive without the river?”

            “It would be dangerous for you.  I won’t allow it.  Somehow we’ll find a way to survive, but if we base our hopes on those people acting reasonably, then we’ll all certainly die.”

            “But surely if they’re as desperate for farmland as you say then they might be willing to tear down their dam in exchange for some of your crops.”

            “They won’t because they know that we would never agree to such a deal.  We would gladly sacrifice our own lives rather than have anything to do with them.”

            Abar decided to let the subject rest for the time being but made up his mind to sneak into the forest that night to speak with the people of Narrum himself.  He found it hard to believe that they could be as unreasonable as the people of Sallah seemed to think.  Escaping from the house was not difficult, for the couple with whom he was staying had grown to like him and did not watch him as vigilantly as they had his first night there.  Once they were both asleep he was free to walk out of the house and make his way into the woods unhindered.  There he went to sleep for the remainder of the night, confident that even if his departure were noticed that they would not venture into the forest after him.

            He did not wake up until daylight was fully upon the forest.  There was a vine growing near where his head had lain with blue colored berries that looked vaguely similar to a type that he knew to be edible.  Having survived his travels mostly off of fruits and vegetables that vaguely resembled varieties that he knew to be edible, he now felt no fear in picking a handful of them to soothe his hunger.  Once he had gulped them down he started walking along the empty riverbed farther into the forest.  It was not long before he came across a dam, behind which the water was heaped into a large reservoir.  The trees there were more widely spaced, and interspersed among the gaps were a few dozen small wooden huts.  A number of their inhabitants could also be seen walking around, going about their daily business.

            “Hello there,” said Abar stepping close enough to be seen.  He wished to announce himself right away and avoid the awkwardness that had characterized his introduction to the people of Sallah.  “My name is Abar, and I come from the house of Yedinay many miles to the south.”

            As before, the people turned to stare at him in silence as soon as they heard his voice.  Not deterred by this response, he quickly began speaking again.

            “I realize that I’ve actually come from the north, which might make it look like I’m coming from your enemies in the village of Sallah rather than...”

            “Be quiet!” shouted the harsh voice of one of the men.  “We will take you to see our chief.”

            Two large and rather fierce looking men walked up to him and, grabbing either arm, led him through the woods.  They came to a large clearing with a single wooden hut standing in it that was much larger than any of the others he had seen.  In addition to its increased size, it was also distinguished by the carvings that were etched all over its walls and door.  They were of fanciful creatures and men that at a quick glance, looked as if they might be depicting some sort of story.  He did not have time to study them in detail, though, for he was soon forced through the door.  There he saw a man sitting behind a fire whose smoke drifted lazily to the roof, where it escaped through a small, circular hole.  With a gentle push on either shoulder, Abar’s escorts indicated that he should sit on the ground opposite him.  They continued to stand directly behind him, blocking his way to the door.

            “Who are you, and why have you come to our forest?” asked the man who was apparently their chief.

            “My name is Abar of the house of Yedinay.  I come from a land far to the south where the great mountain range lies.  For the past month I had been traveling throughout the continent until I met the people of Sallah.  They told me that you had dammed the river, so I came here to see whether through your great wisdom and generosity we might be able to come up with some agreement that would allow you to release the water.”

            “We will not.  When we were starving, they refused to help us, even though they live on land that produces far more than they can consume themselves.  The dam stays until the people of Sallah are dead, we are dead, or they have abandoned their land to us.”

            The situation was so absolutely ridiculous that Abar had difficulty believing it.  Both sides seemed perfectly willing to sacrifice their own lives in order to destroy the other, and it appeared very likely that they would both have their way.  Perhaps mutual destruction would be a well deserved fate for such stubborn people, but still Abar felt that he would not be able to allow such an outcome without doing everything in his power to avoid it.  But what could he do?  At present there was a stalemate which refused to be broken through negotiations, so a different approach was required.  The balance of power had to be shifted so that one side could achieve a complete victory before both wasted away to total destruction.  Which side it was did not matter--they were both equally undeserving of aid.  He was here already, so this was as good a place to start as any.

            “I can see how unreasonable the people of Sallah have been,” said Abar.  “If you are willing to accept it, I would like to pledge to you the support of the army of the house of Yedinay.”

#

            As he walked down the hallway to his manor house’s dining room, he thought to himself how glad he was that it was finally time for dinner.  Not because he was hungry--hunger was a sensation he had never experienced in his life--but to relieve the ennui that had prevented him from enjoying himself that entire afternoon.  It had rained all day so that he had been unable to go hunting as he had planned.  This was a particular disappointment to him as he had just recently purchased a new stallion and had very much been looking forward to his first chance to ride it.

At present, however, he had forgotten these woes.  Meal times had always been his favorite parts of the day, but ever since he had joined Abar’s confederation his enjoyment of them had increased many-fold.  Before, every meal had consisted of beef.  Certainly his cooks had been experts at dressing it up with a wide assortment of sauces and garnishes to produce a new experience each time he dined, but in the end it was still just beef.  Now, thanks to the confederation, he was able to feast on the flesh of all manner of exotic animals from across continent.  Finally the true genius of his cooks could be revealed.  It was as if a great artist who had been forced to work with nothing but charcoal his entire life was now presented with a full palette of paints of every imaginable color.

            A servant opened the door just before he reached it, allowing him to enter the dining room without any interruption to his gait.  There he was met by a wondrous array of food that covered every available inch of the long table running down the center of the room.  It was a full fifteen feet long, but still it seemed small in that expansive space that contained no other furniture.  A thick rug covered most of the stone floor, and intricately woven tapestries hung from the walls, filling the otherwise lonely chamber with the colors of life.  No one else was there to share in their beauty save for the servant who pulled back the table’s single chair as he approached.  Greedily he began grabbing for food and cramming it into his mouth as soon as he sat down, not wasting the time to swallow before calling for the servant to refill his cup with wine.  How superior this feast was to anything before Abar’s confederation, and what had it cost him?  Just a few of those cattle that were littered across his land.  And if ever he did not want to give even those, all he had to do was say that he could spare no more and no one would question him.

