Lost in Glory

  "So you see, a dwarf doesn't have to have a beard, a paladin doesn't have to be dumb, so a necromancer doesn't have to be vile."

  "But he became a necromancer!" Some stereotypes weren't that easy to overcome. "You have to be vile to do that!"

  "Maybe he was lonely and misunderstood?" Alexander suggested.

  "His creations tried to kill us!"

  "All right, that's a valid point. Maybe... maybe it's only the necromancer's way of saying hello? Or maybe he didn't order it at all, and these creatures were just hungry or something?"

  "And I still say it is a vile necromancer and that we must find him and end his reign of evil once and for all!" the paladin declared.

  Alexander at this point gave up about making the Hero a bit more socially conscious. A necromancer had to be vile and that was it. "So how would you go about that?"

  "Cut his head off with my sword, I think. Simple. Effective."

  "I mean, how do you intend to find him? He can be anywhere. Or she. Or it."

  "It is simple. We will follow the direction they ran away in."

  "What?! That's stupid! You don't know if they are returning to the necromancer, and if they are indeed, you have no idea if they are going in a straight line!"

  "That is what a Hero would do. That is what I will do. Alone, if need be!"

  "Don't count on that. I won't miss an opportunity to tell you 'I told you so.'"

  ***

  The funeral was no fun. Of course, General Roseduck didn't expect anything else, but it didn't change the fact that he was bored. He had nothing against the late Emperor, but now the man was dead. He should be buried and life should go on. But no, it couldn't be that simple. It was traditional to wait a month so that all High Lords and other important people could gather and get bored together. And here they all were in the Grand Hall of the Imperial Castle, watching the re-enactment of the most important scenes of the Emperor's life. Those were being performed by members of the Imperial Mime Guild. That also was traditional.

  The Grand Hall was grand indeed. It was made that big so that a lot of people could witness important state events. Like this one. Indeed, a lot of people came to say farewell to the Emperor. In theory. The truth was that they came to see the mimes, or to look at the lords' expensive garments, or to admire how exquisitely the hall was decorated. Nobody cared about the Emperor himself. They'd get a new one soon enough.

  The General was seated on a dais behind the scene along with the other High Lords, as well as the High Priest and the Archmage. From there they could see both the scene and the crowd. On the other side of the stage there were ten rows of seats for the lesser lords and other important people. Behind them there were a few rows of guards, separating them from the common townsfolk. There was quite a horde of those. As many as could reasonably fit in, and then some. A few thousands maybe, because the hall was really, really huge.

  Many more were standing outside of the castle. Just because. They came too late, didn't get inside, but didn't feel like leaving for no good reason. They filled the courtyard, which was not an easy task to do, because it was rather spacious. For some strange reason they wanted to be there. Many of them were living in the capital city, so they only suffered an hour of walking up the hill just to see the outside of the castle. Others came from cities and villages further away to only see the outside of the castle as well. If they were lucky. Some could only see the backside of some tower, or maybe even just a stable. Somehow there was no complaining, at least not about not seeing anything of interest. There was general complaining about the weather and the harvest and the pig common cold that was spreading, just not about not being inside. They didn't mind. They were Participating, even if they ended up standing next to a heap of Imperial Manure behind the Imperial Gardening Shed.

  The behaviour of the two groups was glaringly different. All of the lords were quiet and solemn, rarely speaking to each other and doing it discreetly. They all had their reputations to maintain. They also pretended that the crowd did not exist. The common people in the hall had no such worries. They pushed and shoved each other to get a better view. Fathers held up their children so they could see the mimes. People in the crowd cheered when they liked something and booed when they didn't. They laughed, cried, pointed fingers and discussed things loudly. People outside of the castle discussed anything and everything, only making pauses when there was particularly loud applause or cheering heard from the inside. Then they joined in. Nobody cared that it might have been slightly inappropriate during a funeral.

