Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “You danced well, better than many. I didn’t tell you that, because I feared you might take it as undeserved flattery. Do you remember if your feet were sore?”

  “I don’t.” Her smile was warmer, more assured, and Charyn found it hard to believe that she was only a few years older than Aloryana, given that Diasyra had been very much unsure of herself just two months earlier.

  “Your family has a place somewhere near, as I recall, but I don’t remember where.”

  “It’s about sixteen milles north of here, on the west side of the Aluse.”

  “Do you still enjoy riding?”

  “I do, especially early in the day…”

  Charyn just listened, prompting her occasionally and enjoying the dance, as he knew he would.

  After that dance ended, Charyn decided to look for Alyncya D’Shendael, wondering what she might be wearing. He hoped it wasn’t the crimson she’d worn to the first Year-Turn Ball at which he’d noticed her, but would it be peach like the last ball … or green…?

  As he made his way along the side of the ballroom, he couldn’t help but wonder why he just hadn’t kept asking others to dance, rather than seeking out Alyncya so soon. Because you recall Alyncya so favorably, and you want to test that recollection before you dance with any others. Diasyra didn’t count, because she was too young and far too sweet. That might change in time, but a match with someone that sweet wouldn’t be good for either of them.

  At that moment, High Holder Fhaedyrk, the head of the High Holders’ Council, eased up to Charyn. “Your Grace.”

  “Good evening.”

  “I would not trouble you at a ball, not normally, but I’ve heard a disturbing rumor, and since it will be nearly three weeks before the next Council meeting…”

  Charyn managed a smile. “And since you would prefer not to announce that you have a concern, especially if it is unfounded, you’d like to bring it to me quietly.”

  “Of course.” Fhaedyrk smiled warmly.

  Charyn nodded for the High Holder to continue.

  “The councils agreed with your proposal for a modest increase in tariffs. Now, it has been brought to my attention that your Minister of Finance is reviewing all the tariff records, and, in some cases, increasing the assessment and tariff due, which will be effective with those tariffs paid this coming Feuillyt. If true, this would seem, to some, as just another way of increasing tariffs.”

  “I have directed Minister Alucar to begin a review of all tariff assessments.” Charyn held up a hand to forestall any immediate objection. “There has not been such a review in more than a decade, possibly longer. The review works both ways. High Holders whose lands and other holdings have lessened have seen their assessments decrease; those who have increased their holdings will see an increase. Others will see no change. It’s a very time-consuming process. So far, we’ve only reviewed some thirty holdings. Twenty-three have seen no change. Five have seen increases, two decreases.”

  Fhaedyrk frowned. “That’s more than twice as many increases as decreases.”

  Charyn laughed softly. “There’s a good reason for that. When High Holders have to sell lands, they’re more likely to report the sale because it reduces their annual tariff. When they buy or otherwise obtain more holdings, they tend to leave it to the Finance Ministry to discover.”

  “I can see that, Your Grace, but some High Holders will not be pleased.”

  “I am trying to be fair,” Charyn replied. “If tariffs are not adjusted, the High Holders who do not report their gains are paying less in tariffs for each hectare of land than those whose assessments are accurate.”

  “I cannot gainsay that, Your Grace.”

  “Also, we are not increasing tariffs without sending a notification of our findings to each High Holder. In one case, for example, the High Holder showed us that he had not held the increased holdings but gifted them to his daughter as dowry. We changed the assessment to reflect that.”

  “You are notifying everyone who might be affected and telling them why and how it’s being done?”

  “We are. The process will likely take several years.” Charyn smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, it’s likely to be continuous, because by the time we finish reviewing the more than fifteen hundred High Holders, enough time will have passed that it will be time for another review.”

  “At least you’re not rushing through it.”

  “We are trying to be fair.”

  “I can accept that, Your Grace. I fear there will be some who do not, but I think most will accept the need and the fact that you are notifying and offering a chance for them to contest anything they believe unfair. That is a welcome change. I will not trouble you more this evening.” Fhaedyrk inclined his head.

  Charyn managed not to shake his head. He’d known that the reassessment would ruffle some feathers, but it had seemed to him that he and Alucar were being as fair as possible.

  With a wry smile, he continued to survey the dancers.

  Abruptly, he caught sight of his cousin Ferrand, officially now High Holder Delcoeur. With him was a young woman he didn’t recognize, although he was certain it wasn’t Ferrand’s younger sister. With a smile he moved toward Ferrand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad to be here.” Ferrand half-turned, nodding to the brown-haired, gray-eyed young woman. “Faerlyna, I’d like to present you to my cousin, Rex Charyn. Charyn, Faerlyna D’Kastyl.”

  “I’m honored, Your Grace.” Faerlyna lowered her eyes.

  “And I’m pleased that you’re here and enjoying the ball with Ferrand. He’s my favorite cousin, well, along with his sisters.” Charyn smiled warmly. That statement was definitely true, given who his other cousins happened to be. “I won’t keep you two.”

