Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter

by Martine Carlsson

  Mauger pulled out a paper from his pocket. He approached the desk and laid the document on the board, under Pembroke’s eyes. “It’s not what this document says.”

  When he recognized it, Pembroke’s dark eyes burned like coal. “The nobles left the city with their safe-conduct,” he fulminated. “How can you…” Pembroke interrupted himself. “It’s you. You did this. You infringed the king’s orders.” Pembroke rose from his seat. “As regent, I am obliged to arrest you.”

  Mauger smirked and tapped on the document with a finger. “Your name.” He handed him the letter he held in his hand. “Besides, the king doesn’t approve your judgment.”

  Pembroke grabbed the letter. “My council…executed…my arrest for treason?” The minister raised his gaze and stared at him with daggers in his eyes. “This is nonsense. And this is the queen’s hand. He would never—”

  “Would you question the queen’s authority? Besides, you know as well as I that the queen speaks for the king.” Mauger stepped back. “Guards!”

  The guards waiting outside stormed inside the room. Circled, Pembroke didn’t oppose them. “You plotted all this. You forged the queen’s writing and mine.”

  “It’s your word against mine, and I’ve got proof.” And I made sure the Bartels would be as silent as a grave. Mauger made a sign for the guards to grasp Pembroke. “Arrest Lord Pembroke and lead him to the prison tower.” The guards complied and took the minister by the arms.

  “The king will hear about all this on his return!” Pembroke exclaimed as the guards shoved him out of the room.

  I have serious doubts about that, Mauger thought. Though he had to admit that Louis had been the best king this land had had for decades, he stood in the way of their scheme and thus had to be dispensed with. Mauger gave a twisted smile. The king would not come back, and now, the city was under his control.

  Their faces couldn’t hide their high expectation. The nobles and merchants sat silent around the oaken table of the council room. Exceptionally, a fire burned in the hearth, filling the room with a brisk heat and an exotic aroma which blended with the rich men’s perfume. Mauger had chosen arbutus wood from the Crysas Peninsula, a choice that would have infuriated the king, but it was a subtle way to show the upper crust of Nysa Serin that the palace was a welcoming place which did not lack comfort. Sitting on his own chair but in the place of honour, also the king’s place, Mauger observed the assembly. On his right, Kaeden wiggled on his seat as a man would who had difficulties controlling his bladder.

  Mauger joined his hands and frowned. “As you noticed, the situation in the city worsens each day.”

  Turold Carver, the goldsmith, stretched his puny neck out of his furs. “Have you considered our request to let us go? I heard the Bartels—”

  “No,” Mauger interjected. “This would go against the king’s rules and would be unwise. You don’t want to end like the Bartels, do you?” he said, outstaring the old man. One of Mauger’s dogs sitting at its master’s foot uttered a cavernous growl. Carver lowered his head. “Yet, we can’t tolerate any longer that your life may be endangered by the rabble invading the streets. Therefore, the government has revised its position and proposes you install yourself in the palace until all this chaos is over.”

  “With our families?” the perfumer, Reese, asked.

  “With your families.”

  Breness stared at him and didn’t flicker a smile. “This is quite a change of mind. Was this decision issued by the king?”

  “I wouldn’t propose it to you otherwise,” Mauger responded, undisturbed. Breness held his gaze. The man wasn’t fooled by his answer. For an instant, Mauger felt sweat under his arms.

  “All right,” Breness said.

  Mauger understood that the man’s silence would have a price. He knew Louis loathed Breness. Therefore, Mauger had expected facing someone inclined to corruption. Now, he knew the mercer also promised to be expensive.

  “This is very generous—” Reese exclaimed, but Breness interrupted him.

  “And what do you wait from us in return?”

  Mauger clenched his teeth. Once more, he had to agree with Louis. “Right to the point, don’t you?” he said, raising the corners of his lips into a smile. “Well, the city can’t afford the loss of its best masters and honorable families. A financial support afterward for chosen projects of the Crown would, of course, be highly appreciated.”

  “When can we move in?” Carver asked timidly.