            He could not help but laugh as he thought of how worried he had been at the humanitarian words with which Abar had first presented his grand scheme to him.  It was all for the betterment of the common man, he had told him.  Well, perhaps there was some truth in that.  Although he would not dream of allowing any of the treasures that were pouring into his realm to be wasted on the peasants, they had certainly done much to cheer his own mood, which could only be a good thing for his subordinates--a happy ruler meant happy subjects, as the saying went.

            When he had finished gorging himself, he arose and was escorted by his servant back out of the room.  Despite the fervor with which the man had fed himself, to anyone who had not witnessed the spectacle first hand it might appear that the table had just been freshly set, so high was the food still heaped upon it.  The servants had been instructed simply to dispose of it, for sampling any of the leftovers themselves would be disgraceful--the act of beggars.  Thus, fearful of the terrible punishments they knew awaited disobedience, the team of men and women cleared away the excess of their lord’s extravagance without taking even the smallest bite for themselves.

#

            Abar liked to think that there was very little left in him of the youth he had been growing up in that valley.  One trait he had not lost, though, was his love of climbing up into the foothills.  Back then his focus had always been downward, looking in admiration at the extent of his possessions.  Now, although his lands had since expanded far beyond that narrow pass, he preferred looking up to the mountains above him, allowing himself to be dwarfed by their grandeur.  Back when he had had no responsibilities, how easy it had been to trust so confidently in his own strength.  With the care of the entire continent now pressing down on him, he felt only insecurity.

            His vision had been so simple--an entire continent uniting its resources to ensure that everyone would have what he needed.  Forming the confederation had been easier than anticipated, but then things had rapidly become far more complicated than he could have foreseen.  In theory the leaders of every one of the states that had joined his alliance were all in agreement as to the purpose of their union.  Once they attempted to transform those theories into reality, however, it quickly became apparent that their visions of what this confederation should actually look like were all very different.  In the end Abar had felt compelled to take a course of action of which he was still uncertain.  Then as now, the only way he knew to rescue the confederation from the chaos that had engulfed it was to raise himself above it and declare himself emperor.

            Who was he that his word should be taken as law in the greater part of the inhabited world?  Was he wiser or more just than anyone else who had served on the council?  No, things had degenerated too far to have afforded him the luxury of worrying about finding the best solution.  It was not the wisdom of the voice that was most critical, but only that it was a single voice.  If there had been a better way, neither he nor anyone else had been able to see it.  Still, regardless of how pure his intentions had been at the start, he could not shake the fear that he did not possess the moral fortitude to resist the temptations that inevitably came with such power.  What was to stop him from continuing to increase the range of his authority in the name of necessity?  This was why he was so terrified by the prospect he was now considering.

            During his travels through the land, he had come to realize how precious the products of each person’s labor were to him.  Thus he had wanted to leave as much control over those goods as possible in the hands of local officials.  For a time he had thought this strategy had been working well, but in the six months since he had named himself emperor he had come to see that this apparent success had only been an illusion produced by the general disorder of the government.  Many of the local overseers of the goods collection and redistribution had been falsifying their reports all along, but only now after having made himself the sole head of the process had he been able to see it.  He had been wandering through the foothills since morning trying to find some course beside the obvious to fix this problem, but the long shadows of the western mountains would soon be upon him and still he had found none.  He would need to tighten his hold on the continent once again.

            As he descended into the darkness of the valley, he pondered the possible consequences of putting the Imperial army in charge of the entire goods collection process.  Centralizing control would certainly speed up the rate at which supplies could be delivered to where they were needed, and reducing the number of decision makers involved would also reduce the opportunities for corruption.  However, he thought as his stomach began turning with a sour sickness, how much more terrible would the consequences be if the head of it all should fail?

#

            “Welcome home, Madame Councilor,” said Jorim as his wife, Kathryn, walked through the door to their home.

            “Hey there,” she replied smiling.  “So I see you made it back all right.”

            “Yeah.  Nothing too exciting this time out.”

            “That’s good.”  She hesitated and then added, “Would you miss not going out there...not having to go on your patrols?”

            Jorim considered for a few seconds and then answered, “Well, it’d certainly be nice being able to spend more time here with you.  Though, I might get bored after a while.  I’m a bit young to be retiring, don’t you think?”

            “It’s just that there’s been talk in the council of dissolving the army.”

            “What?” exclaimed Jorim louder than he had intended.  “The Republic needs an army.”

            “What for?  We fill the entire continent.  We can’t have any external enemies.”

            “But what about bandits?  We’ll never be rid of them.”

            “Local police would be better suited for that.  It’d be far more efficient financially.”

            “Maybe...but what about...what if something unexpected should happen?  We don’t really know what’s beyond the jungle.  Maybe we do have external enemies.”

            These words reminded Kathryn of something she had once read in one of the books in the Imperial library.  It had angered her then, striking her as nothing more than a superstition pretending to be history--a twisted joke by some ancient writer.  This same feeling of disgust now returned and caused her to shut off her mind to what Jorim was saying.

            “What enemies?” she asked with a hint of anger in her voice.  “We can hardly waste the money of our citizens supporting an army solely for the purpose of defending ourselves from some imagined enemy.”

            “Maybe you’re right.  I guess I’ve just been in the army so long that it’s hard to imagine life without it.”  He laughed and added, “How funny it is that one of the most important founders of our new Republic should be married to a reactionary who’s still clinging to the old institutions of the Empire.”

            “Well you may be a bit slow at times,” she said with a smile, “but I think you’ll come around eventually.  You know, it wouldn’t mean giving up your career completely.  You could join the new police force--same sort of work, but you’d get to stay closer to home.”

            “Oh, I see now.  You’re just abusing your power to try to keep me from wandering off so far.”