  The General did his best not to show boredom and annoyance. The Imperial Mimes were very skilled, but it didn't help matters at all. A silent scene of a late Emperor's first word would still be boring, no matter how good the performer. Maybe a bad mime would do it fast and be done with it, but this was not a bad mime. He celebrated the moment. Roseduck groaned inwardly. Of course, he didn't show his frustration with the show. His pose and facial expression suggested polite interest. At least he hoped it did.

  After the Birth of the Emperor, First Word of the Emperor and First Steps of the Emperor came the First Unaided Potty Use by the Emperor which was at least mildly amusing. Wasn't supposed to be, but it is tough to perform such a scene in an unfunny way. Yet no one laughed. No lord or lady, no priest or mage, no bureaucrat or official, no guard or servant. Ability to hide any signs of amusement was a prerequisite to any jobs involving frequent being in presence of people of higher station. Alternatively, a complete lack of sense of humour did well too. The more important the lord, the less chance he would find amusing anything that didn't involve peasants being mauled by llamas or something. Of course, a lot of the townsfolk laughed, but nobody cared about them. In any case, individual reactions were barely heard above the general ruckus.

  Roseduck was extremely good at hiding signs of amusement. Not even a snigger got away from him during the re-enactment of That One Time When the Emperor Threw a Burning Cat at a Maid. He found the mime playing the cat particularly funny. Unfortunately, each scene that followed was connected to one of the Emperor's later and more official actions, such as the Grand Opening of the New Imperial Bakery, the Emperor Observing a Fine Breed of Ducks, or the Inspection of Crops by the Emperor, were unfailingly boring. The General used this time to discreetly observe the other High Lords. It was the first time in years that they were all in one place.

  Duke and Duchess Thinoak looked like a pair of whales sitting in chairs. Big, fat whales draped in purple cloth. In custom-made chairs. Neither of them could use just any chair, because most chairs would quickly turn into firewood under such weight. Eneumerius felt disgusted just by looking at them. They got fatter every time he met them. Each time he had thought that it couldn't get any worse, and each time he was proven to be wrong. How could people be so fat? He had nothing against fat people in general, but the Thinoaks were pushing it. They couldn't use normal chairs, they couldn't ride horses, they had trouble with a flight of stairs. Some joked that they were assassination-immune, because no knife would get through that much fat. He was also known for disregarding possible problems and then blaming them on others. Reportedly, he once blamed his horse for breaking under his weight. Since then he pretended he simply didn't wish to ride anymore.

  Raphaelius Blueparrot, the SemiViscount of Halfcastle, was a tall, bearded man with a bald head and a vulture-like face. His title was a joke made by some Emperor of the past. It was the lowest possible noble title he could have come up with at the time. Little he knew that the descendants of the first SemiViscount would over the years grow in wealth and power to finally take their place amongst the High Lords. Old wounds still hurt. The SemiViscount strongly insisted on being referred to simply as a Count. Every time his whole title was used he got upset, and the offenders usually experienced some violence directed at them. The Count loathed situations where he couldn't exact revenge, and this was one of them. Whacking the Master of Ceremony with his own staff wouldn't be good manners. Apart from being ann
oyed with his title, Blueparrot often got annoyed with many other things, and readily expressed it. It even seemed that getting annoyed was a hobby of his. He didn't bring his wife with him, probably because she was annoying him, or maybe because she was getting too annoyed by him being annoyed about everything.

  Next to the SemiViscount sat Marquis Lodovique de Shaggysheep. The Marquis was an old man, the eldest of the High Lords by a wide margin. He outlived his wife and some of his children too. It was quite surprising that the he was still actively participating in Imperial politics. Many had expected him to retire, pass his title to one of his descendants or relatives and go sit quietly in some nice room until he died. Most of the lords who reached that age did just that. He didn't.

  The Marquis possessed a remarkable ability. He didn't care. He trained not caring to perfection. Whenever anything bored him, he was able to phase out of reality. Just like now. He sat there, smiling politely, and seemed to be looking in the correct direction, but his mind just wasn't there. It was barely noticeable, and only those who knew him well were able to tell when he was conscious and when he was just pretending. Yet somehow he usually realised when presence of his mind was really needed. In such moments he returned to the land of the awake, did what he was supposed to, and went back to the dreamlands.