  “Right away,” Mauger exclaimed. He nodded towards Kaeden.

  The Chamberlain leaned forward and addressed the nobles and merchants. “Chambers will be put at your disposition in the south aisle. You will see that the palace can be a place of comfort and entertainment.”

  At the promise of agreeable distractions, the atmosphere relaxed and the men broke in whispers of approval. Breness turned towards him again.

  “Any news from our king?” The man’s sharp eyes challenged him.

  Someone wants to play that game, Mauger thought. “Unfortunately, the birds have been scarce. Still, we pray every day for the success of his mission,” he said with a faint smirk.

  The nobles and merchants rose and took their leave. Mauger watched them go with dark, preoccupied eyes. The scheme had bad sides, and this promised to be one of them.

  26

  The sky was clear of clouds. Even without the path under them, Louis could tell they followed the right direction. In a couple of hours, they would reach Linfarne. They rode their horses at a leisurely gait. There was no hurry, and Lissandro and Folc rode double, a heavy weight for the poor mount. The farmland became hills, the fields were scarcer, and higher hilltops stretched on the horizon. At his side, Lissandro gazed at the landscape with a sour smile.

  “On the road leading to Earthfell. For our deaths, I can hear the bell,” Lissandro sang. His friend turned to him and cringed with anxiety on his face as if waiting to be bashed. “I hope we’ll prevail,” he sang higher. “But I swear, we’ll probably fail.”

  Louis stared at him. “Simmer down, man of little faith,” he sang back. “Soon you’ll claim we go fight some wraiths. For the greater good. Or at least to prove your manhood.” He smirked at Lissandro. “The way is long. But we’ll carry on.”

  “We may die,” Lissandro sang.

  “Our throats cut,” Askjell sang from behind them.

  “Drop like flies,” Lissandro insisted.

  “Open guts,” Folc sang louder.

  “The way is long. We need to move on,” Louis sang.

  “Bands of rogues follow on our heels,” Selen sang. “And there’re wolves seeing us as meals. Don’t quake in your boots. In your room, you’d rot like old fruits.”

  “As champions, we will return home,” Askjell sang joyfully.

  “Mashed and burnt, we will be good loam,” Folc retorted.

  “Favored by the gods,” Eliot sang.

  “With nefarious, we are at odds,” Kilda joined him.

  “The way is long, but we’ll carry on…” they all sang together.

  Louis smiled. This promised to be a peaceful day.

  The village of Linfarne, circled by a stone wall, was perched on top of a wooded hill. Below, a bridge over a half-frozen torrent led to the gate. Despite the size of their group, the guard standing in front of the doors didn’t ask them who they were or any kind of question on their business. Beyond the gate, no post had been provided for mounts, thus forcing them to wind their way up stairs between the high houses. Each of them was made of piled, old schist stones, had only a few windows protected with shutters, and was topped with a slate roof. Louis hoped their horses would not slip on the cobblestones. The thin stream of water in the muddy gutter gave him hope that the pavement was not entirely frozen. The highest area of the village was also the richest. At his side, Lissandro stared at the oriel windows and the carved wooden beams with delight. Cautious to avoid the long icicles holding under the windowsills and eaves, Louis rode his mount in th
e middle of the street. The narrow streets were more populous than Louis had expected, especially with all the shops closed. He understood when he saw the stalls on the marketplace. They couldn’t weave their mounts through the ado. Thus he drew rein and scanned the square for a place to tether their horses. Albeit an unexpected delay, the market was a unique opportunity for them to fill their bags with provisions. They found a post for their horses in front of an inn and dismounted. While Eliot volunteered to guard their mounts, the rest of them spread across the market.

  Between pyramids of jars, a merchant praised his products. “Good pears! Tasty, juicy pears! Fresh nuts!”

  A strong smell of baked bread wafted from his left. “Want a taste of my cakes, my lord? Or a warm leek pie? Don’t forget my wafers!”

  “Patch your clothes! Old socks and hoses!”

  A donkey loaded with baskets and kitchen utensils came the other way. Louis dragged an inattentive Lissandro to his side.

