Of Singhapura, the Great Empire

The poet Additya Wickrama was a man of great gifts and greater debts, and he settled the debts by dying. He once wrote that there are two kinds of people: those who belong to Singhapura, and those who will. He owed me six hundred and thirty-eight Owls at the time, which colours my fondness for the line; but I have travelled widely since, and I have yet to find a reason to disagree with him.

Singhapura is the greatest unbroken Empire in the known world, and the largest power of our age in politics, in money and in war. Nobody builds better roads, runs better schools, does more with magic or manufactures more goods. It stretches from the Diamond River Delta across the Balalpura Plains, one of the world’s great breadbaskets, to the Raavanskandha Mountains, said to be the bones of the dead god Raavan. From there it climbs into the mountain strongholds of Udanuwara and Giridhora, past the Hooniyang Pass, and from there it controls Wattle and Daub. To the south it holds the whole coastline, and the thousand islands of Tangowan are its vassal.

Everything Your Grace does must take Singhapura into account. Fortunately I spent the greater part of my life there and know it well. Let me therefore guide you through it at some length.

Of the City, Which Is Also the Empire

To understand the Empire, one must first understand Singhapura the city, which is its heart. It was founded at the Diamond River delta and later moved, piece by piece, and rebuilt beneath the Raavanskandha mountains.

All roads lead to Singhapura, or so it is said, and I have not found one that does not. Take any road from any corner of the Empire and follow the lion statues.

Follow, too, the Diamond River, where the monsoon waters run so wide that one cannot see the far bank. At its end lie the Balalpura Plains: a sea of green, cut through with great moats that shine crimson, as if they had been watered with blood. This is the Rathmada Samudra, more than five thousand hectares of reservoirs, red with the algae that Taprobane cultivates to feed and water the land.

Beyond it, at the foot of the Raavanskandha, stands the city itself, fronted by great bridges. From those bridges Your Grace will see crowds and houses and buildings long before the walls. The walls rise higher and higher toward the centre, until at the very apex stand the great towers. Singhapura holds more souls than Valdermach, and Valdermach is the largest city in the west.

Inside the walls it is all glass and metal and spires, with the hum of the waterworks and the arcane machinery everywhere, and roads that cost more than diamonds. The city is arranged in rings that stand for the order of the heavens.

At the centre is Adhiraj House, built by the Lusian architect Andretto d’Orenzo together with Taprobane’s finest mages. It holds the Adhiraj’s quarters and all the essential offices of government, and its towers are the ones visible from the bridges. Below it lie the Botanical Gardens, which hold a specimen of every plant from every place the Empire can reach, trade with or rule.

The rings below hold the sprawling Taprobane Imperial University, the greatest university in the world, where magic was remade and is still being remade. The Red and White Councils of the Haugris Church have their offices there also, with all their attendants. At the very bottom, beside the great roads, the merchants unload their cargo onto vast rune-driven conveyors. They come from Tangowan, from Wattle, from Lusia, from the Rosantic League, and from lands further still.

The waterworks alone are something most states could not conceive of building, let alone in mountain country. Should Your Grace see what appear to be great stone roots laid over the city like a hand, that is the Mahabag Subha. Its canals, some below ground and some above, join the public reservoirs across the whole city, and some run hundreds of miles to supply entire towns.

The Sunken Church sits behind the city and above it, cut into the foothills of the Raavanskandha. The Haugris Church keeps the Divine Corpus there, which it holds to be the preserved body of Raavan himself. It is a holy place, and a steady grey stream of pilgrims climbs to it from the city.

East of the city, out on the plain, are the Ruins of Vidyaakara, restored by the Temple of Eighteen. They are said to be among the oldest remains of ancient Samarskand: stupas, a university and monasteries, with sealed sections nobody has yet explored. The whole site is about as large as Daub. The Empire keeps a city of that size standing empty purely out of regard for the past.

There are satellite cities also, as large as the capital if not as storied: Nagenapura to the east, Basnapura to the west and Ruhunapura to the south, the last of them built upon the Empire’s original site. Between them lie a thousand towns and lesser concerns, all the way up to Udanuwara and Giridhora, which guard the road north. Somewhere in the middle is Manikwila, the only natural lake in the Empire. Every other lake in Singhapura was dug by a king with nothing better to do.

