2

By “The State” we mean that body that holds the monopoly on the use of violence within a geographic region and has the power and authority to determine how much and in what manner and under what circumstances this monopoly will be delegated, authorized, or commissioned to other bodies or individuals. This power is expressed and interpreted through the body’s various legal systems, coded or uncoded.

By this definition, (cf. Lanya), it is clear that to accept the existence of a State is to accept the monopoly on violence, and so too in reverse. The question, therefore, of the legitimacy of any act of violence by the State, whether deliberate or accidental, must first of all be determined according to:

 

1. The legitimacy of the State.

2. The legitimacy of the interests of the State in which the violence occurred.

3. The appropriateness or lack thereof of the particular acts of violence in serving those interests.

 

It is for this reason that, for example, any violence committed by a rebellious vassal is inherently illegitimate; any act of violence by agents of the State that are committed for personal motivations are considered criminal misappropriation of authority; and any act of violence that, in intent, fails to advance the cause of the State is considered negligent.

The committee began its investigation into the events in Tirma on this basis.

 

The name on the paper was Perisil. I’d never heard of him, but then, the only Iorich I’d ever heard of were those who were willing to take Jhereg as clients—a relatively low number.

I went and showed the name and got directions to a subbasement of the House, and from there to a narrow side passage that looked like an afterthought to the construction; it was meaner and the ceiling was lower and the lighting not so good. Here, unlike in the rest of the House, there were names over the doors. I wondered if somehow having your name over the door meant you were less important. In any case, it helped me find the right one.

I clapped and waited. After a while, I clapped again. I still heard nothing, but the door opened a little and a pair of odd violet eyes were peering at me, then at Loiosh and Rocza, then at me.

“Yes?” he said, or rather squeaked. His voice was high-pitched and small; I couldn’t imagine him arguing before the Court. I mean, do you want the Justicer laughing at your advocate? Well, I don’t know, maybe that would help.

“May I come in?”

He opened the door a bit more. He was only a little taller than Aliera, who was only a little taller than me. His shoulders were broad, and for a Dragaeran he’d have been called stocky. His dress was casual, to the point where the laces on his doublet were only loosely tied and his gloves were unevenly hanging on his belt. For an Iorich, that’s casual, okay? He said, “An Easterner. If you’re here on your own behalf, or one of your countrymen, I’ve never done anything with the Separation Laws, though I’ve looked through them of course.”

The office behind him was tiny and square, mostly taken up by a wooden desk that looked old and well-used; it had grooves and scratches here and there, and it just barely left room for a couple of chairs that were ugly and metal. There were white spaces on the wall where some pictures or something had once hung, and there was some sort of framed official document hanging prominently above and behind his chair. I said, “You were recommended to me by Lady Ardwena. My name is Vladimir Taltos. I’m here on behalf of Aliera e’Kieron.”

“Oh. Come in, then.” He stepped out of my way. He looked at Loiosh and Rocza again. “Interesting pets you have.”

“Thank him for me, Boss. I always love hearing my pets complimented.”

I ignored Loiosh and stepped inside. “New office for you?” I said.

He nodded. “Just recently permitted into the House from an outside office.” Then he stopped halfway into his chair. “How did you know that?”

He sat behind the desk. I sat in one of the chairs. It was ugly, but at least it was uncomfortable. “Aliera,” I prompted.

“Lady Ardwena for Aliera e’Kieron,” he repeated. “That’s an interesting juxtaposition. But then, I think I’ve heard of you.”

I made a sort of noise that could mean anything and let him talk. All the advocates I’ve ever met are perfectly willing to talk from Homeday to Northport. The best of them are willing to listen, too.

He nodded as if to some inner voice. “You have paperwork?”

“None,” I said.

“Oh. Are you registered as a friend?”

“Yes, but not confirmed.”

“Hmmm,” he said. “She doesn’t want to see her friends, and doesn’t want an advocate.”

“Well, you know Dragonlords.”

“Not many, not well. I’ve never had one as a client.”

“Dragonlords think there are two ways to solve any problem, and the first is killing somebody.”

He nodded. “The second?”

“Most of them never need to come up with one.”

He folded his arms and sat back. “Tough situation,” he said. “Do you have money?”

“Yes.”

