Complex—but not chaotic. Always, one’s eyes were drawn to the center. Always, one’s mind was given a reinforcement of the principal tenet of the Young Word: that all reality, all men and gods, were but manifestations of the one Fixed God. “Assan,” the prophet had named that deity, using the term for the mystical ancestral spirit which was common to all Southrons.
True enough, came Raj’s thought. In the crude material world as in the spiritual one: all things must have a center. That’s the best justification for monarchy you could ask for. Way better than “I’ve got you by the throat today,” which is about as sophisticated as political theory has ever gotten here on Hafardine. In the north as much as the south or the Islands.
Adrian stifled his momentary urge to dispute that claim. That was his initial impulse, but . . . He’d made the mistake, once, of bragging about the subtleties of the Emerald philosopher Llawat’s political theories. Raj and Center had mercilessly shredded his opinion. The gist of their argument, to which Adrian had no real counter, was that Llawat’s supposedly sophisticated pyramidal schema for how a society should be organized amounted to nothing more than giving organized plunder an elaborate set of fancy clothes.
Just so. As usual, Raj’s words carried an undertone of humor. “My officials and scribes and priests and accountants have you by the throat today.” That’s what Llawat’s blather amounts to.
Prelotta cleared his throat. It was a polite reminder to Adrian that he’d been silent for some moments and that it was perhaps time to return to the subject under discussion.
“My apologies, Chief.” Adrian unlaced his fingers and spread them outward, indicating the expanse of the rug with the gesture. “I was just taken with admiration for the design.”
Prelotta looked down at the rug. Then, glanced into the corner where his chiefly paraphernalia was kept. “Ah, yes. I’m partial to it myself. But I’ve never seen any need to be exclusive about such things. Not at the moment, certainly.”
Adrian didn’t need to look into the corner to understand the subtleties of the remark. Prelotta, like all Southron chiefs, had the usual symbols of authority. The ceremonial ax, indicating his power; the stool he sat upon, intricately carved and made from the horns of a greatbeast, indicating his judgement; and the clutch of birds’ eggs in a basket, indicating his fecundity. There was no symbol, needless to say, celebrating his wisdom. Much less his mercy.
Later for that. So long as authority comes only from having a hand on a throat, wisdom and mercy are a moot point.
“True enough,” murmured Adrian. Then he raised his head and gave Prelotta a direct gaze.
Again, he pointed to the rug. “If your weavers can do such intricate work, relying only on designs from their own heads instead of nature, I imagine they could do the same working with steel and iron.”
Prelotta pursed his lips. The expression, combined with the scars, gave his face a particularly grotesque appearance.
“I should think so,” he replied forcefully. “If not the weavers themselves, then certainly other members of my tribe. We do have blacksmiths, remember.”
Adrian hesitated. “Yes, of course. But, in my experience, blacksmiths are often set in their old ways. It might perhaps be better—”
“Not my blacksmiths.” Prelotta inclined his head toward the corner where his chiefly paraphernalia rested. “One of them made that Ax of Power, you know. The blade is quite sharp, for all the curlicues on the handle. Perfectly capable, I assure you, of removing the head of any stubborn blacksmith.”
Seeing the little wince on Adrian’s face, Prelotta chuckled. “You worry too much, my delicate Emerald friend. Blacksmiths are especially prone, among Reedbottoms, to belong to the Young Word. Not hidebound by tradition at all, most of them. I expect no difficulty.”
The humor vanished. “But it is not your concern, in any event. Understand this, Adrian Gellert. I will not agree to your proposal unless you agree to train my own people in the design and manufacture of your new weapons, as well as their use. That is the one and only point on which I am not prepared to bargain.”