            “Of course!  Although not just you, but every husband who’s in the army.  The number of families that this will reunite would make dissolving the army worth it even without the economic benefits.”

            “Yes...of course you’re right.  Well I’m sure you’ve already had your fill of talking politics today.  It’s been a week since we’ve seen each other--I bet we can find some other topic of interest.”

#

The meeting had not even officially started yet, but already the discord of battling voices was giving him a headache.  He yearned to step away to a quiet place for a few minutes, but he knew than even such a short respite could be costly for his state.  It was here that the alliances were forged that were essential for elevating one’s voice high enough to be heard in a council of equals.  He hated this system, where ideas were judged more by the connections of the presenter than by their intrinsic merit, but he had to play along for the good of the people he represented.

As one conversation ended and he turned to start another, he noticed that only two men were staying out of the fray.  The first was someone he had not met before, presumably the replacement for that councilor who had grown ill and been forced to step down.  Apparently his predecessor had been too sick to explain to him how these meetings worked.  Unless he started setting his plans in motion now, he would never be heard once the official discussions began.

The other was Abar.  He felt a flash of pity for the great man who wore the grave expression of one lost in troubled thoughts.  It seemed to him that Abar had done himself great injury through his overabundant kindness.  He could have lived a full life without ever having strayed from the valley of his home, enjoying the wealth of his people.  Instead he had sacrificed his life to the cause of saving the scattered nations of the world from their own greed and pettiness.  Even now, it was his sense of fairness that kept these meetings in a state of turmoil that must have broken his heart.  Surely this tangle of endless discussions that never led anywhere was not what he had intended for his confederation.  Yet, he was too scared of seeming power-hungry and driving people off to do anything about it. 

Finally Abar stood up to instill the one brief moment of calm between the unofficial din of the pre-meeting and the official din of the meeting itself.

“The confederation is not working,” he said in the voice of one who had already spent his store of emotional energy.  “There is too much chaos, and a strong hand is needed to restore order.  Therefore I have decided to crown myself the first emperor of the Yedinay Empire.  This is not a debatable issue, but if anyone wishes to make any comments he is free to do so now.”

            “Thank goodness,” thought the councilor to himself.  “It’s about time.”

#

            Before the sun had cleared the horizon, the first of the wagons had already set off north from the countryside surrounding the city of Hamor.  They continued bleeding out, carrying freshly harvested crops to help the drought-infected northern states, as the hot, southern sun climbed steadily higher.  By mid-morning the temperature had risen to a point that was ill-suited for physical labor, and the men loading the wagons could already be heard complaining.  Still, they continued working until about a half hour before noon, for they were local workers and they knew that little would ever get done in these parts if the heat were allowed to hinder them.  When at last they did break for lunch, they all quickly fled to whatever shade was to be found.

            “Mind if I sit here?” said one worker to another who had already acquired a spot in the shade of a broad tree.

            “Not at all, friend.  It’d be heartless to force anyone to sit out under that sun.”

            “Thank you,” said the first man as he seated himself on the ground.  “Although, if the sun were the worst part about this job, I’d be much happier.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I don’t mind a bit of hard labor--been doing it all my life--but I don’t like being a slave.  Why are we doing this?  It’s not for ourselves or even for our neighbors, but because the council of the Republic has ordered us to.”

            “But it’s for a good cause!” shot back the other, shocked by the callousness of his words.  “Tens of thousands of people up north will die if these shipments don’t get to them.”

            “I understand what you’re saying, and can assure you that I’m as much in favor of helping out as the next guy, but that’s the most dangerous part of this whole business.  They set you up with this false choice, ‘Are you willing to give more control over to the government or do you want to let your poor northern neighbors starve to death?’ and make you think that it’s a strictly either-or kind of thing.  What sort of person wouldn’t be willing to make a few sacrifices to save others from death?  But of course there are ways to help without being forced into it.  The real villains are those councilors who would stoop so low as to try to take advantage of this tragedy to increase their power.”

            “Aren’t you being a bit cynical?”

            “Maybe I am, but I’d rather be accused of that than of freely letting the Republic convert itself back into an Empire.  You know I’m not the only one who feels this way.  The representative from our state voted against the measure along with some other councilor from the north.”  He lowered his voice as he continued, “There’s actually been pockets of resistance springing up in cities all over Yailt.  Some have even been talking about leaving the Republic.”

            Despite his sudden desire to shout, the other replied in similarly hushed tones, “But that’s ridiculous.  They wouldn’t let us, and I’m not sure we’d be able to survive on our own anyway.”

            “What does the Republic really do for us?  We’d be just as well off without them--especially if they keep grabbing for more power like they’re doing.  And what’re they going to do to stop us?  We’re the southern-most state in the Republic.  Since they don’t even have an army, I’d say we’re well out of reach of the capital.  As for the states around us, I think they’d be just as likely to join us as they would be to try to stop us.”

            “Well it still seems like risky business to me.  What if we ever needed their help?”

            “Help?  What for?  We’d have plenty for ourselves if we didn’t have to worry about them snatching our goods any more.”

            “That’s not what I meant.  It’s just...I’ve never felt easy about the jungle sitting there so close.  I kind of like knowing that we have some friends nearby just in case.”

            “Oh, you’re just a superstitious fool!” the man exclaimed, lifting the conversation from the whispers in which it had been carried out.  “Come on, we both need to shut up and finish our lunches or we’ll be called back to work before we’re done eating.”

#

            The lonely fort marked the edge of the Empire.  Most of the inhabitants of the continent, save for some isolated patches on its remote edges, had pledged their loyalty to Abar I.  To the south only the narrow region known as Yailt stood between Abar’s rule and the uninhabitable jungle.  It was on the border between Yailt and the Empire that this fort stood and where a soldier was now keeping watch in the darkness of a starless night.  He was currently wondering why Abar did not release the small fraction of the power under his command that would be necessary to crash down upon that territory and bring it under his control.  Why leave potential enemies around to threaten the peace for which he had struggled so hard?

