So far, he could hardly accuse Vond of tyranny. Even so, he knew that the empire was doomed from the start.
CHAPTER 30
Nine days after the rout the Ksinallionese army marched back into Semma.
The exterior of Vond’s palace was almost complete; only the top of the huge northwestern tower remained open to the sky, although none of the roofs had yet been tiled.
The warlock scarcely needed to worry about leaky roofs, of course, since he could keep the rain away easily enough, as he in fact had so far. Besides, Sterren thought, a leaky roof wouldn’t do any harm, since there was nothing inside the palace as yet but bare stone walls and floors. He and Ederd had spent much of the previous day strolling through its empty halls and chambers, admiring the vast expanses of bare marble, as Vond explained what would eventually go where.
The warlock’s half-dozen servants had watched silently from their impromptu camp in what would in time be the kitchens. They had little to do, as yet, beyond seeing to their own most basic needs. Nothing needed cleaning yet, and Vond could not be bothered to eat real meals, but simply conjured up food from somewhere whenever he got hungry. He had no wardrobe to worry about; he still wore the same black warlock’s robe.
The stairways were not yet built, so the only way into the upper floors was by levitation. Some rooms had no windows as yet.
Even so, it was a very impressive job for a mere eight days’ work. All the more so, because Vond had spent a day or so cleaning and rebuilding the village around the old castle.
Looking out from his tower room in the old castle, and seeing the army on the horizon beyond the new palace, Sterren wondered what they thought of this great brooding edifice that had not been there when they left, just nine days before.
For that matter, he wondered what the people of Semma thought of it.
He sighed. He should, he thought, have realized that the lords of Ksinallion and Ophkar would not give up so easily as all that. A single battle was not a war.
Well, it wasn’t his problem, now that Vond had conquered Semma.
He watched as Vond appeared, rising out of the unfinished tower, his cloak spreading like wings on either side. He waited for the Ksinallionese army to be swept away.
It wasn’t. Instead, Vond dropped to the ground facing it, out of sight behind the palace.
Puzzled, Sterren waited a moment for him to reappear, then turned and headed for the stairs. He wanted to see what was happening.
By the time he had saddled a horse and ridden out the gate and past the palace, it was all over. He found Vond standing atop a newly erected stone dais in the middle of a field, and the entire Ksinallionese army spread out before him, bowing in obeisance.
Three fresh corpses lay at the foot of the dais, sprawled awkwardly, swords fallen from their hands. Another corpse lay in the dirt amid the bowing Ksinallionese, this one burned black.
“Hello, Sterren,” Vond said as he rode up.
“What happened?” Sterren asked.
“Well, these men marched up, as you see, and I stopped them. I didn’t hurt them, just stopped them. Most of them couldn’t understand a word I said, but a few spoke Ethsharitic, and one of them said they wanted to parley. I think my citadel had impressed them. Anyway, that one there,” he said, pointing to one of the bodies that wore an officer’s uniform, “claimed to be the Ksinallionese warlord. That fellow over there,” he went on, indicating a bowing survivor, “served as his interpreter. They said that they had no quarrel with me — they called me a wizard, but I let that slide, since they didn’t know any better. Anyway, they said they were at war with Semma, not with me.”
Sterren nodded.
“Well, I explained that I had conquered Semma and intended to conquer Ksinallion, too, but that I hadn’t gotten around to it yet; and I offered them a chance to surrender. The warlord got all red in the face and swore he’d never surrender to a damned wizard, or something like that, and I told him that in that case, he might as well try and kill me, and we’d see what happened. So he tried, and I let him take a few stabs at me with his sword, and then I exploded his heart.”
Sterren found the calm way in which Vond described this murder to be extremely upsetting, but he hid that reaction and asked, “What about the others?”
“Well, after that, there was a lot of discussion in whatever language these people use amongst themselves — Ksinallionese, I suppose it is. Then this one,” he said, indicating another corpse, “tried to distract me, while that one,” pointing to the final unburned body, “came up behind me and tried to stab me. I stopped both their hearts. And while I was doing that, that one over there,” he pointed to the burned remains, “fired an arrow at me. He was too far away to be sure of getting his heart properly the first try, so I fried him, instead. After that, I told the interpreter that I would now accept the surrender of anyone who cared to surrender and bow to me. And then you rode up, and here we are.” He waved a hand. “I think a few at the back ran, instead, but I won’t worry about it.” He looked over the hundreds of groveling figures. “I think I’ve just acquired a palace guard,” he said, smiling.
“What are you going to do about Ksinallion, then?” Sterren asked.
“Oh, I guess I’ll fly there this afternoon, stage a few demonstrations, and let them surrender. I wasn’t planning to start empire-building until I had my citadel finished, but I can’t just leave them there after this.”
Sterren nodded.
That afternoon, Corinal II, King of Ksinallion, capitulated. He abdicated in favor of the Great Vond, and the Kingdom of Ksinallion became the second province of the Empire of Vond.
At least, Vond considered it the second. Sterren, who had ridden along to watch, pointed out that Phenvel had not actually surrendered yet.
Vond shrugged that off. “I’ll worry about that after I finish my palace.”
Two days later Vond intercepted a party of Ophkarite soldiers spying on his palace and took a break from construction to force another capitulation. He had to kill King Neran IV before Neran’s heir, the newly elevated King Elken III, would surrender and add Ophkar to the Empire of Vond.
Vond got home in time to finish tiling the roof. That night, during dinner at the high table in Semma Castle, Phenvel finally confronted Sterren directly and demanded, “Whose side are you on, the warlock’s or mine?”
“I am on the side of what’s best for Semma, your Majesty,” Sterren replied quietly, putting down his fork.
“What does that mean?”
“Your Majesty, I mean what I said.”
What he actually meant was that he was in favor of whatever caused the least trouble and did the least damage to lives and property. He was not particularly concerned with any other criteria in choosing “best.”
“And who do you see as best for Semma, me or the warlock?” Phenvel demanded.
“At the moment, your Majesty,” Sterren said, “I see only that to argue with the warlock is to die.”
“To defy me can get you killed, too, warlord!” Sterren tensed at this threat, but forced his voice to remain calm. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I don’t think you want to do that. The warlock thinks me his friend and would not like it if you killed me.” He hesitated, considering whether he dared say anything, and if so how much, then added, “Besides, I can promise you that he will not rule for long.” “Oh?” Phenvel eyed Sterren intently. “Why not?”