He named a figure that was a substantial percentage of what I used to charge to kill someone. I borrowed his pen and ink and blotter and I wrote out a draft on my bank and passed it over. He studied it carefully, blew on it, then set it aside and nodded.

“Where can you be reached?”

“Castle Black.”

“I know the place,” he said. He steepled his fingers and stared at nothing for a bit. “Am I correct that you don’t know why she refuses an advocate or to see anyone?”

“I can speculate,” I said, “knowing Aliera.”

“She’s outraged, offended, and more full of pride than her father was before he destroyed the world?”

“Oh, you know her?”

“Heard of her, of course.”

“Dragons,” I said.

“Indeed.”

“Can you explain the laws that apply here?”

“There isn’t much to explain. Elder Sorcery is forbidden by Imperial Edict.”

“Yeah, what does that mean?”

“That it isn’t a Codified Tradition. Codified Traditions are more fun.”

“Fun?”

“For an advocate. With a traditional, we can always find interesting ways to reinterpret the tradition, or find an historical context for its creation that has changed, or question how it was codified. That sort of thing is always fun. Me, I work mostly with Edicts.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I don’t know. I fell into it, I suppose. It suits me, though. If I were a Dragon, I’d say it was because they’re more of a challenge. In fact, I suppose what I enjoy isn’t the interpretation of the law as much as establishing and arguing about the facts. Most of the law involves detail work and subtleties of interpretation. Edicts are yes or no, did or didn’t.”

In this case: did, I thought. “That this was an Edict means what, exactly?”

“It means it was explicitly declared by an Emperor at some point. Like a Statute, only with the force of the Empire behind it. That one in particular is about as old as the Empire.”

“What does it mean for us? In a practical sense.”

“It means there’s no way to attack the law itself; the only questions are: did she do it, and if so, how harsh should the sentence be.”

“Can’t get anywhere on the interpretation?”

“How can you when the Empress can just consult the Orb and ask?”

“Oh, right. Death is the maximum sentence?”

“Yes.”

“You have to admit, Boss; it would be funny if Aliera ended up on the Star before you did.”

“Yeah, I’ll just laugh myself sick over that one, Loiosh.”

“What is the minimum?”

“The minimum? I suppose the minimum would be the Empress saying, ‘Don’t do that anymore.’ ”

“I see. And what would you expect?”

“No way to tell. The Empress knows Aliera, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “If they’re friends, it will be harder for the Empress to be lenient.”

I nodded. Politics.

He said, “It’s going to be difficult if I can’t get her cooperation, you know.”

“I know. I think I can get you her cooperation, if I can manage to get in to see her.”

He brushed his hair back. “I might be able to manage that.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not saying anything yet. Let me give it some thought.” I was good with that. He could do as much thinking as he wanted. His voice didn’t seem as odd after you’d been listening to it for a while.

After a moment, he said, as if to himself, “Yes, that should work.”

“Hmmm?”

“One option is to petition, in your name, to have her declared incompetent to manage her affairs.”

I laughed. “Oh, she’ll love that!”

“No doubt.”

“I’ll testify, Boss. I’ve been saying for years—”

“Shut up.”

“Think they’ll go for it?”

He frowned. “Go for it?”

“I mean, will you be able to convince the Empire that she’s incompetent.”

“Oh, of course not. That isn’t the point. The point is to convince her to accept an advocate. If she won’t in the dispute with the Empire, she might to prove she isn’t mad. If not, it might convince her to be willing to see you, and give you a chance to talk her into accepting counsel.”

“Ah. Yes, that might work. Or it might just make her more stubborn. She’ll see through it, of course.” I considered. “It’s hard to know how she’ll jump.”

“Hmmm. There’s another thing I might try first. It would be quicker, at any rate.”

“If it’s also less likely to get me killed, that would be good, too. What is it?”

“Procedural complaint to the Empire. If we start out attacking, we can always back off; if we start on the defensive, it’s harder to change direction.” He drummed his fingers on the desktop. Then he nodded. “Yes, I’ll try that first. I should be able to get the petition written up and submitted in an hour. We might get results by the end of the day.”

“They don’t waste time.”

“Not with this. For whatever reason, they’re in a hurry with this case.”

“Um, yeah,” I said. “So it seems. Why is that?”

“Good question. If you want to do something useful, find out.”

“What makes you think I’d be able to do that?”

“I recognized your name.”

“Oh. I’m famous.”

