Chapter 5

Coffee came early. The smoky smells of dried meats warmed over fire permeated the shelter cave, and the last attendants began to wake.

Dethendor, great lord of the Hai Mahlner, had been already awake for an hour. Wrapped in a thick fur coat, he sat at the arched entrance, staring out into a frigid white expanse as sunlight warmed the air to a temperature that could still induce hypothermia. He tugged at his beard. This mountain was his home. Not in terms of boundaries--no, everything above Donger pass belonged to the Cloud City. But this peak, this mountain, was part of the range that bore his name.

Most of the original ruling houses were long forgotten. The loss of an heir, the birth of a daughter, a disaster in battle, the ritual blood-sparring of kama-hut. Many things could erase a house charter from the official records. But through it all, the Mahlner family had survived. Since the beginning, since the Reckoning five hundred and thirty-three years ago, the Hai Mahlner had ruled these mountains. It was something only a handful of houses could claim.

And then the Empress came. What other changes would come?

With a silent nod, Dethendor took the steaming cup offered him--he would eat in a moment. A gale-force wind blew mercilessly past the cave opening. A sip; the coffee was hot on his tongue. Contrast between hot and cold, between the coffee and the wind, was a stern reminder of the coming audience.

His reports said the Empress was skilled with language, and often employed word games to her advantage. She knew how to play on emotions, how to provoke the response she wanted. Other great lords had gone before her making demands, and come away shining with a new sense of loyalty.

But Dethendor knew those reports were short of the truth. Words, in the end, were just words. Her followers were fanatic in their obedient loyalty, almost religious at times. This new Empress was more than a figurehead of government. She was a force, an event, like that howling wind outside. And she was delicate, skillful, manipulative, like steam rising from the cup in his hand. That balance of opposites was a powerful and dangerous combination.

He knew he would have to be careful.

"My lord?" The voice of an attendant. "The food is ready."

The great lord turned and walked around the wind-block, fully inside the shelter. He sat on a stone bench warmed by the fire, the length of his sandy beard tucked into his lap, and he began to eat. Food filled him and warmed him, silent chewing an act of inward reflection. The mountains were an unforgiving home, and the rugged men who lived among them had a saying: 'Chew now because you might not later.'

The ancient philosopher Somoni had a similar bit of wisdom put to parchment long ago: 'Take that which you are given gladly, for that which is given gladly or grudgingly may bear fruit to the same end.' Mountain men preferred their own version.

Dethendor's palace included a San-school for behavioral conditioning, as did any palace. All of his messengers and servants were bound by the conditioning until their coming-of-age. Adolescence in the palace was meant to be a time of learning as well as early service, but it could still be dangerous. Mind control: there were some who called it mind control. And sometimes he shivered at the thought as well.

'A necessary evil, ' he told himself more than once.

It was not a question of loyalty or bravery or trust. It was a question of security in a world where many shadows still lay hidden beyond the reach of civilization. Protection for the government; protection for servants as well. It was impossible for an enemy to obtain information from one so conditioned. It was pointless to try. Everyone knew this.

The great lord had seen many servant girls and message runners pass under his rule, and had never seen any ill effects left by the San-school. Many of them were even now happily in his service, others happily following other dreams. Still... Mind controll...

Dethendor looked down, surprised to find an empty dish in his hands.

What had made his mind wander? Oh yes, a passing comment from his adviser--the one named Kane.

"Kane," he said over a freshly steaming cup.

"My lord?"

"You were saying something the other day about San-doctors..."

"About the Empress?" The man coughed, swallowing his food too fast. He took a moment to recover. "Sorry," he said. "My lord, it's well known that she keeps her own San-school doctors in the Cloud City, for her personal use."

"Yes," said Dethendor. He sensed there was more. "It's a natural thing--she does as all the ruling houses do."

"Not quite as they do... as we do my lord. Consider where she gets her doctors."

"The same place we do, of course."

"Lorakis University."

Dethendor heard the tone: there was still more. "The only place where they teach how the conditioning is performed," he said.

"That's right. But Lorakis was never under the control of any ruling house, my lord. It used to be administered by the Consul Hai."

"Naturally. There was no other way to prevent any tampering or corruption with..." The great lord trailed off.

"But now..."

"Now it's under direct control of the Empire."

"And the Empress," continued Kane. "My lord, we don't have any way of knowing how the University's instruction has been influenced over the past year. She may have a supply of San-doctors who will do whatever she asks of them, even in violation of the San code."

Dethendor finished the thought: "And she can use them however she sees fit." He took a drink, burned his mouth. "Is it possible that's the secret to her success in manipulating those who follow her?"

"Anything is possible..."

"Indeed."

Absently, Dethendor tugged on his beard again, pulling tangles free; he took another hot dish offered and began chewing.

