Character Analysis
The Emperor is all over this book—though he doesn't have a name and only pops up in person once. He's such an arrogant jerk that his power ripples through the book's pages. It's his soldiers that are going to attack the Valley, so he poses the biggest threat to our heroes—plus he's the guy who imposes harsh rules on the citizens of the Empire, which makes him the number one foe of pretty much everyone. Salata gives us a glimpse into the Emperor's reign of terror:
She told them that her goats and all the land around there, as far as the eye could see, belong to an official in the court of the Emperor. She made cheese from the milk, and once she had made a certain weight could keep what was left. She could also keep one in twenty of the male kids to fatten and eat, when the rest were driven off to market. Her husband was a trapper, hunting a kind of rock squirrel that lived among the hills to the north, whose fur was prized. Then, two years ago, soldiers had come to look for a way through the forest. Some of them had died of the sickness, and they had made up their numbers by seizing any able-bodied men they could lay their hands on, including Salata's husband. Now she and her daughters had to live on her allowance from the goats and whatever they could glean from the land. (5.73)
And as if goats and land and husbands aren't enough, the Emperor also controls all magic in the Empire and is the master of the Watchers. Even magicians live in fear of him. As Lananeth explains:
"I have heard that in the old days, before the Watchers, the names of magicians were openly spoken," said Lananeth, shaking her head. "Now every little country magician, for safety, is forced to take a true name and tell it to no one. My own is not Lananeth. […]." (6.101)
The Emperor is basically a spoiled kid in the body—and with the power—of an adult. Nothing he could ever get, whether it's all the magic in the world or the Valley itself, could make this supremely greedy guy happy:
Tilja got a clear look at the man on the throne as it turned the corner. He was wearing a small crown with three golden feathers at the front. Beneath that his face was as pale as a mushroom, fleshy, with a snub nose and pale lips showing through a weedy little beard. [...].
So this was the Emperor. In all her life Tilja had never seen anyone looking so bored. He could have anything in the world he pleased, but nothing in the world could please him. (12.62-63)
It's one thing for a ruler to not be satisfied until the people he's responsible for are properly taken care of—it's another completely to be the kind of ruler that "nothing in the world could please." We're thinking tyrant might be a better word for this guy.