            So absorbed was he in these thoughts that it was several minutes before he happened to turn around and see the giant fire that had begun blazing off to the north.  It was difficult to judge its distance and, thus, its size, but he wasted no time in grabbing his horn and blowing out the alarm.  Soon he was with twenty-nine other men riding out through the main gate on horseback.  The clouds overhead brought a darkness that made it difficult to see much of their surroundings as they rode, but all that mattered was that they could see their destination.  That did not appear as if it would be a problem as the fire continued burning with undiminished intensity.

            Coming over a hill, they did not notice the other group of horsemen until they had already engaged them.  From the back of the formation, he could not even see the initial clash but only hear the shouts of men’s voices and the clanging of weapons as the skirmish began.  Just as he drew his pole-axe he saw a rider charging toward him, his sword shining faintly in the light from the distant fire.  Thinking his victim was too much off his guard to defend himself, the assailant brought his sword around in a large, powerful swing that was much slower than it needed to be.  Even with only a fraction of a second to prepare, the soldier was too well trained to let such a sloppy attack through.  Instinctively he swung his pole-axe around, one end parrying the sword and the other following through to knock the man to the ground.  He paid no attention to the now riderless horse as it continued galloping southward but looked down to where his attacker now lay motionless.  Next to him lay a sack that must have also been knocked of his steed when he fell.  It had split open and spilled what appeared to be dried corn onto the ground.

            He spurred his horse forward to join the main battle while he thought about what he had seen.  The most likely explanation was that these were bandits who had just robbed and set fire to the farm or village that was now burning in the distance.  He came to the top of the hill and saw a mess of combatants below him, the darkness making it difficult even to discern who was fighting for which side, let alone which one was winning or where he could most effectively insert himself into the fray.  As he sat there trying to make sense of the battle, he saw a mass of dark shapes suddenly break away from the rest of the group and surge toward him.  They belonged to the enemy.  He extended his arms in front of him, holding his pole-axe parallel to the ground and relaxing his body in preparation to react to the onslaught of blows that would soon be upon him.  Then it came--the flurry of sharp blades flying toward him as the black wave passed by.  His hands reacted to every movement caught by his eyes, swinging his weapon around to block each of the attacks.  He tried to remain calm, not thinking too much about what he was doing for fear of breaking the rhythm of his finely developed reflexes.  In a moment it had passed.

            “After them!” cried another horseman who came riding up toward him, “They’re getting away!”

            He turned his horse to join his companion and the two of them took off after the bandits.

            “What about the others?”

            “We lost a couple in the initial clash when they surprised us, but we got things under control pretty quickly.  Hopefully this lot that got away will lead us back to where they came from.”

            Whether they had not noticed they were being followed or whether they were simply too scared to fight despite the fact that they outnumbered their pursuers by a margin of six to two, the thieves continued riding southward without looking back.  They were soon past the fort and entering into Yailt territory with the two Imperial soldiers still following close behind.  From there they continued the chase for five or six miles until at last the walls of the city of Hamor could be seen in the distance.  The soldiers slowed their horses, and watched as the thieves rode through the city’s gates.  They then set off back toward their fort to report what they had seen.

#

            It was perhaps the most important vote to be put before the council since the early days of the Republic when the issues that would determine the course of the new government were being decided.  Now, roughly a hundred years later, they were debating whether to reverse one of those earliest decisions.  Since the inception of their drought-relief program three months ago, unrest had been growing in various regions of the Republic.  In particular, rumors of secession had been heard emanating from the southernmost state of Yailt.  This had worried a number of the councilors enough to propose reestablishing a national army.  Such a bold suggestion had divided the council and launched a week of intense debates leading up to this final vote.  Perhaps the most dramatic change that had taken place during that time was the transformation of Horace from the almost comical figure who had dared opposed the redistribution program that had triggered these problems into the strong leader of the faction standing in opposition to a new army.  Unlike Horace’s previous attempt to defend the progressive cause, this time the council was evenly split with the final outcome in the hands of those few who had managed to keep from being drawn into either side up until this final day.  This possibility of success caused Horace to appear much more nervous as he rose to deliver one last plea to the undecideds than he had been during his first address to the council.

            “Fellow councilors,” he began, “many reasons have been put forth as to why the Republic needs an army, but I think it’s plain to everyone that they are all just distractions from the real issue.  Any honest proponent of this new legislation would tell you that the only reason this issue ever came up for debate was out of fear of the possibility of Yailt’s secession.  Since we have already wasted so much time in discussion, I will restrict myself presently to consideration of only this one true reason.

            “I’m sure you all remember that three months ago I stood here imploring you not to rob the southern states of their freedom by forcing them to give up the crops they worked so hard to grow.  Against my warnings you decided to take a step backward and revert to the methods of the Empire, and now we are facing the consequences of that decision.  What’s done cannot be undone, so we can only ask ourselves how we should proceed.  Should we take another step backward, resurrecting the army and using it as our instrument to force our citizens to do as they’re told?  Or should we learn from our mistake and stop these reactionary measures before they destroy this government that has ruled so justly for the past century?  Should we ensure loyalty by the strength of an army or by the justness of our laws?

            “Let us not forget our history.  Surely we can all remember being taught of how Abar I mercilessly attacked the city of Hamor, tearing it to the ground and killing all its inhabitants simply because they refused to join his Empire.  That is what happens when we choose to use an army to enforce our laws.  With great courage and perseverance the people of Yailt rebuilt Hamor.  Now do we want to repay their efforts with the wages of Abar?  If we don’t want Yailt to secede, maybe we should focus our efforts on not driving them away rather than on tightening our grip on them.”

            When he sat down, Horace realized that he had been sweating.  He then started going over the speech he had just delivered in his head--every word, every inflection of his voice, every gesture--so that he did not hear much of the rebuttal.  It did not matter anyway.  His own mind was made up and there was nothing he could do now to persuade anyone else.  At last his opponent finished speaking and the vote was taken.  It was twenty-nine to twenty-four in favor of restoring the army.