Your Grace will not deal with these cities directly. As Duchess of Daub you technically outrank most of the governors and provincial nobles you will meet on the road south, and I would urge caution there. Whatever you say to them will be met with smiles and hospitality and nothing more, and reported to Singhapura before you have left. Nor will anyone say anything of consequence unless the capital has told them they may.

Of How the Empire Is Actually Governed

Political theorists (Weerasingha and his student Molligoda among them, the latter of whom I shall spare Your Grace) have long tried to sort empires into kinds, as Taprobane sorts magicians. By their scheme one may call Singhapura a divine-right absolute unitary state and be correct. One may also call it an aristocratic legal feudal state with federal characteristics and be equally correct. This is what happens when theory meets a real country.

From Daub, the Empire looks like a single solid block. That is the face it shows to everyone on its edges.

Let us begin with the nobility, Your Grace, which works differently from anywhere else. Elsewhere a title generally comes with land and the people upon it. In Singhapura one may live in a mud hut or a city tenement and still be ennobled, for great scholarship, great art or some brave deed in the service of the state. Various Adhirajs have bestowed land, but these days an ennoblement usually comes with a yearly payment sized to the deed. Grandmasters and Paragons of the Taprobane Imperial University receive the privileges of nobility with their rank.

Land now belongs to the state, and to the state alone. A badly run estate may be given to another, broken up, or taken for public works. This has been so since Makaraasoka melted the fortunes of the noble houses into roads and libraries and consecrated the results in their names; the houses have been poorer and more respectable ever since.

There are fixed rules about crests and customs, about forms of address, and even about weapons. Unless the Adhiraj grants otherwise, a member of a noble family may carry only one kasthane, a curved blade worn as a sign of rank. It is often richly worked with lions and sometimes with gems, but the blade itself is kept short, so that it hangs no lower than the hem of a coat.

Titles do pass down in families, but the Adhiraj, the Church or a noble’s own peers may strip them. A commoner from a distant province may win a crest with the right patrons and the right deeds to his name. The Adhiraj appoints the officials, and they answer to him: a Justice of the Peace, and Low and High Courts, in every territory. These officials are nobles, but their power comes from the appointment, not from their birth.

Thus the nobles of Singhapura are not where the real power lies, however rich some of them may appear. It is best to think of them as merchants and officers with titles, families the Empire places wherever they are useful.

The true summit of the Empire is four powers: the Singha Adhiraj, the Haugris Church, the Taprobane University and the Guilds. They bargain with one another without end. None can do without the others, and each restrains the others while seeking advantage over them.

The Adhiraj is the Highest of the High: First Prophet of the Haugris Church, Judge and Arbiter Above All, and High Commander of every army. His word is law, and in theory he controls every aspect of the Empire. In practice others wield most of that authority day to day, while the Adhiraj makes the laws, directs the grandest strategy and public works, and reserves his full power for the moments that require it.

The throne does not pass from father to son. The Adhiraj selects a successor from among the nobility and adopts him as heir. In theory anyone of sufficient skill may be chosen. In practice it is commonly one of the Ministers of the Interior, Trade or Justice, so the succession is never settled and always political.

The Haugris Church manages the Empire’s messages and controls much of its money, its schools and its medicine. It is governed by a Red Council and a White Council. The White Council decides internal policy and the great judgments; the Red handles regional appointments and logistics.

Beneath the Councils are three Sequences that do the Church’s work, and a fourth that is not discussed in polite company. The Sequence of Letters runs the post, and beneath that function it runs the most sophisticated intelligence service ever built. The Sequence of Discourse trains the officials who staff the Church’s offices. The Sequence of Acts is the face the public sees: priests, healers, diplomats and explorers. The fourth is the Samanera Corps, which the Church raised in its day as an answer to orders such as the Paladins, and which is a great deal more violent and more capable. In most of the outlying territories, Your Grace’s included, these four Sequences are what the Empire looks like.

On paper the Taprobane University stands outside politics. In fact the people who devise and control the most powerful magic in the world are involved in every part of Singhapura’s growth, and the Taprobane system, which is modern Ritualism, gives the Empire its decisive advantage in everything it does. The University trains lawyers, judges and engineers as well as magicians, so its influence reaches from the architects of the wealthy to the smallest country court. Taprobane calls its rivalry with the Lesser Theoretical University of Daub a friendly one. To Taprobane it is a game against a smaller opponent on the same side.

