The Tyrant's Law (Dagger and the Coin)

cities that stood where they are now since before the dragons fell.”
    “If it must be, it must be,” Basrahip said. “But the fire years are truth.”
    “But there are forests in Northcoast that have trees older than that. Not many, maybe, but I read an essay about how you can tell the age of a tree by the number of rings, and it said the largest of the redwoods in Northcoast—”
    Basrahip shook his bull-wide head.
    “You put too much faith in empty words. No forests live that were not planted after the fire years. All animals that live were sheltered by humanity in the fire years. If you say that the world must be built upon ash, then look for it, and you will find it. Or if you do not, you must find for yourself what became of it. But the fire is true.”
    “It’s just in all the histories I’ve read—even the ones written within a generation or two of the fall—no one’s ever mentioned a catastrophe like that. You’d think they would have. I mean, the utter destruction of everything’s not the sort of thing I’d leave out if I were writing a history.”
    Basrahip waved the words away with a massive palm.
    “Words on paper are not even lies. They are empty. The voice that speaks them is your own, and you mean nothing when you say them except that here on this page are these words. It the least important thing that there is. From the time before the dragons, my priesthood have been the keepers of truth. All truth. You know that no one can lie to the goddess.”
    “Well, yes,” Geder said, feeling abashed. “Of course I know that. I mean, you’ve proved it over and over, haven’t you?”
    “And you know that her truth cannot be long denied.”
    “I’ve seen that too,” Geder agreed.
    “With every generation, the priests of the goddess have passed on the true tale of the world in voices that cannot be denied to acolytes who would hear any falsehood. What are your books and scroll to this? The living voice has carried what I say across the ages. Your library was all created by a hand, not a voice. Tell me this. Will you say all books are true?”
    “Well, no. Of course not. There are some essays I’ve read that were clearly—”
    “And would you say that you can know perfectly which are true and which not?”
    “No, but that doesn’t mean they’re useless. I mean, most of them, you can assume are—”
    Basrahip stopped, took Geder by the shoulders, and looked deeply into his eyes.
    “I ask you this, Prince Geder. If I gave you a meal that you knew was poisoned in part, and also you knew that you could not know where the poison lay, would it be wisdom to eat?”
    “Of course not,” Geder said.
    “So it is with books,” Basrahip said. “Listen to my voice, my friend. The goddess is there, and she will not lead you astray.”
    N amen Flor looked like a reed. His thin body rose up from his feet to a tall, broad face and hair the color of wheat that he wore close-cropped. He stood as Geder entered the candle-bright private chamber. If he was nervous, his voice did not betray it.
    “I was told you wished to speak with me, Lord Regent?”
    “Yes, I did. Please, sit. No need to be formal. You know Minister Basrahip, don’t you?”
    Sir Flor bent his head in a gesture carefully between nod and bow. Physical diplomacy. Geder lowered himself to a divan upholstered in green silk and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Basrahip took a place on the far wall, smiling absently and looking at at the fire dancing in the grate. Flor turned from one to the other, then sat across from Geder and ignored the priest. Geder glanced at Basrahip, and the priest nodded once. He was ready.
    “Are you loyal to me, Sir Flor?”
    The reedy man seemed to expect the question, because he answered at once.
    “Of course, Lord Palliako.”
    Basrahip nodded. It was truth, but Geder held up a finger.
    “I don’t mean to the throne or to Antea in the abstract. Are you loyal to me ?”
    Flor frowned.
    “Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t see the difference. You are Lord Regent. Being loyal to Antea is being loyal to you.”
    Another nod. Well, it wasn’t as good as raw personal devotion, but it would do.
    “I have need of your discretion, Sir Flor. How are your spring crops?”
    “Not yet sown. I imagine they will be breaking the ground for the first lettuces in a month or so.”
    “I would like you to convert your fields to spring wheat. And whichever lands you can spare that are least productive, I will