The adviser's words brought his own feelings into sharper focus. San-conditioning in itself was not necessarily a bad thing. It was a tool--there were many tools of government, not all of them pleasant. Assassins were tools of government. When an assassin went out with his knife, only the intended target had cause to fear. But that then begs the question: who picks the targets? In the hands of a good man, tools are employed in their intended manner for the benefit of all; in the hands of an evil man, tools can be warped and bent to uses never imagined. It is the holder of the tool, then, who is the real danger.

And who decides who holds the tools?

San-conditioning was accepted--or tolerated--because it was considered a pure tool, an application of mental science. It was an art trusted because it came out of Lorakis, a place notorious for internal security and secrecy. Those who graduated Lorakis as San-doctors were without defect, and they followed an almost painful code of ethics: do this, do not do that. The San-doctors were San-conditioned themselves, impossible to subvert or bend to other ends.

It was no random chance that servant girls were released from the conditioning at age sixteen, message runners at eighteen. There were severe mental consequences when control was enforced beyond that time. San-doctors were the only adults who were not released, as part of their code. Those who taught at the university made certain this was true, and they retained absolute control over their teachings.

In a year's time--was it possible to change that? Lorakis had been among the first to endorse the Empress and her new Empire. Since then, she had complete control over what they taught. What did she do with her control? Did she let them continue as they had been, or did she make changes, unseen to the public eye? Was it really possible she had altered the San-code, and even now had unfettered San-doctors bound to her will?

Then to the heart of the matter: the Empress was an unknown quantity. Whether by mental control or some other form of persuasion, she gathered people to her. How they flocked! Countless thousands of feet on the steep mountain roads, braving the ice and snow for a glimpse of the rumored black hair, a chance to enlist... Shipments upon shipments of food, supplies, building materials, weapons... The Cloud City had doubled its population in the last half-year; more came every day. Those masses were enamored, enraptured. Fanatic. Those transients who came back down the mountain to return home had a changed look about them. And then those who stayed...

What was the source of her power? What were her politics? There was no precedent for a world empire; a year ago the idea would have been absurd. She commanded fanatic loyalty--was that the key? The masses were swept up in her wake, and now the ruling houses were one by one falling in line? Were they all being blinded into obedience? Was there any way to know for sure?

Kane was speaking again: "One thing I've been curious about. They say her guard force is entirely female."

One of Dethendor's guards, a man named Hobb, looked up from his coffee. "I've heard something like that also."

"What did you hear?" asked Kane.

"Well it's not entirely clear, since all we get are rumors. But supposedly she has several different guard forces in addition to her army. And like you said, the guards are all female."

Dethendor frowned. "Is there some advantage to that?"

"Not that I can see. I mean, her army is supposed to be men and women both."

"Could it be that she's limited by the population of the city? Putting women into the guard because there aren't enough men?" Kane.

Dethendor shook his head. "No, she has more than enough people to fill any role she wants."

Hobb nodded his agreement. "From what I hear, she's very specific. Only women in the guard force. They're supposed to be very elite. Constantly putting newcomers through training, and only a handful become part of the guard force."

"Then there must be some advantage..."

"It's hard to be sure of anything," said the great lord, putting down his empty dish. Others took the cue, and attendants began to clear up. "All this is based on rumor and speculation."

The three men stood. The adviser spoke again. "If there is some advantage, I can't see it."

"Remember her army's untested as well," said the guard. "They've been up in the Cloud City, not any more public than the guard force. No one's seen them in action."

"In a few hours' time, we may very well have answers to these questions," said the great lord, and that ended the discussion.

Answers indeed--to those questions voiced, and others left unspoken. The party packed the last of their things away and bundled themselves against the cold outside. Dethendor watched the attendants mill about as the loaded the team of pack llamas, oilskin and canvas on thick woolly fur. Then the fire put out, the floor swept clean, they all mounted the animals and turned face into the wind for the last leg of their journey.

Thick clouds blanketed the sky, low overhead. The summit was the highest point on Aranis, higher than any of the ranges in the South. It was that thin slice where it was coldest and most bitter on the mountaintop, while just above the clouds it was warm and mild. The weather limit.

The men pulled their thick hats down over their ears and flaps across their mouths, becoming little more than additional bundles riding atop the pack animals. Step after sure step, they came closer. Overhead were brief glimpses of wood planking, suspended in air. The cloud ceiling melted down into a kind of heavy fog blown with snow; visibility shrank and shrank until it became impossible to see one animal ahead in the line. All energy here was bent into shivering.

At last the trail ended, and the stairway rose upward. There were watchers at the city entrance, and porters descended the rope steps; the attendants began to unpack. Dethendor, with his advisers and guards, climbed up, the cold fading away behind.

Cloud City!

After t'Uirik had uncovered Somoni's parchments and ushered in the Reckoning, the first Consul Hai convened and commissioned the marvelous city at the top of the world and made it their home. For five hundred and thirty years, senator after senator from all the ruling houses gathered together to keep peace. They had not always been successful.

