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Snakes and Foxes [Jenever's Introductory Story]

Pronunciation guide:
S'jaiteh: suh-JY-teh
Jenever: juh-NEHV-vuhr
Re: Ray
Q'daleh: kuh-DOLL-uh
Z'Shar: zuh-SHAR
q'dayeh: kuh-DY-uh


It is a pain in the ass waiting around for someone to kill you. This was S'jaiteh, however, and this was how things were done. I knew, for example, that Re was going to call for my blood, knew he would attempt to kill me, knew he would fail. I only wished that he would hurry it up. There were other things to occupy my day - things of greater import than the grandiose delusions of a pampered palace brat.

There was the war with Q'daleh, the unfortunate matter of Z'Shar, and of course, the witch's prophecy. Not things that could be brushed aside for a quick duel with a minor officer. And then of course there was the fact, irritating but true nevertheless, that I could not spare Re at the moment. The boy might be nearly laughable in battle, but he had a fair head for tactics and the troops would follow him.

My eyes felt hot, dry and swollen. It is a tiring thing, being the Empress of the most powerful city-state in existence. I could not remember the last time I had slept well. I massaged my eyeballs, leaning my head back against the cool stone of my throne.

It seemed I had barely closed my eyes an instant when his clear, musical baritone intruded. "Your Radiance?"

"What is it, Z'Shar?" I did not have to look at him. In fact, it was undoubtedly best if I did not. He had always been rather unfairly beautiful. The combination of his charisma and his voice might cause me to forget his treachery, as it had in the past. And I was so very tired.

"Ah. The reports have come in from the front lines, and the commanders await your instructions. Are you well, your Radiance?" Such concern in his tone, like dripping honey. I have a relatively strong stomach, but even I felt like retching.

"I am fine, young man." I forced myself to open my eyes and regard him.

The important thing to remember when dealing with snakes in human guise is that snakes are very beautiful. And so was he: pale, heavy-lidded eyes, bright hair, wide lips, assassin's fingers. Pretty Z'Shar, who could never quite bring himself to forgive me for having been in love with him, even for a brief time. So he had sent Ilian, Qara and now Re, sent them to do what he feared to attempt. Not even the honesty of a knife in those pretty hands. Only daggers in the mind.

"You are pale," he said then. "Headaches again?" He reached for my face, fingers outstretched to perform his miracle of choice, the massage that had stripped the pain from me so often in the past. I jerked my head back. I did not want him to touch me.

"I said that I am fine. The reports, please."

"All right," Z'Shar said, betraying no hint of reaction at my odd behavior.

Well, that was to be expected. I took the papers from his hand and perused them quickly. Mostly good news. I snapped my fingers for a pen, ink and some paper, scribbled the same instructions to five commanders and different orders to the last. Z'Shar brought my seal and red and silver wax. It was a slightly tricky matter to make the skull stand out in silver and the rest of the seal in red, but it was the way my men could tell the orders were from me. Many others, including Z'Shar, could take my seal. None of them could make the image appear perfectly, because none of them knew the secret of the seal, the tiny button in the handle that shifted the plates of the graven image.

I gave the orders to Z'Shar, knowing that while there were many ways in which he might betray me, he would not betray S'jaiteh itself.

He said, "You seem quite fatigued, your Radiance. Perhaps you ought to try to sleep a little." I shook my head, not even trying to hide my amusement. He was really quite a piece of work. It would have impressed me, were he attempting to gull anyone else. Underneath the amusement and the admiration, however, a slow-kindling rage was building. How dare he? Did he think I was such a fool that I could fail to realize his treachery, or was it simply that he did not care? Either way, he would pay.

It would have to be his way, however. I could not simply kill him, no matter how much it would please me. I had no proof of his betrayal, and besides, I needed him alive. It would be satisfying, nevertheless.

Satisfying to hurt him, to defeat him, to force him to understand the fact of my superiority. I could do it, I knew, with the very tools of his treachery.

All I said, however, was, "You may leave me, Z'Shar. Send Urali in when you go."

He bowed as low as he was required and exited silently. I could tell that he was unhappy and it gave me a certain perverse pleasure.

The witch Urali might once have been attractive, or at least plain, but her centuries of life, paying dark prices for a semi-immortality, had twisted her form and mutilated her face. The ugliness was nothing so simple or prosaic as warts or wrinkles, however. Her face was lopsided, her bone structure lumpy and asymmetrical. Looking at her was like a physical blow.

"What can an old woman do for your Radiance?" she said in her whiny, wheedling voice, like wind whispering through cracked rocks.