#

            Abar looked back at the army riding behind him, still not entirely able to believe the size of it.  It was the first time he had assembled the entire strength of the Empire and, as far as recorded history knew, the first time soldiers had been brought together from so many widespread regions of the continent for a single purpose.  He hoped desperately that he would not need to order them to fight.  For the past few weeks he had been receiving reports of raids from the city of Hamor on the southern regions of the Empire.  He had sent multiple messengers to that city in hopes of being able to reach some sort of peaceful agreement, but none of them had even been received.  With such a force facing them they would not be able to ignore him for much longer.

            No doubt they had been seen from some distance away, for by the time they had reached the gates of Hamor the top of its wall was lined with archers.  Abar rode out a few yards in front of his troops and called out to the people of the city.

            “I am Abar I, and I wish to speak to the leader of this city.”

            “I have the authority to speak for the people here,” replied a voice from some place in the midst of the archers.  “You can speak to me.”

            “I have received news of people from your city crossing into my Empire and launching raids against its citizens.  I ask for your help in finding those responsible and putting an end to these attacks.”

            “Your words are most troubling.  I can assure you that these thieves do not have the sanction of our city.  We will be glad to help you find them, but I must think also of the safety of my own people.  How can I be sure that this is not just some ruse to trick us into opening our gate so you can invade?  Please excuse me as I consult with my advisors to see if we can come up with some proposal that might be able to satisfy both our desires.”

            Abar looked for some motion on the wall that might give away the location of the speaker.  He had been searching for him throughout their conversation and was starting to become frustrated with his inability to find him.  He had made no progress in this endeavor by the time the voice continued.

            “You will be permitted to send fifty men into our city to search for the thieves, but you must first withdraw the rest of your army to the top of that hill so that we can have some assurance that they will not simply attack us once the gate is open.”

            “Your proposal sounds fair.  Thank you.”

            Abar selected a man to lead the search party and the forty-nine people to go with him.  Then he gave the order for the rest of his army to retreat and withdrew with them to the requested spot.  From there he watched as the gate was opened and the chosen men were escorted in.

            “You’ll be free to go wherever you want,” said the man guiding the soldiers, “but first let me show you around our city.”

            “Much appreciated,” replied their captain.

            The guide proceeded to lead the soldiers through the narrow alleys that ran with no apparent pattern between the tightly spaced buildings.  He took them along a contorted route which, along with their inability to see the sun beyond the towering walls on either side, caused the visitors to quickly lose their sense of direction.  Fortunately, their guide seemed to know the maze of streets well, navigating his way through them rapidly without ever needing to pause to regain his bearings.  They eventually came to a particularly long and narrow alley in which they could walk no more than two abreast.  When there was about a hundred feet between either end of the line and the nearest cross-streets, their guide suddenly ducked into an open doorway and slammed it shut behind him.  The sound of window shutters opening above drew their attention upward just in time to see cauldrons of boiling oil being emptied upon them.  Frantically the soldiers began running toward the ends of the alley, but only those few closest to them were able to survive the deadly torrent from above.  When the captain, who had been at the head of the line, turned the corner to the cross-street, he found himself facing a unit of soldiers with drawn swords.

            “Draw your weapons,” he called out as he and the handful of soldiers who had made it that far plunged themselves into the wall of enemy troops.

            The one aspect of the situation working in favor of the Imperial troops was that the confined spaces made it impossible for the enemy to engage them with any more than two or three men at a time.  Thus, they were unable to fully exploit their numerical superiority.  Still, the Imperial soldiers had so lost their way in the streets that they now had no idea in which direction the main gate lay.  Finding their way out may have taken hours even if they had not had to deal with enemy soldiers attacking them from every side-street and alleyway they passed.  With each assault they found their already diminished numbers gradually being bled away, while their enemy had a whole city from which to draw reinforcements.

            “Break down this door,” the captain said to the three men who were still with him when they found themselves momentarily free of attackers.

            Within seconds they had forced their way into the dwelling where they were met by an angry woman and her three children, none of whom could have been more than ten years old.

            “We don’t want to hurt you,” the captain tried to reassure them, but realized that he had failed as the woman grabbed a broom and began charging toward him.  He managed to knock her weapon from her hand without injuring her and implored again, “Please stop.  You’re only going to get yourself hurt.”

            Meanwhile her children had begun beating the other soldiers with their fists.  They were at a loss as to what to do, wanting neither to hurt them nor to be detained any longer than necessary.  Then one of them spotted the door to the cellar.  He scooped up the young boy who was currently pummeling his legs and carried him toward it.  The others saw what he was doing and followed his example.  Soon, the mother and her children were all safely locked below and the soldiers were free to contemplate their next course of action.

            “Come on, up those stairs,” said their captain.  “Let’s see if there’s a way onto the roof so we can figure out where we are.”

            When they arrived on the second floor they discovered that there was indeed a ladder leading to a hatch in the ceiling.  They scrambled quickly to the roof and saw that they were not far from the main gate.  All they needed to do was leave the building they were in, head down the street and take a right at the first intersection.  Once outside, they were soon discovered by a group of five soldiers, but with a renewed hope in the possibility of escape, they fought back ferociously.  The enemies were soon disposed of and the soldiers sped off again with an ever increasing sense of exhilaration as their freedom drew nearer.  Sprinting at last from the shadows of the alley into the bright open space between the last of the buildings and the outer wall, the captain pointed out the release mechanism to the gate and ordered his men to cover him as he went to operate it.  Slowly the doors pulled back, but the shouts of the people of Hamor could be heard drawing nearer through the maze of buildings behind them.  At last they were open.  As they turned to run through, a group of archers emerged from one of the alleys and released a volley of arrows.  The captain saw all three of his companions fall, but did not let up his pace as he reached the green grass of the outside world.  He made it a full fifty yards before a single arrow struck him in the back.