“If you wish.”

“Can you tell me where to start looking?”

“You could ask the Empress.”

“Okay.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Oh?”

“You know the Empress?”

“We’ve spoken.”

“Well, if you think you can get her tell you anything, I won’t stop you.”

“All right,” I said. “If that doesn’t work?”

“Lord Delwick, of my House, might be able to tell you some things, if he’s willing to talk to you. He’s our Imperial Representative.”

“Okay,” I said. “A word of advice: Don’t do anything to mess up his relationship with the Empire. The House hates that.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

“All right, I’ll get started, then.”

He opened up a desk drawer, dug around for a while, and then handed me what looked like a copper coin with the Iorich insignia. “Show him this, and tell him I sent you.”

I accepted it, put it in my pouch, and said, “I’ll check back with you from time to time.”

“Of course.”

I stood and gave him a bow, which he acknowledged with gesture of his head, then I let myself out.

I made my way back to the entryway of the House without too much effort, assisted by Loiosh, who has a pretty good memory for twists and turns.

I sent him and Rocza out ahead of me to spot any assassins lurking in the area, was told there weren’t any, and made a brisk walk across the way to the entrance of the Palace. I went as straight through as the twists of the Wing would permit, and out into the Imperial Wing.

Wherever you are in the Imperial Wing (all right, wherever I’ve been) you’ll see pages and messengers scurrying around, all with the Phoenix badge, usually carrying a green folder, though sometimes it will be a gold one, and occasionally something other than a folder. I always resent them, because they give the impression they know their way around the place, which is obviously impossible. Doors, corridors, stairways are everywhere, and going off at absurd angles as if designed by a madman. You have no choice but to ask directions of someone, usually a guardsman, who will of course let you know exactly what they think of Easterners who can’t find their way around.

It’s annoying.

To the left, however, finding one of the rooms where the Empress is available to courtiers is one of the easier tasks, and after only a couple of minor humiliations I arrived outside that wide, open, chairless room called the Imperial Audience Chamber or something like that, but informally known among the Jhereg as Asskiss Alley.

There were big double doors there, with a pair of guards outside of them, and a well-dressed man who could have been a relative of Lady Teldra—when she was alive—standing at his ease with a half smile on his face. I wanted to touch Lady Teldra’s hilt, but restrained myself. Instead, I placed myself before this worthy and bowed like I meant it.

“Vladimir Taltos, House Jhereg, and Count of Szurke, at your service.”

He returned my bow exactly. “Harnwood,” he said, “House of the Issola, at yours, my lord.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the procedure”—he gave me an encouraging smile—“but I would have words with Her Majesty, who may wish to see me.”

If the request was surprising, he gave no indication. “Of course, my lord. If you will come with me into the waiting room, I will inquire.”

He led me to an empty room painted yellow, with half a dozen comfortable chairs, also yellow. They probably called it the “yellow room.” They’re creative that way. He gave me another smile, a bow, and closed the door behind him.

I sat and waited, thinking about how long it had been since I’d eaten.

I hate waiting.

I hate being hungry.

I shifted in the chair and chatted with Loiosh about our previous encounter with Her Majesty—she had granted me an Imperial title because of accidental services rendered. I suspect she knew they were accidental, but felt like rewarding me for her own reasons. I happened to know she had an Easterner as a lover, maybe that had something to do with it. Loiosh made a few other suggestions for reasons, some of which were probably treasonous.

Or maybe not. I’ve heard that in some Eastern kingdoms it is a capital crime to fail to treat the king with proper respect, but I had no idea if that was true in the Empire. I imagined that I could ask Perisil, and get an answer much longer than I wanted that would come out to: sometimes. Imperial law seems to work like that.

This close to the Orb, I could easily feel my link to it, and knew when an hour had passed.

A little later, Harnwood returned with profuse apologies, a bottle of wine, some dried fruit, and word that Her Majesty begged me to be patient, because she did wish to speak with me. My heart quickened a bit when I heard that; isn’t that odd? I’d known Morrolan e’Drien, and Sethra Lavode, and had even been face-to-face with Verra, the Demon Goddess, and yet I still felt a thrill go through me that this woman wanted to talk to me. Strange. I guess it shows what conditioning can do.