"Many things, I am certain. But I have need today of your dream interpretation. You told me once, long ago, that there were only three things in all the world I should fear: mirrors, shadows, and my own blood. Now I believe that I have no living relations, I see no reason to fear night shadows or the dark, but I have had a recurring dream lately, of being trapped in a room whose walls are mirrors. I am convinced that I am not alone, and yet as I turn and turn there is nothing but my reflection. This dream troubles me, though I cannot call it a nightmare. Can you unravel it?"

"Of course. The mirrors are your destiny, the reflections are your mind, the turning represents your choices, and the presence that you feel is your doombringer - the one who can destroy you."

"There is only one?" I leaned forward in the chair, eyes fixed on the burning black ones of the crone.

"Many who may slay you, only one who might destroy you."

"But there was only me within the circle of the mirrors."

"And when you can unriddle that, my Empress, then you will understand the rest of my prophecy."

I bared my teeth in what the old fool might take as a smile, and waved her out of my antechamber. I had not expected that she would help me. Riddles within riddles and tests within tests, that was the way of the soothsayers.

Probably her riddle was meant to say that I was my own doombringer. That was impossible, however. I am the only one I can trust. At least she had given me some important information.

Finally, after three or four incidental interviews with powerless ambassadors and freemen unhappy with the wartime economy, Re entered my throneroom. He looked nervous, unshaven and tired, and his hands shook like those of an addict.

"You are late," I said, which seemed to shake him up a little.

"What are you talking about, Jenever?" he blustered. "Anyway, it does not matter. As pretty as you look seated on that throne, it is time it belonged to someone with more noble blood. It is time you faced me in combat."

If he had been searching for the most insulting things he could possibly have said, he had found them. I sneered back, "So Z'Shar's puppet emperor finally shows his teeth. You know I have been waiting nearly a week for you to get up the nerve."

That bothered him, but he only said, "Are you armed, Jenever?"

I laughed. "What do you think?" I reached behind my back for the q'dayeh, slipped them over my knuckles, and rose to meet him. His complexion was more gray than pale, his hands still trembling as he drew his short curved sword.

He had a good deal of reach, but it wasn't going to do him any good. I ducked under his clumsy swing, ignored the open armpit and laid his cheek open. I was inside his range now, and he was forced to try a bludgeoning blow with the flat side of his blade. I blocked it with one hand and cut his face again.

"You said this was for the throne," I said. "That means you can stop anytime you wish."

"It also means I can never try again if I fail," Re growled back and tried to kick my knee.

With great difficulty I restrained myself from going for his throat and cut his sword-wielding hand. I think I got a tendon, because he was forced to drop the blade. I held the edge of my q'dayeh under his chin. "Death or subservience? Choose now."

Re swore, then, "Finish it."

I had hoped he would not say that, but it made no difference in the end. One quick, smooth movement and he was on the floor, all that had made him a person leaking from his eyes, red pool spreading on the marbled floor beneath him.

I clapped my hands twice and sent for Z'Shar.

"You have cost me," I said quietly, "three very useful men. You want to play power-games, fine, but those games have become extremely expensive. How do you expect to pay?"

"First I must regretfully ask your Radiance of what you speak. Can you prove anything you are saying?"

"The thing about absolute power, Z'Shar, is that I do not have to prove anything. The man dead on the ground might have been killed by you. If I say it, it will be true. And as you are not a warrior, the price of that death would be your own. That, unfortunately, would also be expensive for S'jaiteh. So how are you going to pay me, if not with your life?" I smiled at him. I didn't feel like smiling yet, though. I was not quite sure I had him.

"My position?" he asked coolly.

"No good. I may hate you, but that does not mean I can spare you. Try again."

"My reputation." This time it was not a question.

"Very good." I could feel it now, the burst of adrenaline that marked the coming kill. Metaphorically speaking, of course. "The problem, as I see it, is that you are popular with the army. So you will have to ruin your standing with them, in order to keep your life. You will have to make a full confession of what you did with Re, and Qara, and Ilian. You will, of course, be forgiven."

"My sting removed, my reputation tarnished, my every suggestion mistrusted. I applaud you, Jenever." He bowed to me, mockingly. I accepted it in the spirit it was offered.

"You know your alternatives," I said.

"I know. I know." For once I could read his expression and I felt like laughing. He was beaten, and he knew it. That expression would console me in the moments I lay awake that night. Pity it would also keep me from sleeping.

Winning isn't always safer than losing, but it is always more enjoyable.

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