            From his position on the hill Abar watched as the captain fell.  He had not needed to give them a chance to cooperate.  It would have been nothing for him to have crushed them without a warning.  The time for leniency was over.  All those burned villages and each of the fifty soldiers who had just been murdered would now be avenged.

#

            “Daddy, where does the river come from?”

            “It flows from a lake up in the mountains,” the father replied as he dipped his bucket into the water to fill it.

            “Won’t the lake run out of water one day?”

            “No.  The lake is refilled whenever it rains.  Now grab your bucket and let’s go water the orchard.”

            The boy picked up the smaller of the two buckets, which was still large enough that it scraped the tips of the grass as he carried it with both hands extended straight down in front of him.  This was the only way in which he could support its weight, but it forced him to shuffle his feet awkwardly in order not to knock the bucket with his legs as he walked.  The more careful he was, however, the farther behind his father he fell, so he would periodically take a few reckless steps in order to catch up.  In this way he managed gradually to transfer the water from the bucket onto his pants, and his burden rapidly became more manageable.  Once he was able to keep pace with his father he continued his questioning.

            “Where does the rain come from?”

            “The rain is sent to us from the water god, Ivan Kapalla.”

            “Why doesn’t he make it rain more often so we don’t have to water the trees ourselves?”

            “We can’t question the ways of the gods--they are too difficult for us to understand.  We just have to do our best to honor them and hope that they show us mercy in return.”

            “And how do we honor them?”

            “By respecting their gifts to us and giving them presents in return.  That’s why we have the sacrifices every month.”

            The interrogation ended here for they had at last reached the orchard.  The boy ran up to the nearest tree and dumped what little water remained in his bucket onto its roots.  As the father more patiently distributed his water onto the ground, the boy turned over his bucket so he could use it as a stool to help himself up onto the lowest branch of one of the trees.  Just as he stepped up and began reaching upward, he saw something that startled him so much that he lost his balance and just barely was able to catch the branch to keep himself from falling.  There was a stranger walking through the orchard toward them.

            “Daddy, who’s that?”  asked the boy, still hanging from the tree.

            “I don’t know son.  Hello there, sir.  What brings you to our orchard?”

            “Hello.  I didn’t mean to trespass.  My name’s Abar and I come from a land many miles to the south.  I’m just wandering throughout the continent seeing whatever there is to see.”

            “You must have seen all sorts of neat stuff,” exclaimed the boy, who had never seen anyone dressed in such a strange fashion.

            “One or two things,” replied Abar smiling.  “I hope you don’t mind my passing through.”

            “Not at all,” said the father.  “We were just a bit startled because we don’t see many outsiders here, but you’re certainly welcome.  Do you need a place to spend the night?”

            “It’s been a while since I’ve slept indoors, so that might be nice.  Thank you.  As long as I’m here, do you need a hand with your work?”

            “Sure.  We’re watering the orchard and we’d be grateful for whatever help you could give us.”

            The father led the way back to the river, stopping at his house first to retrieve an extra bucket.  They filled the three containers and then began the long march back to the orchard.

            After they had already been walking for several minutes Abar asked, “Have you ever considered digging trenches from the river to the orchard?  Then you wouldn’t have to carry the water so far.”

            “We can’t do that,” replied the father.  “It would anger Ivan Kapalla and he might withhold his rain from us permanently.”

            “Who is Ivan Kapalla?”

            “He’s the water god,” answered the boy enthusiastically.  “He’s the one who makes it rain.”

            “But why should he care if you dig trenches?”

            This time the father answered, “It’s difficult to predict what the gods will do or why.  We have been taught not to disturb the river, so we don’t.”

            He was planning to leave the next day, so perhaps it was foolish for him to continue the argument, but something inside Abar compelled him not to give up until he had convinced the man of the wisdom of his plan.

            “You know, what you do to the river has no effect on the rain.  The clouds are made of water.  When they have more moisture than the air can hold, it falls, and that’s where the rain comes from.”

            “How can clouds be made of water?  How could they float?  Why are they not transparent like water is?”

            “The land I come from is surrounded by mountains.  Sometimes the clouds come down to rest on them and often I have walked into them.  I have seen for myself that clouds are made of many fine drops of water.”

            “So you say.  But if the weather is not caused by the gods then where does lightning come from?”

            Abar hesitated a moment before admitting, “I don’t know.”

            “If you can’t explain it then you must admit that it’s the gods who cause it.  And if they’re the ones who bring lightning, why not the rain as well?”

            “Just because I don’t know what the explanation is doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.  Surely there are many things your son has not yet learned that you know.”

            “But you can’t prove that the gods don’t cause the lightning and the rain.”

            “Well, no I suppose not.  But if you believed me, it’d save you a lot of walking.”

#

            Even if there were someone who had managed to remain oblivious to the current happenings, a walk down the streets of the capital would have quickly told him that something ominous was about to occur.  The houses and shops all had their doors locked and windows shuttered.  The usual crowd of people that always made it so difficult to maneuver through the streets was gone, with only the occasional lonely figure to be seen scurrying from one building to the next.  If this heedless individual had continued on to venture through the southern gate he would have been met by the collective army of the Republic standing ready in a state of anxious preparation.  They were waiting for the onslaught of the savages who, from the most reliable scouting information, would arrive within the next twenty-four hours.

            On that day a man entered the city, not through either of the gates, but from his home in the mountains.  No one knew the exact location of it, but he came down to the capital every year on that exact date, so no one was alarmed by his arrival.  It was possible that he was in fact unaware of the impending threat, but even if he did know about it, no one would have been surprised at his keeping this annual appointment.  He was a clock maker, so punctuality and predictability were expected of him.  His destination was the great clock that he had designed and constructed alongside the capitol building.  He had completed this work fifty years ago and had come back to check up on it every year since without exception.

