a child. No one’s ever called me “Atana” before.’
‘What’s it mean?’ Talen asked her curiously.
‘Warrior,’ she shrugged.
‘Warrioress, actually,’ Oscagne corrected. He frowned. ‘I don’t want to be offensive, but your Elene tongue is limited in its ability to convey subtleties.’ He looked at Ehlana. ‘Has your Majesty noticed that your slave is not exactly like other women?’ he asked her.
‘She’s my friend,’ Ehlana objected, ‘not my slave.’
‘Don’t be ignorant, Ehlana,’ Mirtai told her crisply. ‘Of course I’m a slave. I’m supposed to be. Go on with your story, Oscagne. I’ll explain it to them later.’
‘Do you really think they’ll understand?’
‘No. But I’ll explain it anyway.’
‘And there, revered Archprelate,’ Oscagne said to Dolmant, ‘there lies the key to the empire. The Atans placed themselves in thrall to us some fifteen hundred years ago to prevent their homicidal instincts from obliterating their entire race. As a result, we Tamuls have the finest army in the world – even though we’re basically anon-violent people. We tended to win those incidental little arguments with other nations which crop up from time to time and are usually settled by negotiation. In our view, our neighbours are like children, hopelessly incapable of managing their own affairs. The empire came into being largely in the interests of good order.’ He looked around at the Church Knights. ‘Once again, I’m not trying to be offensive, but war is probably the stupidest of human activities. There are much more efficient ways to persuade people to change their minds.’
‘Such as the threat to unleash the Atans?’ Emban suggested slyly.
‘That does work rather well, your Grace,’ Oscagne admitted. ‘The presence of the Atans has usually been enough in the past to keep political discussion from becoming too spirited. Atans make excellent policemen.’ He sighed. ‘You noted that slight qualification, I’m sure. I said, “in the past”. Unfortunately, that doesn’t hold true any more. An empire comprised of disparate peoples must always expect these little outbreaks of nationalism and racial discord. It’s the nature of the insignificant to try to find some way to assert their own importance. It’s pathetic, but racism is generally the last refuge of the unimportant. These outbreaks of insignificance aren’t normally too widespread, but suddenly all of Tamuli is in the throes of an epidemic of them. Everyone’s sewing flags and singing national anthems and labouring over well-honed insults to be directed at “the yellow dogs”. That’s us, of course.’ He held out his hand and looked at it critically. ‘Our skins aren’t really yellow, you know. They’re more…’ He pondered it.
‘Beige?’ Stragen suggested.
‘That’s not too flattering either, Milord Stragen.’ Oscagne smiled. ‘Oh, well. Perhaps the emperor willappoint a special commission to define our skin tone once and for all.’ He shrugged. ‘At any rate, incidental outbreaks of nationalism and racial bigotry would be no real problem for the Atans, even if they occurred in every town in the empire. It’s the unnatural incidents that cause us all this concern.’
‘I thought there might be more,’ Ulath murmured.
‘At first, these demonstrations of magic were directed at the people themselves,’ Oscagne went on. ‘Every culture has its mythic hero – some towering personality who unified the people, gave them national purpose and defined their character. The modern world is complex and confusing, and the simple folk yearn for the simplicity of the age of heroes when national goals could be stated simply and everyone knew precisely who he was. Someone in Tamuli is resurrecting the heroes of antiquity.’
Sparhawk felt a sudden chill. ‘Giants?’ he asked.
‘Well.’ Oscagne considered it. ‘Perhaps that is the proper term at that. The passage of the centuries blurs and
‘What’s it mean?’ Talen asked her curiously.
‘Warrior,’ she shrugged.
‘Warrioress, actually,’ Oscagne corrected. He frowned. ‘I don’t want to be offensive, but your Elene tongue is limited in its ability to convey subtleties.’ He looked at Ehlana. ‘Has your Majesty noticed that your slave is not exactly like other women?’ he asked her.
‘She’s my friend,’ Ehlana objected, ‘not my slave.’
‘Don’t be ignorant, Ehlana,’ Mirtai told her crisply. ‘Of course I’m a slave. I’m supposed to be. Go on with your story, Oscagne. I’ll explain it to them later.’
‘Do you really think they’ll understand?’
‘No. But I’ll explain it anyway.’
‘And there, revered Archprelate,’ Oscagne said to Dolmant, ‘there lies the key to the empire. The Atans placed themselves in thrall to us some fifteen hundred years ago to prevent their homicidal instincts from obliterating their entire race. As a result, we Tamuls have the finest army in the world – even though we’re basically anon-violent people. We tended to win those incidental little arguments with other nations which crop up from time to time and are usually settled by negotiation. In our view, our neighbours are like children, hopelessly incapable of managing their own affairs. The empire came into being largely in the interests of good order.’ He looked around at the Church Knights. ‘Once again, I’m not trying to be offensive, but war is probably the stupidest of human activities. There are much more efficient ways to persuade people to change their minds.’
‘Such as the threat to unleash the Atans?’ Emban suggested slyly.
‘That does work rather well, your Grace,’ Oscagne admitted. ‘The presence of the Atans has usually been enough in the past to keep political discussion from becoming too spirited. Atans make excellent policemen.’ He sighed. ‘You noted that slight qualification, I’m sure. I said, “in the past”. Unfortunately, that doesn’t hold true any more. An empire comprised of disparate peoples must always expect these little outbreaks of nationalism and racial discord. It’s the nature of the insignificant to try to find some way to assert their own importance. It’s pathetic, but racism is generally the last refuge of the unimportant. These outbreaks of insignificance aren’t normally too widespread, but suddenly all of Tamuli is in the throes of an epidemic of them. Everyone’s sewing flags and singing national anthems and labouring over well-honed insults to be directed at “the yellow dogs”. That’s us, of course.’ He held out his hand and looked at it critically. ‘Our skins aren’t really yellow, you know. They’re more…’ He pondered it.
‘Beige?’ Stragen suggested.
‘That’s not too flattering either, Milord Stragen.’ Oscagne smiled. ‘Oh, well. Perhaps the emperor willappoint a special commission to define our skin tone once and for all.’ He shrugged. ‘At any rate, incidental outbreaks of nationalism and racial bigotry would be no real problem for the Atans, even if they occurred in every town in the empire. It’s the unnatural incidents that cause us all this concern.’
‘I thought there might be more,’ Ulath murmured.
‘At first, these demonstrations of magic were directed at the people themselves,’ Oscagne went on. ‘Every culture has its mythic hero – some towering personality who unified the people, gave them national purpose and defined their character. The modern world is complex and confusing, and the simple folk yearn for the simplicity of the age of heroes when national goals could be stated simply and everyone knew precisely who he was. Someone in Tamuli is resurrecting the heroes of antiquity.’
Sparhawk felt a sudden chill. ‘Giants?’ he asked.
‘Well.’ Oscagne considered it. ‘Perhaps that is the proper term at that. The passage of the centuries blurs and
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