  “Thank you. Some look like crooked gingerbread houses. And look at this temple,” Lissandro said, pointing at a square tower with large bells at its top. “What a charming place to live.”

  Louis snorted. “Charming. You have no idea how it is to live in a village.”

  Lissandro halted. “No. I lived in a New England Victorian mansion. I’m sorry I didn’t have a view on cows’ asses from my bedroom’s window.” Upset, Lissandro walked away with a shrug.

  I didn’t mean it like that, Louis thought. In his previous life, he had lived in his village until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had run away from his mother’s house, and he would have done it again if the events hadn’t turned out to his advantage. Not only it was unbearable to live in a place where he had no future, but to be surrounded by people who didn’t grasp a word of what he talked about just gave him the wish to hit his head against the walls. Besides, meanness reached its paroxysm in a village. No one could escape social pressure and judgment. As he didn’t fit, he had heard the worst about him. They had looked at him with scorn, and when he had finally become someone, they had looked at him with fear and distrust. You treated me like a rascal, but I was better than you. He looked around at the people. The same suspicious faces, the old bags and harpies under their headdresses, the petit bourgeois with their paternalist sneers. He felt a tug on his sleeve, turned around, and saw his love. All but you. You called me to your side and saved me with your ingenuousness and cleverness. Louis reached for his friend’s face with his hand. If I could show them how despicable they are next to you. No. I would like to kiss you, to make love with you here, to show them how free we are. Free from their prudishness and the ways they deprave nature.

  “Louis, wake up,” Selen whispered. “I don’t think you want to do that.”

  Louis came back to reality and realized how close he was to his friend. “I’m sorry… I was lost in thoughts.”

  “I know. You were staring right through me.”

  Louis blushed with embarrassment and lowered his head. “Should we shop for some food?” he muttered to escape the awkward situation.

  “Yes,” Selen said with enthusiasm. “For once that I can stroll in a village market with money in my purse and get respect from the sellers, I can’t wait to begin.” He pulled his hood lower on his forehead to hide his hair and tattoos and leaned towards Louis. “Next time I won’t stop you.”

  The products displayed were all that could endure winter and varied from cabbages to leeks. The only fruits were leftovers of apples only good for stew. Smoked fishes and beans were found in quantity, as well as cheese wheels of different sizes. It smelled of wax and dried garden herbs, skins and carved wood. They found Lissandro in front of a stall proposing roasted chestnuts and a varied choice of dry sausages.

  “I will take two figs, two donkey, one nuts, and three garlic. Is that bleu cheese? I’ll take two of these ones too. Thank you,” Lissandro said to the seller while unlacing his bag.

  “Is it for your personal use or do you plan to share that?” Louis asked Lissandro while Selen approached the seller.

  Lissandro turned around with a start. “Well. Hum. You can have one.”

  “It sounds like corruption to me,” Louis mocked.

  Lissandro shrugged. “It smells so good. Like the farmers’ market in Plymouth. Though I don’t think I will find chive pancakes here.”

  “I’m, in fact, a bit disappointed,” Selen said, turning back to them. “I know that markets don’t propose much in the Frozen Mountains, but I was expecting more from Trevalden. On the island, we had fat olives in thyme, perfumed wines, sheep cheeses with honey, snails, and a lot of delicious seafood. Fried squid…” Selen said with a smile as if he drooled at the idea.

  “And you also had slaves,” Lissandro pointed out.

  “Not more than you,” Louis retorted.

  “Not in my—”

  “Move.”

  They stepped to the side as a man walked by with piglets on a rope. Lissandro looked at the wiggling, pink flesh and raised an interested eyebrow. For an instant, Louis imagined one of the piglets tied behind his friend’s saddle. Louis was amazed by Lissandro’s fascination for food.

  “The farmers get rid of their biggest animals; cows, pigs, donkeys. Everything that they can’t afford to feed through winter. Maybe with luck we could find a horse,” Louis said.

  “It would be easier if they could organize their stalls. They sell a bit of everything everywhere,” Lissandro said.