            It did not concern him that he was the only one in the streets.  His mind was fully consumed with loving admiration for his creation, which held his unwavering gaze as he walked toward it.  Standing at a height of fifty feet, it was the tallest structure in the capital.  It had a square cross-section and a clock face on each of its four sides so that the time could be read from almost anywhere within the city.  When he arrived at its base, he removed a key from the inner pocket of his jacket and unlocked the door that led inside.  Then he began the slow ascent up the tightly wound staircase to the gearbox at the top.  He was pleased to notice that the steps were still in good condition from the repairs he had made three years earlier.  On his aging legs it took a full ten minutes before he at last reached the hatchway that allowed access to the inner-workings of his clock.

            There was just enough room for him to stand in that small room filled with its complex network of gears.  He had planned where each of them should go himself and had placed them in their positions with his own hands, so when he looked at them he did not see the confused mess that would have been seen by anyone else, but an orderly machine whose every part had a well-defined and obvious function.  Carefully he brushed away some of the cobwebs that had grown since his last visit and looked over the machinery.  It only took him a few minutes to confirm that it continued to run exactly as designed, not having lost a second since the day it had first been set in motion.  These yearly visits were not meant for maintenance, for he was far too skilled a craftsman for anything he built to break down, but to be reunited with this beloved child of his.  He pulled out a rag and began gently polishing the gears that had become tarnished.  This task would occupy him until the end of the day, at which point he would disappear once again to his home in the mountains, not to return for another year.

#

            “But some of those laws have been around for well over four hundred years.  Surely it’s only natural that they’d need some reforming after a while,” said Kathryn.

            “Why?” replied Jacob.  “They were put there for a reason, and apparently a good one if they’ve worked for so long.”

            “You can’t honestly say that every single one of the laws that Abar I set down when he founded the Empire is still reasonable today.”

            “I can and do.”

            “What about...what about the regulation demanding that all incoming shipments to the distribution center need to be inspected by at least three different officials?  Surely you’ve wished to speed up that process at least once.”

            “It can be a bit tedious, but I’m sure there’s a reason.”

            “What?”

            “I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

            “But why not try cutting back to just two.  If there are problems, you could always switch back to the old way.”

            “But why risk it?”

            Kathryn thought for a moment and then exclaimed in a triumphant voice, “What about the annual Feast of Mangoes?  Not even you can say that’s not a waste of time and shouldn’t be done away with.”

            “I like the Feast of Mangoes.”

            “Now you’re just being obstinate for the sake of being obstinate.”

            “Hey there, sorry I’m late,” said Jorim as he walked up to them.

            “No worries,” replied Kathryn, “I’ve just been explaining the faults in the Imperial laws to Jacob here.”

            “And I’m sure he’s been taking it quite well.  Jacob, I’m amazed you’re still on speaking terms with Kathryn, the way she seems to enjoy attacking everything you seem to enjoy.”

            “I don’t mind,” he answered.  “The founders of the Empire knew what they were doing when they wrote those laws.  If Kathryn wants to poke around at them trying to find holes, what’s that to me?  I’m sure that any holes that might be found will eventually prove to have been quite well filled in all along.”

#

            The snow was fine and soft, yielding easily to the harsh wind, which sculpted it into a series of mounds and troughs.  In places it was heaped so high that, were a man to fall into it, he would find himself completely covered.  This sort of terrain was completely unsuitable for horses, which was a fact of which the two travelers presently journeying across that wasteland had fortunately been informed.  A hundred miles to the south in the northernmost inhabited town on the continent, they had been given full instruction on how to survive in that harsh environment as well as been rented a sled with some specially bred dogs to pull it.  With no landmarks except the ever-changing landscape of snow, it would have been easy to lose their way, but the dogs knew the course well, for there was only one destination that anyone ever sought in those parts.

            On the fifth day since setting out from the town, they at last came to a small, shoddily built wooden house with a steady stream of smoke pouring out of a chimney on the far side of the roof.  It seemed oddly quaint for the only home in this inhospitable region.  Indeed, the weather was so harsh that this land would remain barren even during the more advanced ages of the Empire and the Republic, which were both still in the distant future. 

            They dismounted their sled and waded through the snow to the door, where they saw a small silver bell hanging from a string with a sign next to it.  It read “Ring bell and wait to be acknowledged before entering.”  One of the men grabbed the string and shook it, causing the bell to jangle out its high-pitched tone.

            After the ringing died away there was a moment of silence after which a woman’s voice called from within, “State your name.”

            “I am Claudis,” answered the man who had wrung the bell, “servant of Lord Sumar, whom I have accompanied here to buy one of your blades.”

            “I asked for your name, not your purpose in coming here,” replied the voice.  Then it added, “You may enter.”

            Claudis pulled open the door, holding it for his master, and then walked in behind him.  Although the building had no interior walls, it consisted of two distinct rooms.  The first one occupied the half closest to the door where the two men were now standing.  Clothes, pots, parchments, and all sorts of other random objects were strewn across the floor, heaped into dozens of disorganized piles.  Through the clutter they thought they saw a mattress buried deep in one corner, but given the accumulation of junk on top of it, it seemed unlikely that it had been slept on recently.  At their feet was a small pile of snow that drew their attention to the hole in the roof directly above them.

            The second room had a neatly swept wooden floor with a few rectangular tables arranged in orderly rows.  What must have been hundreds of swords were hanging on the walls and lying on the tables, each one shining with a gleam that could only have been achieved by a rather recent polishing.  At the far end of the room was a large furnace that occupied most of that wall.  The fire within was burning heartily, filling the entire room with a warmth that was most welcome after the multi-day journey through the snow.  Beside it was standing a young woman holding a hammer in one hand and tongs in the other.

            “You must be Haftus,” said Sumar.  “We have traveled a great distance to...”

            “Who are you?” interrupted the woman.

            “Me...” stammered Sumar.  “I’m Sumar.  We just announced ourselves and...”

            “He announced himself,” replied Haftus pointing to Claudis.  “You neither rang the bell nor waited to be acknowledged before entering.”

