“Is that a requirement?” Quint asked.
“No, but it is unexpected. The emperor said you probably memorized all his strings.”
“I have, but I qualified for Level 3 before I ever met Pacci Colleto.”
Quint continued and when he was finished, which was past dinner time, the evaluators counted seventy-three strings. The number surprised Quint as he hadn’t intended to show so many. He knew more, but those were the marginal strings where he had less control.
“Six psychic and twenty-eight physical strings. You are a true master. How do you remember so many with you being a hubite.”
“I can’t answer that,” Quint said. “Hubites can be smart. Doctor Danko of the University of Narukun is very smart and he’s a hubite. It isn’t where you are from, but what you can do with what you know.”
“Here is your master certification.”
Quint pursed his lips. “They will recognize this in Racellia?”
“Who cares about Racellia? They’ll be part of the empire before long, and that certificate will be good everywhere in the empire.”
Quint took his copy, but it didn’t mean anything to him. He didn’t intend on joining Colleto’s empire, but he was struggling on how he was going to manage his return to Bocarre. With his abduction, Quint might have already had a capital judgement made against him, and he could be returning to a death sentence.
Colleto was right in the sense that Quint didn’t know or understand Racellian politics as much as he should. The newssheets didn’t address the political undercurrents that pitted General Obellia against General Baltacco, for example.
He was sure there were other influence cliques in Bocarre, but his research had never been directed toward the details of internal politics. Quint would wait for the entourage to make it to southeast Racellia and his home village. From there he would make his move back to Bocarre and face whatever fate had in store for him.
Colleto invited Quint to join his group for dinner. The local authorities were to join their new emperor. It was an opportunity to glean more information on Colleto’s newborn empire. Quint had Danko’s empire book as a guide.
He put on fresh clothes that didn’t quite fit and descended to the main floor. Colleto was already surrounded by sycophants dwelling on his every word. Quint took an open chair at the other end of the table.
Quint decided he wouldn’t learn anything from these diners. There wasn’t a complaint or an observation or even a good question in the crowd and he found his understanding of willot colloquialisms wasn’t very good.
“What does our newest master wizard have to say about the march of my empire?” Colleto asked, putting Quint on the spot.
“Empires need to nurture their citizens at the beginning, so they don’t become disenchanted with their new rulers. The march may be violent on the leading edge, but what comes after the conquest will determine if the empire continues or fall due to internal strife.”
“Are you claiming the Gussellian Empire has internal strife?” one of the hangers-on asked. Quint was fair game for challenges even if Colleto wasn’t.
Quint shrugged. “I’m not an expert in the politics of Pacci Colleto’s center of power. The struggle an empire goes through doesn’t end with the last war. It is a continual struggle to keep the populace content enough to continue to accept the emperor’s rule.”
That core principle was right out of Danko’s book.
“Acceptance is a continuous state,” Quint said. “It ebbs and flows like the tides. Eventually, the balancing act is thrown off balance enough so that the empire disintegrates as they all have.”
“But isn’t it true that kingdoms and council governments disintegrate, too?” Colleto said from the other end of the table.
“They do. Nothing is forever,” Quint said. “A government may take generations to fail, or they might fall apart in months or years. I can’t apply any of that to your current situation, sir.” Quint couldn’t bring himself to call Colleto an emperor. “Frankly, I don’t know enough.”
“You are perceptive for one of your tender years,” Colleto said.
“I recently read a book about empires where I derived most of my perspective. It was clear there is no universal recipe for long-term success.”
“And what will you do to keep us happy, Emperor Colleto?” one of the diners asked.
Colleto looked at Quint with an amused look on his face. “You’ll find out soon enough. For the present, we will continue to integrate our two great cultures.”
To Quint, that meant Colleto would likely apply more administrative pressure through the presence of more troops.
After dinner, the sycophants began to intimate what their prices were for support. He was sure Colleto understood what that meant. He’d have to keep his subjects placated, at least until he had conquered all South Fenola.
Quint excused himself. He wondered if he had exposed his views too blatantly. Quint was sure that he hadn’t been subtle enough to slide his anti-imperial views past Colleto. He felt like he was living on the edge of a knife, and Quint didn’t expect that to end any time soon.
The dinners continued at every stop along the processional. Colleto didn’t ask for Quint’s views again, and that was a good thing. They reached the southwestern part of Vinellia that bordered Racellia. Quint had expected the border to be filled with Gussellian soldiers, but Colleto still had only his original guard corps with him when the emperor decided to camp rather than commandeer an inn.
They ate a sparse meal that night, and since the emperor was retiring early, the camp was quiet.
Quint couldn’t sleep. Racellia was almost a stone’s throw from the camp. He thought about sneaking out of camp, but he poked his head out of his tent in the darkness and saw darker shapes close to his tent. It was clear he was being watched.
Would Colleto move into Racellian territory? Quint suspected that was Colleto’s plan. Who would fight for the hubite population that lived in the area on the other side of the border?
Quint was tempted to cast a portent spell, but then he remembered Colleto’s claim that he employed a wizard who could identify when a person wove a portent string.
He returned to his blankets and went to sleep.
The following morning, Quint rose early with the morning light and spotted a few watchers who had fallen asleep during the night. He folded his blankets and took a walk into the woods. Quint guessed he knew woodcraft better than Colleto’s troops and heard movements behind him.
He finished his business and returned to the camp. Colleto sat at a campfire, stirring the kindling into life.
“You aren’t using magic?” Quint asked.