  “It’s not Les Halles. They sell the surplus crop and homemade crafts to travelling merchants working for lords or larger trades,” Louis said, nodding towards a man who bought a whole stock of grains. “In exchange, they can buy basic commodities from those sellers or from peddlers.”

  They halted near one of the shops. Selen bought provisions and wine for the road from an aged woman whose eyes could barely be seen under the wide-brimmed straw hat she wore over her coif.

  “Do you know of someone here selling horses?” Selen asked, but the woman shook her head and grunted.

  “But shouldn’t the products stay on the local markets?” Lissandro carried on.

  “How would that help? They all produce the same things. They won’t exchange onions in a vacuum. Of course, they can only sell the surplus to the foreign market once everyone in the village has gotten his share of grains and primary needs.”

  “Have you thought of organizing fairs?” Lissandro asked while they resumed their walk through the stalls.

  “We’re working on paved roads to develop such crossroads,” Selen said, picking from his bag of roasted chestnuts. “Fairs are a good source of revenues, and people like such distractions.”

  “Besides, I have abolished all tonlieu and other market duties. The products need to circulate, and it won’t happen if there are those taxes,” Louis noted.

  “Are you not afraid of interlopers?” Lissandro asked, reaching for a chestnut in Selen’s bag. “May I?” Selen nodded.

  “You still need authorizations to sell your goods and travel with merchandise. There are police to control the transport, the quality of the products, that the prices respect the maximum, and to ensure a regular procurement, without mentioning the harsh sanctions against the hoarders. But it doesn’t mean a tax is necessary. Not now, at least,” Louis said.

  “Do you realize how much money you will lose without a tax on goods?” Lissandro said, chewing. His friend was still unconvinced.

  “The problem is not the tax itself. The problem is the avarice of the people. With taxes on goods, the prices will rise, I will find it hard to maintain the maximum, and famine will follow. Commerce must aim to public wealth, and therefore, guarantee public welfare.”

  They had reached a pedestal where the statue of a crouching lion stood under a thin layer of frost. Their companions waited on the side of it. As they drew nearer, Askjell escorted a maimed beggar away. The squire slipped a purse of money in the man’s hand.

  “Between twenty and thirty,” Folc said. Lou
is stared at him until he carried on. “The men searching for us. They rode across the village yesterday. They know where we are heading.”

  “They probably set a trap further away. Can we change our route?” Selen asked.

  Lissandro took out the map from his satchel and unfolded it on the stone rim of the pedestal. “I had planned to take east, then south, down the valley here,” he said, tracing a line with his finger. “We could take south now. Yet, it means to cross the Broud Gorges and the Serol plateau. In the middle of winter.”

  They looked at each other. Ahanu nodded with approval. Louis agreed. It was a risk to take. Maybe their pursuers wouldn’t follow them there.

  “If we don’t find shelter for the night on the plateau, we will freeze, and the horses will die. Those are no mounts from the Frozen Mountains,” Selen said.

  “We may find shelters,” Kilda said. “Look at these acorn symbols. The road south is a pilgrimage road. There should be inns on the way.”

  “Should, may… If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” Lissandro mumbled.

  “The road south, Lilo,” Louis said. And if they still find us after that, it means we do have a traitor among us, he thought.

  They packed their bags and returned to Eliot and their mounts. The monk waited for them, wrapped up in his coat. When he saw them, his eyes brightened. Yet, the corner of his mouth twisted. Louis could nearly hear his teeth gnash. He took it for himself. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. The sly gaze of Eliot’s feline eyes gave Louis an epidermal reaction. Louis untied his horse’s bridle and, a hand on the withers, vaulted into the saddle.

  They rode down the east slope of the village and passed under the south gate. Louis stared at the dead bushes and low walls around but didn’t see anyone spying on them. They reached a crossroad. The rutted, main road coming from the west wound to their left while, in front of them, a way passed a narrow bridge over a torrent and disappeared into the forest on the other side. A stone with an acorn graved on the upper face stuck out of the snow on the side of the path. Lissandro engaged his mount on the bridge. Louis rode behind him, followed by his companions.