But the city was a testament to the ways of construction during those times. Huge circular platforms, made from the tallest and strongest trees, tethered together and held aloft by great balloons of hydrogen. By design, every trimming was the most artful, the most expensive, the most luxuriant--the best. Almost a full hecter spread out in the sky: residences, government buildings, planted trees, gardens, open fields. And in the middle of everything a magnificent palace, rising above everything else.

Much of the city was as it had been. Signs of massive reconstruction were evident here and there, repairs, enlargements. The palace was a new thing, replacing the old senate chambers. And if a large population surrounded the High Chancellor and senators, it was enormous around the Empress and her entourage.

There were guards at the city entrance, stationed beneath the ivy-covered lattice archway. Dethendor was shocked: teenage girls, the lot. Not even women as was rumored, but girls no older than servants. There bodies were not imposing. They did not appear capable of enforcing or protecting. Yet, there was a hidden strength about them--in their posture, in their faces. And there was another quality about them: fresh, young, innocent... Seductive. As a man, Dethendor could imagine a hesitance to disobey them; he had to admit, there was some wisdom in this. Was it the same with the Empress?

But sexual attraction could only go so far. Could these girls truly hold the position of guard as well as grown men?

Then servant girls came. Some of them helped the porters. One of them came forward and made the correct feminine welcome gesture: traditional, a slight dip in the knees, hand lowered with the palm up, head tipped forward. It acknowledged the station of both parties: 'You are greater than me, but you are in my home.'

"Welcome," she said gracefully.

Dethendor made the correct masculine response, one foot forward and a half-bow: 'I would command you elsewhere, but here I will not.'

"Thank you," he said.

"The Lady Empress extends her greetings to you as well, lord Dethendor Mahlner. I have prepared accommodations for you and your party. For the duration of your stay, you will be our guests here."

"That's very kind."

"Please follow me--I will take you to your rooms."

So the mountain men walked behind the group of servants as they made their way across the first platform. Guards, servants, porters: aside from them, there were some small storehouses and other out-buildings meant for business in and out of the city. The llama keepers probably used one of those buildings, kitchen servants accepting delivered food, the boom of a crane for things too large for the rope stairs. It was all hidden away nicely, though, behind flowering trees and other decorations. Most of the space was open, grass with criss-crossing walkways.

The sky overhead was the clearest blue, only the orb of sunshine a bright yellow-white to break the wide expanse. Air all around was still and warm, and giant colored hydrogen balloons were straining upward against the heavy ropes. At the edge of the platform, a thin mist lingered as a reminder of the clouds below.

The group made a few turns, then reached the first crossing. Bouncing over the rope bridge, they could see no hint of the mountain far beneath their feet. The assigned rooms were on the city's Southern edge. Dethendor understood the significance of that first walk. They circled around away from distracting activity, with the palace always in view. It gave them time to appreciate the city's size, and reminded them they were outsiders, that they did not belong.

Off to one side, a new platform was being built, floating in midair. So the city really was expanding. There were builders working, tethered by their waists to sturdy scaffolding. Even at the close distance, the sounds of peg hammers were lost; the visible work was strangely silent.

Then they arrived, and the servant left them. Attendants and city porters moved bundles inside; Dethendor found a chair and sank down into it. Visiting the Cloud City always left him tired. He was tough but old--over fifty--and he did not expect to live very many more years. His father had lived to fifty-nine, his grandfather to sixty-two. Soon, time for his son to inherit the throne. For now he sat and tugged at his beard.

The porters were gone. The attendants had finished putting things away and the rooms were quiet when the servant girl returned.

"Lord Dethendor," she said. "The Lady Empress awaits."

So the great lord rose to his feet to follow, his advisers and guards in tow once more. This time they walked into the heart of the city. Ahead, the visible part of the palace grew larger; they wove between buildings into an increasing press of foot traffic.

"Away!" cried the girl, acting as a herald. "Away for the great lord Dethendor Mahlner!"

Hobb, the guard, spoke in Dethendor's ear: "See there?" he pointed at a pair of female figures some distance away, dressed in hooded green robes. It was impossible to make out their features. "Those are decoy-bodyguards. They always wear the same color as the Empress."

In a tight formation, they negotiated the streets until the last buildings were behind and only the palace remained in view.

It was a massive construction, with wings sweeping out to left and right, high roof of the great hall dominating the center. That roof was a thing of interest in itself, since most of the city's buildings were open to the sky. But there below the roof was another thing thing to draw the eye: an array of pillars standing five stories tall from their base, jutting up to support a sculpted overhang. The pillars were big enough to be whole tree trunks--the massive kind that grew in the Khokuri Forest--and they were carved all the way up with figures of winged angels.