He settled himself into his favorite chair and only then realized he wasn’t alone. There was a man leaning against the railing at the end of the porch. He had been staring at the waters but turned silently to regard the dwarf. Dram’s eyes were naturally keen in the dark, and he recognized the fellow immediately.
“Captain Franz,” he greeted the son of General Dayr. “You’re keeping late hours.”
The young knight sighed and came over to take a seat next to the dwarf. “Well, I’ve had a lot of trouble sleeping lately. Ever since…”
“Since Vingaard Keep?” asked Dram shrewdly.
“Yes. I’m loyal to the knighthood, sir. I really am. But it felt like, what we were doing, marching on, firing on a keep of our own people, was a great injustice.”
The dwarf fell silent for a moment. “Sounds like the Vingaard knights made a pretty good attack on Jaymes’s army, if they burned up two of his bombards.”
“What choice did they have?” shot back the young captain.
Dram merely shrugged. “I’m not saying they had choices, not good ones, anyway. But I can’t think of anything more likely to arouse the emperor’s ire. He couldn’t let an affront like that go unpunished.”
“Is he willing to punish the whole of this nation?” demanded Franz.
The dwarf shook his head. “I don’t know what he’s willing to do. I never did. But I have to admit I don’t like the sound of his plans, if his letter to me is any indication.”
“Is that why you’re down here in the middle of the night?” asked the knight. “Because you can’t sleep either?”
“Something like that,” Dram replied. “It helps me to think, out here with the stars and the lake and the mountains. I come down here more nights than I’d care to admit to Sally.”
“So you admit that you, too, are troubled by the emperor.”
Dram didn’t answer, and after a while Franz rose to his feet. Stretching, he looked at the vista in the valley then turned back to the dwarf. “I appreciate your hospitality, putting us up in your own house. And I appreciate you listening to me. I try talking to my father, but he doesn’t want to listen. I think he’s afraid to listen, sometimes.”
“Well, your father is a very wise man. And a courageous one, as well. I wouldn’t expect to hear that he’s afraid of anything. But he might have the wisdom to be cautious.”
“Yes, I know. And I’m sure you’re right. Good night,” Franz said, going back into the house.
Dram sat out there until dawn started to color the sky. He went back in and snuggled next to his wife as the day grew brighter, and still he couldn’t sleep. When Mikey, in the next room, started to stir, he got up to get the boy so his wife could have another hour of rest.
And when he met General Dayr and his son for breakfast, as they had planned, he had finally decided what to say.
“Tell Jaymes I got his orders. I read his letter. I understand all his needs and wants,” the dwarf said gruffly.
“And?” prodded the commander, sensing there was more.
“Tell him if he wants more bombards, he’ll have to make them himself.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Garrison Sergeant Maxim Withers, much to his surprise, received a curt note from his captain: the emperor wanted to see him, personally. Withers carefully polished his boots, shined his armor, and made sure his flowing mustache was thoroughly combed before he reported for the audience. He marched in to the emperor’s office, saluted smartly, and waited for Jaymes Markham to finish reviewing some of the important-looking papers that were scattered across his desk. Finally, the great man looked up.
“Sergeant Withers,” the emperor said coldly, stirring the soldier’s anxiety. “I have decided to reassign you. Sometimes duty in the palace, or in the city, softens a man, and I would hate to see that happen with an estimable fellow of your quality.”
“Excellency, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Oh, you will.” The emperor was smiling, though his tone was most unpleasant. “I’m assigning you to the garrison command of the Northpoint Lighthouse, effective immediately. There is a supply ship departing the docks with the evening tide. I expect you to be aboard.”
Withers swayed, feeling a little sick to his stomach. He knew the Northpoint Lighthouse was a huge tower on a rocky islet just beyond the northern terminus of the Bay of Branchala. A perennial flame burned at the summit of the tall spire. It was fueled by oil pumped by the garrison. The light of that fire was reflected and amplified by great mirrors that were visible for dozens of miles out to sea. The installation was beloved by mariners as a sign of safe harbor ahead.
Yet the place was not viewed so favorably by the men assigned to keep the fire burning. The lighthouse was staffed by a garrison of twelve men-at-arms and a single sergeant. Since it was miles from the mainland, and scores of miles from the city, the troops were stuck there for a term of three months, during which time they lived on the remote, otherwise uninhabited, islet. Stormy waters often surrounded them, so supply and replacements ships were unpredictable, often delayed for weeks or months. And the smell of the perpetually burning oil was notorious to passing ships and often sickened the guard contingent.
“I have decided that there is too much instability in the operation of the lighthouse,” the emperor continued. “Staff, especially the command sergeant, replaced every three months leads to inefficiency. Therefore, your term will last for a full year!”
Withers, aghast, dared to ask Jaymes the reasoning behind the posting.
“Ask your mother,” the emperor retorted. “It seems you converse with her about all manner of things that are within the purview of this palace and not the subjects for marketplace gossip.”
Chagrined, the veteran guard slunk out of Jaymes’s office, grateful he still had his life and some semblance of his rank.
A short time later, the captain of the gate guard came in and reported that the wine merchant known as Norgaard Eric had been put out of business, his stock dumped into the gutters of the marketplace. No doubt a few bottles of the higher-quality product had been salvaged by the city guards for their own enjoyment, but the emperor expected as much and didn’t care to inquire.
“Let him languish in the gaol for a fortnight. And tell him to watch his words when he’s released, or the next time it will cost him his tongue.”
“Aye, my lord,” said the captain, bowing quietly to his stern, forbidding lord and, with a wary eye on the emperor, withdrawing from the office.
Jaymes spent the whole night at his desk, drafting and redrafting orders, calling for scribes when one parchment was done, turning to the next even as those servants began making copies. He worked by the light of several bright lanterns, and threw away a quill every so often as they became overworked, cracked, and useless. “More ink!” he demanded several times through that long night. When his hand cramped up, he flexed his fingers and picked up another pen. When his back became sore, he rose from his chair, stretched for a moment, paced a few times around his office, and sat back down to continue writing orders.
By dawn, he was finished. In the space of eight hours, he had authored a dozen new laws and prepared a detailed statement to be read aloud by a dozen heralds. The announcement would be called out every hour by each of the heralds throughout the day, and every day for the next two weeks. Additional copies were prepared and dispatched by mounted couriers to city rulers in Vingaard, Thelgaard, Solanthus, Garnet, Caergoth, and the lesser towns of the realm.
The copies completed, the criers headed off to begin their day’s work. By the time they were finished, the people of the city would know that it was a crime to criticize the emperor’s motives as he led Solamnia into the future. It was sedition to discuss the emperor’s actions in a way that would reflect poorly on Jaymes or his officers. Criticizing the government in small groups-any scurrilous gossip against the state-was also a criminal offense.