            “I’m so sorry.  I thought...”

            “You still haven’t rung the bell or waited to be acknowledged.”

            “I said I was sorry and...”

            This time he was interrupted only by a fierce glare.  Sheepishly he backed toward the door and managed to exit through it without turning around.  He then rang the bell.

            “State your name.”

            “Sumar.”

            “You may enter.”

            Sumar entered once more and then proceeded in a much less confident tone than before, “We have traveled a great distance to see you, for we have heard that your blades are without equal in the entire continent.”

            Just then a frigid blast of wind shot through the hole in the ceiling, chilling the two men standing beneath it.

            Almost involuntarily Sumar exclaimed, “My goodness!  Have you ever thought about fixing that hole in the ceiling?  I’d be happy to lend you the aid of my servant here.”

            “No need,” answered Haftus.  “It’s far enough away from the furnace that it doesn’t interfere with my work.”

            “But doesn’t it get a bit cold in here?” asked Sumar.

            Haftus looked at him with surprise and shot back, “Of course it gets a bit cold in here!  There’s a hole in the ceiling!”

            “But...”

            Claudis decided to rescue his master from this rapidly degenerating conversation.  “Would you mind if we looked at some of your swords, ma’am?”

            “Be my guests.”

            The swords were of a wide variety of sizes, shapes, and styles.  Some were rather plain looking, some richly ornamented, some with curved blades, and others scarcely more than daggers.  Sumar removed one of the larger swords from its hook on the wall.  From tip to hilt it was taller than he was, so he was surprised that it was light enough to be wielded with one hand.

            “How did you make this?” he asked in wonder.

            “And it’s stronger than anything you’ll find from any other sword smith,” came her only answer.

            Then his eyes caught the light from the furnace sparkling off a large ruby set in the hilt of a sword lying on a table next to him.  Handing the sword he currently held to his servant, he picked it up and gazed at it in awe.  On its blade was etched an elaborate landscape populated with all manner of fantastic beasts, so fine in detail that even when held within an inch of his eye, there still seemed to be a level of intricacy too fine for his perception.  Truly its creator was not only a first-class smith, but an artist without equal as well.  He swung it through the air a few times to see how it felt and found it to be exquisitely balanced.

            “I think this is the finest sword I’ve ever seen.  How much do you want for it?” asked Sumar.

            Haftus burst out laughing.  When she recovered enough to speak she said, “You would choose that one.  It’s worthless--a trifling I made when I was first learning the art.”

            “Yes, but how much would you sell it to me for?”

            “Ten thousand.”

            “Ten thousand?  I thought you said it was worthless.  How can you charge so much for it?”

            “Because it suits you so well.”

            “Very well.  I must have it.  Claudis, have we enough money left to pay for it?”

            “We’ll need to restock our supplies at that town, but yes, I think so.”

            “Fine.  Pay her and we’ll be off.”

            After they had finished their business and set off Sumar turned toward Claudis and commented, “She’s undoubtedly a genius, but one of the oddest characters I think I’ve ever met.  I can’t say that I understand her at all.”

            “True,” replied Claudis, “but I suppose not so surprising.  Outside her shop there’s not a sword that can compare to the one you now have in your hands, and yet she said it was only a trifle compared to her others.  If her creations are so far beyond our understanding then perhaps it shouldn’t be too unexpected that the creator herself is as well.”

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            Abar was not even listening to the debate taking place around him any more.  He remembered how ashamed he had felt reducing these men to a mere advisory council and elevating himself to the status of emperor--how foolish he had been to feel such things!  The number of them worthy of holding any sort of leadership position could be counted on one hand.  Now here he was mired in an intense debate where it seemed that no two parties were discussing the same issue.  How could they carry on for so long talking about such nonsense?

            Bored, Abar allowed his eyes to wander over the faces of the councilors.  They came to rest on the oldest one present.  No doubt he had once been brilliant, but he was now well past his prime.  His mind had ceased making new memories some twenty years ago, which made conversations with him a true test of patience.  The citizens of his state, however, loved him dearly, and as long as he was alive he would be assured a seat on the council.

            Next his gaze fell upon one of the earlier members of the council.  Abar had come to know him well during their time governing together and had found him to be very likeable.  Unfortunately, his intelligence was little better than that of a well trained pet.  Any discussion beyond the taking of the role was far beyond his capacity of comprehension, but this did not keep him from speaking his mind.  Regardless of the issue he would wait to hear Abar’s opinion, and once he knew it he would defend it vehemently as best as his limited abilities would allow.  Yes, he was a nice enough fellow with unmatched loyalty, but utterly useless as an advisor.

            Two seats down from him was another simple soul, but one who annoyed Abar more than any of the others, for he was quite possibly the most narrow-minded person he had ever met.  It was not a matter of moral deficiency, but more of an intellectual inability to see issues from any viewpoint other than his own.  For instance, his demands that other states should donate food without compensation whenever his was in need were not based on any feelings of the superiority of his home, but out of simply failing to consider how the givers would be affected by such transactions.

            Then there was the superstitious one.  How many times had he held up discussions where, miraculously, everyone else was in agreement by insistently pressing his worries of offending some minor deity of whom no one else had ever even heard?  A government full of like-minded individuals would have set the nation back to using techniques that had been out-dated for decades.  Such men were incapable of debating anything for they felt no need to justify any of their beliefs with logic.

            As Abar continued looking around the room, he saw many more faces cut from these same molds.  Perhaps such a conglomeration was inevitable when attempting to give equal representation to all the states, and he would just need to learn to make the best of it that he could.  After considering it some more, though, he realized that this state of affairs must not be allowed to persist.  The incompetence of the council had forced Abar to assume almost all control unto himself in order to keep the Empire running.  Not only did this situation fail in giving the people a voice in the government, but it placed more of a burden on Abar than he could bear.  Something would have to be changed.  Then he had an idea.  He would build a school.

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