Harnwood left, and I drank the wine because I was thirsty and ate the fruit because it gave me something to do and because I was feeling half-starved. Loiosh ate some for the same reasons (dried fruit not being a favorite of his); Rocza seemed to have no problems with dried fruit.

Then I waited some more.

It was most of another hour before Harnwood came back, looking even more apologetic and saying, “She will see you now, Lord Szurke.”

That was interesting. She would see Lord Szurke, not Lord Taltos. I didn’t know what the significance of that was, but I was pretty sure there was significance. That’s the trouble with the Court, you know: Everything is significant but they don’t tell you exactly why, or how, or what it means until you’re swimming in it. Maybe in my next life I’ll be a Lyorn and be taught all that stuff or an Issola and know it instinctively. More likely not, though.

I stood up, discovering that sitting there for most of two hours had made my body stiff. I wondered if I was getting old.

I followed Harnwood out and down the hall, where we went past the door he’d been stationed outside of, then turned left, through a doorway, and into a much smaller hallway that ended in a flight of eight stairs—two few for it to be a stairway up to the next floor. I don’t know; I never did figure that out. But at the top was a door that was standing open, and past it was a long, narrow room with a few stuffed chairs set haphazardly about. At the far end was Her Majesty, speaking quietly with a man in the colors of the Iorich and a woman in the colors of the Dragon. As I entered, all three glanced up at me, with uniform lacks of expression.

The Orb as it circled the Empress’s head was a light green, which should have told me something about her mood, but it didn’t. She turned to the two she’d been speaking with and said, “Leave us now. I wish to speak to this gentleman.”

They gave her a deep bow, me a rather shallower one, backed up, and left by a door at the far end.

The Empress sat in a chair and motioned me to stand in front of her. I made an obeisance and waited, not entirely sure of the etiquette, and wishing I had Lady Teldra in the flesh, as it were, to tell me what I was supposed to do. Zerika didn’t look as if I’d violated any sort of protocol. I reflected that the Empire did things rather more simply than these things were done in the East.

“Taltos Vladimir,” she said, a smile flicking over her lips. She still looked impossibly young to be an Empress, but looks are deceiving. “What happened to your hand?”

I glanced at my left hand, missing the least finger. “A minor insect bite followed by a major infection,” I said. I forced myself to not glance at the Orb while I said it; the Orb, I’ve been told, only detects falsehood when asked to do so, and even then it can sometimes be beaten, as I’ve reason to know.

She said, “You couldn’t cure it with your arts?”

I touched the amulet hanging about my neck. “I’m not sure how much Your Majesty knows of—”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “I had forgotten.”

“It is kind of Your Majesty to remember at all.”

“Yes. I am the personification of kindness, as well as mercy and justice, which as you know always match steps. What brings you back to the City, under the circumstances?”

Okay, well, she knew about the “circumstances.” I was only surprised that she cared enough to, and I wondered why.

“Aliera is a friend of mine,” I said.

“And mine,” she snapped.

I almost jumped. It isn’t good when the Empress is mad at you—ask anyone. I said, “Well, naturally, I wanted to see her.”

She seemed to relax a little, and nodded.

“And help her if I can,” I added. “I trust you have no objections?”

“That depends,” she said carefully, “on just exactly what you mean by ‘helping’ her.”

“I had in mind hiring an advocate, to start with.”

She nodded. “I would have no objection to that, of course.”

“Perhaps Your Majesty would be willing to tell me something.”

“Perhaps.”

“It may be my imagination, but it seems that the prosecution of Aliera is, ah, being expedited. If that’s true, then—”

“It isn’t,” she said. She was terse. She was glaring. She was lying. It’s something to make an Empress lie to you, isn’t it?

I nodded. “As Your Majesty says.”

She glared and I stared at a place on the wall above and behind her right ear. The Orb had turned a sort of orangish, reddish color. I waited. This isn’t one of those situations where I need to explain why I kept my mouth shut.

At length, she gestured toward a chair. “Sit,” she said.

“I thank Your Maj—”

“Oh, shut up.”

I sat down. The chair was comfortable; I was not.

She let out a long breath. “Well,” she said. “Now we have quite the situation here.”

One thing I’d hoped to find a way to say to her was, “Look, you’ve known for years that Aliera and Morrolan dabbled in Elder Sorcery. Why is it such a big deal now all of a sudden?” I was now convinced there was going to be no way to ask it at all. The Orb circled her head, its color gradually fading back to a sick shade of green. It must be annoying to be unable to conceal your feelings.

