Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [98]
Somehow, the word had leaked out.
“It wasn’t me,” said Anag.
Kahless turned to look at his chief councilor. Anag was a lean, dark-skinned man with a big, full beard. He was also Kahless’s handpicked choice of successor.
“What wasn’t you?” Kahless asked, confused by the declaration.
“It wasn’t me who told the people of your departure,” the younger man explained.
The emperor grunted. “Oh. T.” He shrugged. “And if it were you, Anag? Would I have boiled you in en’tach oil for your transgression?” He laughed. “There hasn’t been a secret kept in these halls since I took the tyrant’s life. Why should my leaving be any exception?”
Anag frowned. “You are … certain about this?”
Kahless nodded. “I am certain. Let us not have this conversation again, all right? I am an old man. I need to leave under my own power, and I will not have the chance to do that much longer.”
He went over to his bed, where he had left his traveler’s pack-a cracked leather relic of his days as an outlaw.
There were still a few things he wanted to add to it.
Anag shook his head. “I still don’t see the need for it. If you died in your bed, what difference would it make?”
The emperor looked at him. “You are right.”
His councilor seemed surprised. “About your staying, you mean?”
“No,” said Kahless. “About your not understanding.”
Morath would have understood. Hell, he would have come up with the idea in the first place.
After all, it had only been a few decades since Kahless overthrew Molor and united the Klingon people. But in that time, he had seen his deeds magnified into the stuff of legend. If he could make a myth of his passing as well, it would only strengthen his legacy.
And a true legacy it was. With the tyrant overthrown, he had given the Klingons a set of laws by which they could conduct themselves honorably. Naturally, the basis for those laws was the principles Morath had lived by.
Keep your promises to one another. Deal openly and fairly, even with your enemies. Fight a battle to its end, giving no quarter. And when it is necessary to die, die bravely.
His people had embraced these precepts as a man dying of thirst might embrace a skin full of water. What’s more, they had been quick to give Kahless credit for them. But he had insisted that Morath be known as the source of their wisdom-thereby fulfilling the vow he had made to his friend more than thirty years earlier.
Kahless had also set free the provinces that used to pay Molor tribute, inviting them instead to join his confederacy of free states. As he could have predicted, the provinces swore allegiance to him-and instead of tribute, they now paid taxes.
The same situation, of course, but a different appearance. Over the years, Kahless had learned to play his role well.
Morath would no doubt have been proud of all his friend had accomplished-if not of Kahless himself.
After all, the emperor took no pride in what he had done for his people. His only motivation had been to please Morath’s ghost-to keep his word to the man.
To remind himself of that promise, he had kept the dagger that killed Morath-still black with Morath’s blood-in a glass case in his throne room. People had tried to confuse its significance, to say it was Kahless’s blood on the thing-but again, he had insisted on the truth.
It was Morath’s blood. Morath’s. And it was important to him that they remembered that.
After all, Morath had been a man of honor. And Kahless himself was just a fraud in honor’s clothing-a fake, playing the part of the beloved emperor-even if he was the only one who knew it. Fortunately, he would not have to maintain the pretense much longer.
“What is that?” asked Anag.
Kahless looked at the scroll in his hand-the last thing he meant to pack. He chuckled. “Nothing, really. Just a collection of maps to guide me in my travels.”
It was a lot more than a collection of maps. It was an account of his life-not the one shrouded in legend, but a true story with all its blemishes. He believed it would be of value someday, when myths were no longer quite so necessary,