  Baron and Baroness Oxrabbit were a curious couple. He was tall, wide and muscled. She was short, thin, and looked like she could die any second. Or did it yesterday. Yet it was she who did all the talking, scheming, backstabbing and other political activities. The reason for that was simple: the Baron was an idiot. Not in the way many people consider their superiors to be idiots, simply because of their stupidity or incompetence. This one was a real idiot. He simply couldn't, or didn't want to, wrap his mind around any complex concept. Only things he did well were physical exercises, horseback riding (once he was persuaded that hitting the horse with a mace to make it go faster wasn't a good idea) and hunting (provided he didn't forget which team he was on). In view of this, his wife suggested to the other lords that they should deal with her, instead of trying to communicate with that oaf. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the oaf was left alone. He was quite happy because of that. The only lordly thing he had to do was attending official ceremonies, such as this one.

  Earl Gevenarius von Blazingtree was the only truly religious person in the company. Many said that he was more religious than the High Priest himself. They were right, mainly because the High Priest wasn't all that religious when nobody was watching. While all the other lords observed religious customs just because they knew they were expected to, Gevenarius was a true believer. He had even shaved the top of his head for some inscrutable religious reason. This, together with his robes, made him look somewhat like a monk. A richly dressed monk maybe, but much less richly than the other lords. After all, he believed in modesty. His overreligiousness also made it unlikely for him to ever marry and sire a heir. Nobody minded. It was evolution in action, or, as Marquis de Shaggysheep once eloquently put, the main requirement for an omelette was possession of some eggs. Anyway, the Earl had enough cousins who would gladly fight for his earldom after his death, or quite possibly even before that.

  The last lord was Hiwelthadt Philigree Squarewheel. This one's title was an even bigger joke than the SemiViscount's. It had been created by one of more recent Emperors. Philigree's grandfather was a Baron. The Emperor was a bit annoyed by this, because there were two High Lords with the title of Baron. Confusing a bit. So he said "Hey, I Want Each Lord To Have A Different Title!" and there were no adequate titles to give, so he used the acronym. Obviously, he thought that he was being witty. Because of the long-dead ruler's peculiar sense of humour Philigree had to suffer an absurd title. His father apparently also had a peculiar sense of humour, both in choice of his name and of the wife for him. Philigree never took her to the capital with him. Reportedly, she was ugly and insane and tried to teach rocks advanced mathematics.

  As the youngest son, Philigree was never supposed to become a High Lord. Fate declared otherwise when his father and both his older brothers died in an unlikely accident involving a well, some goats, an unfortunately misplaced rake and an upset wizard. To the surprise of many, he did quite well on the top. His childhood had taught him that the best defence was offence. However he looked at it, his name sounded silly, his surname was an oxymoron, and his title was barely pronounceable. What's more, he was short, looked sickly and lacked a front tooth. The perfect target to make fun of. Therefore instead of waiting for it, he always struck first and made fun of everyone and everything in his way. It didn't make him any friends, but he didn't really care. The High Lords hated each other anyway, so no loss there.

  Apart from the lords, on the dais there were the High Priest, the Archmage and the Master of Ceremony. The High Priest was a middle-aged, large, fat man, although next to Duke Thinoak he didn't look all that fat. He made up for it in glitter. He was dressed in a long white gown encrusted with gold, silver, precious stones, rare feathers, and more or less everything he could find that was pretty and valuable. His dress was easily most expensive and over-the-top in the hall, and that said a lot, given that all of the most important people in the Empire were there.