Last are the Guilds. It should surprise nobody that those who make the Empire’s goods have a great deal of say in it. I would not underestimate them; it is well said that the Military Orders are the Adhiraj’s sword and the Guilds are his arrows. The Guilds hold no legal authority over anyone but their own members, and in practice they have a hand in everything. The greatest by far is the Singhapura Merchants Guild, which is trading house and bank with private armies and fleets attached.

The Empire’s ideals are the backbone of the whole operation: one law for all, the Taprobane system, free schooling, a single administration, open examination for almost every post, and heavy investment in new invention. What actually holds it together is simpler. All four powers have concluded that this arrangement suits them better than any alternative on offer, and that together they are stronger than any of them would be alone.

Of the Empire’s Tensions and Opportunities Therein

Nothing so large runs without strain, and I would be failing Your Grace if I listed Singhapura’s strengths and left out the cracks.

The first is steel. The Empire needs good steel for building, for its armies and for nearly everything else. Centuries of mining have exhausted the easy ore of Udanuwara, and the Empire is pushing north again after it. This is why the trade through Wattle and Daub matters so much more now than it did a generation ago. Whoever controls the northern trade roads has a hold upon the Empire, and has also put a noose about his own neck. More than anything else, this is why Singhapura wants Wattle.

The second is religion. The Haugris Church is on top, but the Temple of Eighteen remains strong in the eastern provinces, and the Iron Pagoda grows in the southwest. Taprobane chafes more and more at the Church’s say over how magic is regulated. I suspect the Singha Adhiraj holds all of these in careful balance so that none grows too strong. Daub has both the Church and the Temple within its walls, and what Your Grace manages as a local matter is a small piece of a much larger war between the faiths and the scholars.

The third is the frontier. Wattle and Daub lie to the north, with the Waste beyond them. Tangowan lies to the south. Lusia and the Rosantic League lie to the west, and the border cities carry many Tears, left by magic used to excess. Any sensible empire watches its borders. Here that means the Military Orders, and they cost a fortune, and the cost climbs as metal grows scarce.

Of the Governance of Daub, and What It Means to Stand in the Shadow of the Empire

Which brings us to Daub. Your Grace rules a city and province too well placed for the Empire to ignore. Even so, if I may make so bold, the arrangement Daub enjoys (tribute, polite deference and the occasional imperial errand) is a far softer noose than I would expect, especially while Wattle is drawn so much tighter.

The Adhiraj may be content to let Daub grow as a vassal. He may also be letting the fruit ripen before he picks it. My own belief is that the Empire, and its Guilds above all, want trade with the lands beyond, the Obsidian Empire for one, and that having watched Lusia they have seen what a free port in the north could do for them.

Thus: what should Your Grace do about it?

First, I would advise Your Grace to know exactly what passes through Daub and what the Empire would pay for it elsewhere. The steel and ore of the North are the Empire’s present anxiety, and a ruler who knows the value of what she holds can name a price. One who does not will be told one.

Second, I urge Your Grace to keep the Military Orders in mind whenever the Charter Knights, the Paladins or the mercenaries in Daub’s pay are discussed. Those Orders have trained for war against the North; that is their present orientation and capability. Nothing in Daub should look, from Singhapura, like preparation to meet them.

Third, the Church and the Temple are in a quiet and tense dialogue across Daub’s wards and provinces, and the Merchants Guild will trade and intermingle whether or not it is invited. Your Grace must keep all three in the same balance the Adhiraj keeps, favouring none in public, because the Empire’s own arrangement rests upon that balance and it will not welcome a vassal who upsets it.

I shall not advise Your Grace on how to deal with the Adhiraj directly. I will say only this: for all its polish and power, the Empire was built by human hands, is kept running by human institutions, and is moved by the same tides as any other large human enterprise. It shows one face to the people on its edges. Daub is close enough to see behind that face. What Your Grace takes from it for Daub is for Your Grace to decide.

Of Singhapura, the Great Empire

Of the City, Which Is Also the Empire

Of How the Empire Is Actually Governed

Of the Empire’s Tensions and Opportunities Therein

Of the Governance of Daub, and What It Means to Stand in the Shadow of the Empire

Further Reading