"You shouldn't think with your eyes, girl." In the distance behind him she could see the stony strip of hills called the Finger and its occupied forts jutting from the water, silhouetted against the reddened evening sky, sur¬rounded by ships bearing the autarch's Flaming Eye of Nushash-an all too vivid reminder of what it was to face Sulepis' own burning stare. "But it's a bit late to learn now."
Vash did not want to go on another voyage. He had barely recovered from the last. What good was it to reach a venerable age and be one of the
most powerful men in the world if you still could not stay choose to stay on dry land?
He swallowed his irritation, since it would do no good, and steadied himself against the rocking of the anchored ship before stepping out of the passage into the autarch's great cabin, a hall of wooden beams a hundred paces long that ran half the length of the ship and most of its width, and was hung with fine carpets to keep in the warmth even during the coldest sea storm. At its center, seated upon a smaller version of the Falcon Throne (tethered to the deck to protect the Golden One's dignity during times of unsettled seas) was the man who could make Pinimmon Vash do such un¬comfortable things.
"Ah, Vash, there you are." The autarch extended a lazy hand, gold glint¬ing on his fingertips. Other than jewelry, Sulepis wore nothing but a linen kilt and a massive belt of woven gold. "You are just in time. That fat Fa¬vored whose name I never remember…" He waited so long that it was plain he wished the name supplied.
"Bazilis, Golden One?" Outside, on the cliffs above them, one of the great crocodile-cannons boomed and the ship's timbers creaked. Vash tried not to flinch.
"Yes, Bazilis. He is bringing me my gift from Ludis. The god-on-earth is a happy god today, old man." But Sulepis did not look happy: in fact, he appeared even more feverish and intent than usual, the muscles in his jaw twitching like those of a hound anticipating a meal. "We have waited and worked a long time for this."
"Yes, Golden One, we have. A very long time."
The autarch frowned. "Have you, too? Have you really, Vash? And have you gone without sleep for weeks on end to read the ancient texts? Have you wrestled with… things that live in darkness? Have you wagered your godhead against your success, knowing that simply hearing of the torments that await you if you fail would kill an ordinary man? Have you truly worked and waited as I have, Vash?"
"N-no, no, of course not, my astonishing master! I did not mean 'we' in that way, not truly…" He could feel sweat budding on his old skin. "I meant that the rest of us, your servants, have waited anxiously for your suc¬cess, but that success, that… mastery… will of course be all yours." He cursed himself for a fool. An entire year serving this poisonous youth and he still had not learned to ponder every word before it left his mouth! "Please, Golden One, I meant nothing disrespectful…!"
"Of course you didn't, Vash. You arc my trusted servant." The autarch smiled suddenly, a flash of white as bereft of kindness as the bile grimace of a canal shark. "You worry too much, old fellow. My gaze is everywhere. I am aware of how loyal my subjects are, and especially of what my closest servants do and think."
Vash swayed a little-too little to notice, he prayed-and wished he could sit down. The autarch was hinting at something again, surely. Was it the remark the new Leopard captain Marukh had made? But Vash had not agreed with him-in fact, surely he had upbraided the man! But it was also true that he had not gone straight to the autarch to report the man's treasonous impertinence.
If I denounced every man who chafes under our new autarch's rule, he thought desperately, the autarch's strangler would die of overwork and the Orchard Palace would be empty of anything except ghosts by year's end.
He bowed his head, waiting to find out if he would live another hour.
The autarch lifted his hands before his eyes, frowned again as he exam¬ined his finger-stalls. "I am wondering if I should wear the ones made in the shape of a falcon's talons," he said. "In honor of the upcoming fall of Hierosol. What do you think, Vash?"
The paramount minister let out a silent sigh of relief. Another hour, at least. "I think it would be a suitable honor to your ancestors, especially…" He paused, determined not to say anything troublesome, but could see no problem. "… Especially your great ancestor Xarpedon, who carried the Falcon all across Xand."
"Ah, Xarpedon. The greatest of us all-until now." He looked up as a servant stepped silently through the curtained doorway and stood, head lowered, waiting to be recognized. "Yes?"
"Favored Bazilis is here, Golden One."
"Good! You may step aside, Vash."
The paramount minister moved through the ring of attendants toward the cabin wall, and wound up standing next to the golden litter of the scotarch, a gilded conveyance only slightly smaller than the autarch's own. Crippled Prusus peered out of the litter's window like an anxious hermit crab. Vash nodded to him-a formality only, since everyone knew the scotarch was simpleminded and did not notice such things.
Leaning back against his throne, Sulepis waved for the eunuch to be sent in. Bazilis entered a moment later, grave and immense in his robes; it took him some time and a great deal of rustling of fabric to abase himself at the autarch's feet.
"O Master of the Great Tent, blessed of Nushash…" he began, but was silenced by the stamp of Sulepis' sandaled foot.
"Shut your mouth. Where is he? Where is the prisoner?"
"Out… outside, Golden One. I thought you would wish to hear of my…"
The autarch kicked out. The eunuch whimpered and fell back. He crouched and looked up at his master in fear, his hand rising to his face where blood already welled from his lip. "Get him," the autarch said. "I am waiting for him, you fool, not you."
"Y-yes, Golden One, of course." Bazilis backed out of the massive cabin, still on his hands and knees, his brightly-robed bottom waving in the air.
Sulepis turned to Vash with the slightly prim expression of a tutor, "Out of courtesy to our guest, we will speak Hierosoline in his presence. How is yours, Vash?"
"Good, good, Golden One, although I have not used it much of late…"
"Then this will be an excellent chance for you to practice." The autarch smiled like a kindly old uncle, although the man he was smiling at was more than three times his age. "After all, you never know when you might be called on to administer a continent where Hierosoline is the chief tongue!"
While Vash pondered what sounded like a bizarre promise of advance¬ment to viceroy of all Eion, the prisoner appeared.
Vash could not help noticing that the man the eunuch and the guards marched into the cabin seemed like another kind of animal entirely in comparison to their master the autarch. Where Sulepis was young and tall and handsome, with golden, close-shaved skin and a high-boned, hawklike face, the northern king was startlingly ordinary, his brownish beard thick and not very well tended, his dark-ringed eyes emphasizing the pallor of his confinement. Only the way he stared back at the autarch betrayed that he was anything other than some petty merchant or craftsman: it was a calm, thoughtful gaze, measured and measuring. The only person Vash had ever seen look so unmoved in the autarch's presence had been the murderous soldier, Daikonas Vo, but a smile that would never have been on Vo's face flickered around the northern king's eyes and lips. The more he thought about it, the more astonished Vash became that Olin's expression of con¬temptuous amusement, subtle as it was, hadn't driven the autarch into one of his sudden rages. Instead, Sulepis laughed.
"There you are! My fellow monarch!" He raised an imperious finger. "Bring a seat for His Majesty." Two servants scuttled across the great cabin,