  The Archmage, on the other hand, wore a plain gray robe. He didn't care about looking rich. He also didn't care about looking respectable. If he did, he would have decided against having his robe adorned with pink butterflies. There was also a small stuffed purple unicorn hanging from the tip of his pointy wizard hat, and multicoloured ribbons were attached to his staff. All of this was looking very, very strange, especially that the Archmage was so old that he made the Marquis look young in comparison. Roseduck had no idea how old the Archmage might be. Some whispered about a century and a half. Whether it was true, nobody really knew. He certainly looked old enough. His hair and beard were snow white and his wrinkles innumerable, yet there were no signs of old age in the way he moved. Most remarkable. Even more remarkable was the fact that nobody ever commented on the peculiarities of his fashion sense. People were too afraid. Nobody really knew what he could do, and nobody wanted to find out.

  The Master of Ceremony was an old man with a long, white beard. He was wearing his ceremonial robes. They were intensely yellow with purple dots, but it was traditional, so nobody minded. He also had a sickly green belt, and behind this belt his traditional ceremonial hammer was tucked. A long time ago it had been used to hit a traditional ceremonial gong on certain occasions. The sound of the gong annoyed one of the Emperors of yore, therefore its use was forbidden. Yet, it was still a part of the ceremonial outfit. And so the Master of Ceremony ended up with a completely useless miniature ornate hammer.

  The General himself wore his dress uniform, which was purple and covered with medals. A General with no medals is not a General, so he had been given quite a lot of them. Too bad only a few meant something. The Eagle of Courage was nice, and the Vulture of Victory not so bad, but next to them were the Parrot of Nobody Really Knows What, the Shielded Shield of Shielding and the Tripod of the Red Rooster. It didn't really matter, as long as he had enough of these things to inspire confidence in lowly grunts. And not enough to make him fall down under the weight. The things were dreadfully heavy, which was yet another reason why he was having the opposite of fun at this funeral.

  He wasn't accompanied by a spouse, because he didn't have one. His marital prospects were somewhat awkward: as a High Lord, he could only marry a woman from one of the major noble houses. Anything less would be considered a misalliance, and the late Emperor did not approve of that. On the other hand, all the major houses considered him lowborn and unworthy, so arranging a marriage was out of the question. Unless the girl was stupid, ugly, or they wanted to get rid of her for any other reason. He wasn't desperate enough to marry one of these.

  ***

  The Imperial Mimes finally reached the last scene of their spectacle, the Death of the Emperor, or alternatively the Emperor Falling From His Horse into
a Moat and Getting Mauled by Lions. Not an easy thing to perform, but the Guild was up to the task. The lions were almost lifelike. On the other hand, Roseduck once more wondered if the strict rules of the mime performances shouldn't be loosened a bit, because a horse just cannot be properly played by a mime. Especially a horse being ridden. It always came out somewhat awkward. Roseduck watched with little interest as the emperor-mime awkwardly riding the horse-mime fell down and got jumped on by a few lion-mimes. And the spectacle was over. Now it was speech time.

  Just in case the mimes failed to bore the audience to death, each of the High Lords had to deliver a speech. To make matters worse, both the Archmage and the High Priest had to deliver one too. Nine boring, drawn out speeches about nothing. The High Priest started, by going on and on and on about how great the late Emperor was and how sad it was to see him go prematurely, but he also expressed the hope that his successor will be at least as good and maybe even better. Then the Archmage said more or less the same, but he kept confusing the late Cessorius the Thirteenth with at least two of his predecessors. He couldn't really be expected to keep track of all these short-lived, mundane Emperors. Especially if quite a few of them had the same name. The High Lords did their speeches next, apparently in random order, but each one of them knew why the order was such as it was. It reflected their current status in comparison to others. General Roseduck had to go last. He didn't mind. Nor did he mind the fact that he had to deliver a speech in the first place. It was just one of the stupid things that came with the job. A nice bonus was being the one to speak right after Baron Oxrabbit. After a very bad speech even a mediocre one would seem good.

  The Baron's turn came. He didn't seem to be aware of that. His wife coughed. He didn't get the hint. She elbowed him. He failed to register that either. "Go make a speech!" she whispered angrily. Only then he moved to the podium. Philigree sniggered. The Baroness gave him a dirty look.