He should be out conquering the world. Or was he some deluded maniac only dreaming he was a conqueror? And did the conqueror, in the dream, dream that he was young Ekitares, drinking-companion of Aleando, all-around good-for-nothing, the son of some minor nobleman who had been kicked out of the palace years ago for petty corruption?
Which was true? All? Neither?
In the silence known to kings, which was inside him and shut out the city’s noise, he sought an answer. He walked through the streets, ignored by passers-by after a while as he reached the broad avenues where great multitudes gathered and no one paid any attention to him. A laughing holy man walked on stilts above the crowd, his ragged clothing streaming in the wind. A peddler sold petty gods from a tray he wore around his neck.