“Was the Orb designed to display the Imperial mood, or is it a by-product of something else?”

She pretended not to hear the question. “Who have you hired as an advocate?”

“His name is Perisil.”

“I don’t know him. Will he manage to get you in to see her?”

“I hope so.”

“Let her know that if she confesses, she’ll be shown mercy.”

I started to reply, then recast it in terms I hoped more suitable for the Imperial presence: “Is Your Majesty pleased to jest?”

She sighed. “No, but I see your point.”

I was trying to imagine Aliera e’Kieron begging for mercy of anyone for any reason, and my mind just wouldn’t accept it.

She said, “I should have mentioned it before, but I’m glad you’re not—that is, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

“Me too. I mean, I thank Your Majesty.”

“Who have you seen since you’ve back in town?”

“Morrolan, that’s all.”

“Has he, ah, said anything?”

“You mean, made disloyal remarks about his sovereign? No.”

“I could put the Orb over you and make you repeat that.”

“Must be nice to be able to do that whenever you want, Majesty.”

“Not as nice as you’d think.”

I cleared my throat. “With all due respect, Your Maj—”

“Oh, stuff your respect. What is it?”

“Someone in my position is hardly likely to overflow with sympathy for someone in yours.”

“I wasn’t asking for sympathy,” said Her Majesty.

“No, I suppose not.”

“And you know whose fault your predicament is.”

“Yes. Can the same be said for yours?”

“Not without exploring metaphysics, which I haven’t the patience for just now.”

I smiled a little. “I can imagine Your Majesty in the library of Castle Black furiously arguing metaphysics with Morrolan.”

“So can I,” she said, granting me a brief smile.

It was like half the time I was being invited to talk with Zerika, and half the time to speak with the Empress. It was hard to keep up with.

I said, “It must be a difficult position.”

“I said I wasn’t asking for sympathy.”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. “Yes, it is. Between jailing a friend and violence in the—” She broke off and shook her head. “Well, I knew what I was getting into when I took the Orb.”

Neither of us mentioned that at the time she had taken the Orb there was, quite literally, no one else to do it. I said, “You know I’m still willing to serve Your Majesty.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“As long as it doesn’t mean a disservice to your friends, as usual?” She sounded a little scornful.

“Yes,” I said, not letting her know that her tone had stung a bit.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “that this is an occasion when you’re going to have to choose whom to help.”

“Eh. Between my friends and the Empire? I’m sorry, that isn’t that hard a choice. Can you give me enough of an idea of what’s going on that I can at least understand why it has to be that way?”

After a moment, she said, “Do you know, Vlad, that from the best knowledge we have, it seems almost certain that at least five of the original sixteen tribes practiced human sacrifice?”

“I had not been aware—”

“There are many who assume that because we have evidence from the five, it is safe to make assumptions about the other eleven. I don’t know if they’re right, but I can’t prove them wrong.”

I cleared my throat, just as if I had something to say to that. She looked at me expectantly, so I had to come up with something. “Um, how did they choose the lucky person?”

“Different ways for different tribes. Captives in battle, selected for special honor, punishment, reward, auguries.”

“When did it stop?”

“When the Empire was formed. It was made illegal. That was the first Imperial Edict.”

“An act of kindness from your ancestor. Good way to start.”

“Not kindness, so much. She’d spoken to the gods, and knew the gods were either indifferent or hostile to the practice. So call it practicality. I bring it up because—” She stopped, and looked blank for a moment, the Orb pulsing blue over her head. “I’m sorry, it seems I must go run an Empire.”

I stood. “Thank you for seeing me.” I made as good an obeisance as I could; which isn’t too bad, I’m told.

“It is always a pleasure, Count Szurke.”

I backed away a few steps (there is a correct number of steps, but I didn’t know it), and turned away. She said, “Oh, and thank you, Vlad.”

“For—?”

“The documents on making paper. I’m told they’re valuable.”

“Oh, right. I’d forgotten about—how did you know they came from me?”

She smiled. “Until now, I didn’t.”

The mention of making paper brought back a complex set of memories and partial memories that I didn’t especially feel like dwelling on just then; but it was good of her to mention it. I gave her what I hoped was a friendly smile over my shoulder and took myself out of the room.