Diamonds and Dust

Diamonds and Dust

         “I will tell you a story, son. A story of deceit, of desperation, of cunning and wit, and yes, savagery. Yet also, this tale is one of courage, faith, determination, loyalty. Listen well, my son, and learn.” So the Emperor begins; the edge of Ethan’s bed sinks under his weight. “A long time ago there was a boy, no older than you, that lived in a small village to the west of here. This village was small, and very poor. The boy knew nothing of royalty or luxury. His days were spent in mischief, stealing chickens and bullying smaller children out of what small valuables they possessed.

         He was not mean by nature, son, but out of need. Survival is one of our most basic and powerful needs. Learn this, Ethan. Know my words, and use them.”

         Ethan props himself upon pillows, gazing over his aging father. Scars whisper the history of his life; a history Ethan's mind has yet to discover. His eyes fall across the features of his father’s face; There is warmth in him, behind the grimness and scars he wears on the outside. Ethan feels that warmth sometimes when they are alone, away from the Outsiders.

         “So what happened to this boy, father?” Ethan knows when his father is about to tell a great story; he sees it in the Emperor's eyes.

         The Emperor's thrilled eyes betray his grim face. “Son, the thing that was different for this boy—what set him apart from the other villagers—was not his strength. Or wisdom, or wealth. No, he was very keen. He watched people, found their weaknesses. At a mere 13 seasons of age, he was leading the biggest gang in the village. Rarely was he even involved in physical conflicts—he had sturdy men a few seasons older than himself to do that.

         But son, my was he careful. He knew how delicate his position as the gang leader was. The men he kept close were loyal. He treated them well. What little valuables the village had to offer, he spread amongst his closest members. Often he left himself nothing outside of his basic needs.

         Personal belongings had never appealed to him. He preferred the freedom that poverty so freely offered him. He saw that the meager valuables he pilfered kept his boys content. They knew that without him, they may have starved seasons before.”

         A puzzled look crosses Ethan's face. “But father, did this not upset his parents, or other elders?”

         The Emperor smiles proudly. “You ask good questions, Ethan. This boy, like many in his gang, was a bastard child. He knew not who his father was. Illness took his mother when he was only five seasons. The adults of the village did not know of his gang until they were already quite powerful, a majority of the village youth willing to fight for him.

         Son, this was a village surviving in a particularly hard time. There was scarcely food, the elders keeping it to themselves and allowing the young to starve and die. Suffice to say, most of the bastard youth of the village felt animosity towards the elders that spat upon them. With him to unite the angry, starving youth, it was very little effort at all to do as he pleased. Under his leadership, they were offered a small spit of honor that no elder would give. And they were fed. None questioned that life improved once they succumbed to the gang. To him.”

         Ethan frowns. “How did they keep stealing food? Wouldn’t the others stop harvesting and protect what they had?”

         The Emperor's words fill with pride. “You think like your father, my boy! The lad must have thought the same things, because he kept a tight grip on his gang. He made sure they didn’t steal so much that the elders would die off. At least not most of them. He made sure there was no unnecessary killing and no senseless beatings. The only time he allowed that was to set examples out of the villagers, and from time to time his own boys. He made sure that, although it was under his own ever watchful eye, the village could continue to function.

         A season passed, and his gang grew to protect instead of pillage their home. They served as more of a militia, and the boy deemed himself owner of the town. The lad was not satisfied with simply having a village survive under his rule. He saw that it could not thrive, not how it was. The land around it was barren, hardly enough to feed the village. He decided it was time to expand.”

         Ethan, thoroughly engaged in his father's words, slips questions in every time an edgewise moment presents itself. “But father, expand?? Surely his gang could not forcefully take over a town. He used hunger as a tool in his village, but… How?”

         The Emperor rises to his feet and makes his way to the other end of the room, his steps staggered in an attempt to protect his weakened knee. There, on the table, he tests the strength and firmness of a handful of fruits. Satisfied, he picks up an apple. He limps back to his son and hands him the apple. “What do you see, son?”

         Ethan passes his eyes over the shining red delicacy. “Nothing, father. It’s an apple.”

         The Emperor prods his son with a nod, unsatisfied with Ethan's answer. “Yes? And does the apple seem appealing? Does it not look fresh, and crisp?”

         Ethan's brow creases in concentration. “Well… yeah it looks good." He turns it over and over in search of a deeper understanding. Nearly flawless, the smooth red apple is marred only by one slightly darker, softer spot. “Only this small defect” he says.

         His father’s smile stretches into a grin. “But is this small defect enough to make you concerned about the apple? Do you fear the apple is no longer worth eating, and should be thrown out?”

         Ethan scoffs, in a half-amused way, at the extreme conclusion the Emperor jumps to. “No father, the apple looks delicious. What’s this have to do with the story?”

         The Emperor's grin persists; he thrusts his chin towards the fruit in Ethan's hands. “Enjoy your apple son, and I will explain its relevance.”

         Ethan frowns. Times like this his father's sly nature irritates him, though he tries not to show it. He looks at the shining red puzzle that rests in his palms; the apple does look delicious. He shrugs, then plants his teeth into the crisp apple. Juices escape his lip, trailing down his chin--it is indeed a marvelous treat. He smiles through his chewing, content. After a moment he glances at his apple.

