There was a stirring in the room, a gathering of tension.
Hissune said, “The Pontifex still lives. But it is not life as you or I understand it. He no longer speaks, even in such howls and shrieks as have been his recent language. He lives in another realm, far away, and I think it is the realm that lies just on this side of the Bridge of Farewells.”
“And how soon, then, is he likely to die?” asked Nimian of Dundilmir.
“Oh, not soon, even now,” replied Hissune. “They have their witcheries that can keep him for some years yet, I think, from making his crossing. But I believe that that crossing cannot now be much longer allowed to wait.”
“It is Lord Valentine’s decision to make,” said the Duke of Halanx.
Hissune nodded. “Indeed. I will come to that in a little while.” He rose and walked to the world-map, and laid his hand over the heart of Zimroel. “While traveling to and from the Labyrinth I received the regular dispatches. I know of the declaration of war against us made by the Piurivar Faraataa, whoever he may be; and I know that the Metamorphs now have begun to launch not only agricultural plagues into Zimroel but also a horde of ghastly new animals that create terrible havoc and fear. I am aware of the famine in the Khyntor district, the secession of Piliplok, the rioting in Ni-moya. I am not aware of what is taking place west of Dulorn, and I think no one is, this side of the Rift. I know also that western Alhanroel is rapidly approaching the chaotic condition of the other continent, and that the disruptions are heading swiftly eastward, even to the foothills of the Mount. In the face of all this we have done very little of a concrete nature so far. The central government appears to have vanished entirely, the provincial dukes are behaving as though they are altogether independent of one another, and we remain gathered on Castle Mount high above the clouds.”
“And what do you propose?” Mirigant asked.
“Several things. First, the raising of an army to occupy the borders of Piurifayne, to seal the province off, and to penetrate the jungle in search of Faraataa and his followers, which I grant you will be no easy quest.”
“And who will command this army?” said the Duke of Halanx.
“Permit me to return to that in a moment,” Hissune said. “To continue: we must have a second army, also to be organized in Zimroel, to occupy Piliplok—peacefully, if possible, otherwise by force—and restore it to its allegiance to the central government. Third, we must call a general conclave of all provincial rulers to discuss a rational allocation of food supplies, with the provinces not yet afflicted sharing what they have with those suffering from famine—making it clear, of course, that we are calling for sacrifice but not an intolerable sacrifice. Those provinces unwilling to share, if there are any, will face military occupation.”
“A great many armies,” said Manganot, “for a society that has so little in the way of a military tradition.”
“When armies have been needed,” Hissune replied, “we have been able to raise them somehow. This was true in Lord Stiamot’s time, and again during Lord Valentine’s war of restoration, and it will be the case again now, since we have no choice. I point out, though, that several informal armies already exist, under the leadership of the various self-proclaimed new Coronals. We can make use of those armies, and of the new Coronals themselves.”
“Make use of traitors?” the Duke of Halanx cried.
“Of anyone who can be of use,” said Hissune. “We will invite them to join us; we will give them high rank, though not, I trust, the rank to which they have appointed themselves; and we will make it clear to them that if they do not cooperate, we will destroy them.”
“Destroy?” Stasilaine said.
“It was the word I meant to use.”
“Even Dominin Barjazid was pardoned and sent to his brothers. To take life, even the life of a traitor—”
“Is no trifling matter,” said Hissune. “I mean to use these men, not to kill them. But I think we will have to kill them if they will not let themselves be used. I beg you, though, let us consider this point another time.”
“You mean to use these men?” Prince Nimian of Dundilmir said. “You speak much like a Coronal!”
“No,” Hissune said. “I speak like one of the two from whom the choice, by your own earlier agreement, is to be made. And in the unfortunate absence of my lord Divvis I speak perhaps too forcefully. But I tell you this, that I have given long thought to these plans, and I see no alternative to adopting them, no matter who is to rule.”
“Lord Valentine rules,” said the Duke of Halanx.
“As Coronal,” said Hissune. “But I think we are agreed that in the present crisis we must have a true Pontifex to guide us, as well as a Coronal. Lord Valentine, so you tell me, is sailing to the Isle to meet with the Lady. I propose to make the same journey, and speak with the Coronal, and attempt to convince him of the importance of ascending to the Pontificate. If he sees the wisdom of my arguments, he will then convey his wishes in the matter of a successor. The new Coronal, I think, must take up the task of pacifying Piliplok and Ni-moya, and of winning over the allegiance of the false Coronals. The other of us, I suggest, should have command of the army that will invade the Metamorph lands. For my part it makes no difference to me which it is to wear the crown, Divvis or I, but it is essential that we take the field at once and begin the restoration of order, which is already long overdue.”
“And shall we toss a royal-piece for it?” came a voice suddenly from the doorway.
Divvis, sweaty-looking and unshaven and still in his hunting clothes, stood facing Hissune.
Hissune smiled. “I am cheered to see you once again, my lord Divvis.”
“I regret that I have missed so much of this meeting. Are we forming armies and choosing Coronals today, Prince Hissune?”
“Lord Valentine must choose the Coronal,” Hissune replied calmly. “To you and me, after that, will fall the task of forming the armies and leading them. And it will be a while, I think, before either of us again has the leisure for such pastimes as hunting, my lord.” He indicated the vacant chair beside him at the high table. “Will you sit, my lord Divvis? I have made some proposals before this meeting, which I will repeat to you, if you will grant me a few moments for it. And then we must come to some decisions. So will you sit and listen to me, my lord Divvis? Will you sit?”
4
Once more, then, to sea: through heat-haze and swelter, with the fiery wind out of Suvrael at his back and a swift unceasing current from the southwest pushing the ships swiftly toward northern lands. Valentine felt other currents, turbulent ones, sweeping through his soul. The words of the high spokesman Hornkast at the banquet in the Labyrinth still resounded in him, as though he had heard them only yesterday, and not what seemed like ten thousand years ago.
The Coronal is the embodiment of Majipoor. The Coronal is Majipoor personified. He is the world; the world is the Coronal.
Yes. Yes.
And as he moved back and forth upon the face of the world, from Castle Mount to the Labyrinth, from the Labyrinth to the Isle, from the Isle to Piliplok to Piurifayne to Bellatule, from Bellatule to Suvrael—now from Suvrael again to the Isle—Valentine’s spirit opened ever more widely to the anguish of Majipoor, his mind grew ever more receptive to the pain, the confusion, the madness, the horror, that now was ripping apart what had been the happiest and most peaceful of worlds. Night and day was he flooded with the outpourings of twenty billion tormented souls. And gladly did he receive it all; and eagerly did he accept and absorb all that Majipoor must pour into him; and willingly did he search for ways of easing that pain. But the strain was wearying him. Too much came flooding in; he could not process and integrate it all, and often it baffled and overwhelmed him; and there was no escaping from it, for he was a Power of the realm, and this was his task, which could not be refused.