         The center of the apple is soft, brown, with holes piercing through it. Half a worm squirms through the rotting core; the other half spews from Ethan’s mouth as he coughs and sputters. “F-father!” his lower lip trembles in protest.

         The Emperor's face has grown more serious. “Remember Ethan, these are lessons. Listen well, and learn. I was not out to trick you, only teach you. Now look… make no mistake of accepting something’s quality based on what you first see. This applies to everything in life, son. People, events, even your delicious apple. You must dissect everything. Analyze inside and out, for you know not what, or who, may have a rotten core.

         The boy from our story, Ethan. He understood this. He kept close to him the men whose loyalty was true to him, not their next meal—not the next opportunity to fill their pockets. He left half of his gang, led by a handful of the men he knew feared him too much to abuse their power. The other half of his gang he took with him, prepared to risk what little luxury they had gained from control of the village.

         Their destination was a fairly large city called Triam. He had gone over his plan time and time again, until he was assured that every one of his men could repeat it back without error. He wanted no mistakes. By the third day, they reached Triam’s gates. Halted by the guards, they waited. On the walls, archers pointed their longbows warily. Looking at his men, he realized that perhaps sixty young men with a slight look of hunger and desperation may be cause for alarm. The guard returned, accompanied by a handful more, all well armed. ‘Ho there! State your business in our fair city’, he said.

         ‘My name is Devrias' the boy said. 'We come from a very poor town that cannot feed us. The elders abandoned us to survive in the barren land, but we cannot farm. We were not trained to harvest or build. After losing near a dozen of us to starvation, an idea struck me. My lord, we are young and strong, despite our hunger sapping away at us. We thought perhaps a larger more prosperous town, one as grand as this, may have uses for us. We may not have much education but we can learn, and be of service. Anything is better than wasting away under the hot sun.’

         The young man could see the guards relax, and after proving themselves unarmed the guard called for the gatemen to raise the gate. ‘Follow me, men’ the guard said. ‘You may be fortunate enough to join the proud army of Triam, if you are as able bodied as you claim. Otherwise, our city always has need for basic labor. None starve within these walls, as long as they prove valuable to the common good of Triam.’ Devrias smiled to himself, his first step underway.”

         Ethan manages a few words in edgewise. “But father… a soldier’s life? That seems like a step down from what they had.”

         The Emperor lowers his head in acknowledgement. “Yes indeed, it was. But Devrias was a thinker, son. He was always contemplating his next step. Joining the army of Triam was only the first step. He trained his men as best he could to analyze people the way he did, to find when truth was in their words, and to know a man’s intent; though none could rival his ability to know a man’s feelings from the smallest hint of movement in the face.

         Some of his men, superstitious folk as they were, thought he may be a warlock, or blessed by the gods to see a short distance into the future. He allowed them to think what they wanted, it mattered not to him. He made sure each of his men understood the plan, that none would cause any trouble whatsoever—to do their job, and be the most dedicated soldiers Triam had ever seen. He told them to pick up as many skills as they could, in their time there.”

         Ethan looks at the apple that lie at his feet, and feels as if he is beginning to understand. “If Triam was doing so well, and nobody went hungry, why didn’t everybody go there?”

         The Emperor slaps his knee in amusement. “That, my son, is just word-of-mouth for the good of the city. Triam had its share of poverty, just like every city that has been or ever will be. One speaks favorably about the place they live. For example, Ethan, say you have a noble stop in your fair city. If it is an enjoyable stay, and they are impressed, they are likely to tell others of how fine your city is. So much of whether a man enjoys himself or not… it’s right here” he taps the top of Ethan’s head.

         “Tell a man that he is standing in a majestic inn, whose secret greatness has been revealed to only the most noble of eyes, and assure him that he has never been more comfortable, and he will almost certainly believe so. Men’s minds are delicate, so you must learn to protect yours—and manipulate others. This does not have to be a malicious thing, it is simply knowing what a person wants to hear. What a person needs most. So no, son, Triam was not the grandest of cities to ever be gazed upon. For Devrias though, it was indeed.”

         “What happened then, father?” Ethan encourages, eager to hear more of the story.

         “Devrias and his men became soldiers as they planned. For the time, they worked hard and were fed well. Not to mention they gained valuable skills they would later need. Devrias wasted no time. He searched for those that were more open to gossip, asking them of the nobles ruling the city of Triam. Days passed as he learned of the city and its inhabitants. He learned of how the nobles were divided; he listened to the needs of the townsfolk, and most importantly he learned about the prince.

         About his own age of fifteen seasons, the prince was frail and timid. Being King Waylan’s only heir, Prince Ardeth was to inherit Triam someday. The citizens hoped that in short time Waylan would produce a stronger, more able heir. The nobles secretly hoped that Ardeth would succeed him, so they may easily kill or overthrow him and take the city for themselves.Devrias saw this quiet turmoil, allowing himself a small smile. This town was his, it only waited to fall into his open hands.”