  He turned and moved away, hoping his words would help Ferrand, who definitely needed it, given all the troubles he faced.

  The dance was ending when he finally located the sandy-haired and hazel-eyed Alyncya, who was conversing with her father and another man of indeterminate age. Rather than ask her for what was bound to be a short time and knowing that, by custom, asking her for more than two dances implied an interest he definitely did not wish to announce publicly, he waited for the first note played by the orchestra for the next dance before moving forward.

  “Again … you look lovely,” he offered. “Might I have this dance?” After inclining his head to High Holder Shendael, who nodded, if not necessarily enthusiastically, Charyn returned his attention completely to Alyncya.

  “You might, Rex Charyn.”

  As the music rose and he guided her away from her father, he said, “As I told you in Finitas, I prefer you in the peach, rather than the crimson.”

  Alyncya smiled, with a hint of mischief in the expression. “I remembered that … and I didn’t have to refresh my memory by studying a list.”

  “You think I did?” He shook his head. “Not this time.”

  “That’s an admission that you did the last time.”

  “I did indeed, but I told you so.”

  “You’re still working to turn my head with your diligence.”

  “You don’t think you’re worth that diligence?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to be thought a duty of some sort.” Her tone was amused. “Duties turn into bothersome chores.”

  This time Charyn did grin at the way she’d turned his own words on him. “You’re even more dangerous than I recalled, Mistress Alyncya.”

  “And you have become more formidable.”

  “Formidable? That’s truly a terrible word to apply when I’m trying to get to know you better.”

  “For what purpose, my lord?”

  “Any honest answer I give to that question would be misconstrued.”

  “I can’t believe that, as Rex, you haven’t given answers of another variety on at least a few occasions.”

  “So far, I believe I’ve managed to avoid that variety.” His smile turned rueful. “There are some questions
I’ve declined to answer.”

  “Better to defer than deceive?”

  “The problem with that, alas, is that some take deferral as the answer they wish, and that is also deception.”

  “When so many hope for much from you, some will deceive themselves,” she observed. “How could it be otherwise for a Rex?”

  “It’s the same for anyone with golds or power, is it not?”

  “Being a poor and less informed woman…”

  Charyn laughed. “You, I would judge, are neither. Especially as the heir to your holding.”

  “You would judge me?”

  “As you told me at Year-Turn, we all make judgments. Whether they’re wise…” He looked into her hazel eyes.

  Her eyes locked on his for a long moment before she looked away.

  To Charyn it seemed as though time had stopped, and he finally said gently, “I remembered your words. Does that displease you?”

  Alyncya looked at him once more. “It frightens me more than I care to say.”

  And in so saying, you just did. “I’d never wish that.” Never. A third thought came to mind. She was definitely shaken. But why? “I didn’t mean my words to upset you.”

  “It wasn’t your words.” In a lower voice, she said, “My mother held the holding.”

  For a moment, her words didn’t seem to follow … and then they did. She could be the designated heir, and she could wed whom she pleased—but she could not do that and keep the holding in her own name without the permission of the Rex. His permission. Without his permission and a formal announcement, the only way she could keep the holding as her own was to remain unmarried.

  She laughed gently, but her voice seemed a trace unsteady as she added, after a moment, “I’m glad you didn’t hesitate in replying.”

  “I said what I felt.” Charyn found himself slightly unsettled. He’d never meant to make her afraid. “I … don’t know what else to say.” And he really didn’t.

  Neither did she, clearly, because she said nothing, except her fingers tightened slightly around his.

  As the dance music faded, Charyn guided Alyncya back to her father. There he reluctantly released her hand and managed a smile. “Thank you for the dance.”

  Her voice was low, but firm, neither encouraging nor discouraging, as she replied, “The dance was my pleasure.”

  Charyn inclined his head, more deeply, and looked into her eyes.

  She looked back, then said, “Others will expect a dance from you, Rex Charyn. I’d rather not be blamed for keeping you.”

  Charyn thought he caught a hint of mischief in her eyes, but as he turned and left, he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  1

  On Lundi morning, the sixteenth of Juyn, Charyn was up earlier than usual, most likely because the day promised to be particularly hot, a reminder that the first days of spring, heralded by the Spring-Turn Ball, were some three months gone, and there wasn’t that much of summer left. Unlike his late father, he was always an early riser, trying to cram in a host of matters before going to his study to begin dealing with the routine daily matters of being Rex. After pulling on exercise clothes, he made his way to the guard post in the alcove off the main entrance to the Chateau.

  Guard Captain Maertyl turned. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  “Good morning, Guard Captain. Is there anything I should know?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. As I told you on Samedi, Lead Guard Charseyt is on leave for the week.”

  “If he needs more time…”

  “His sister is taking care of the children. She lives within a few blocks.” Maertyl smiled sadly. “Knowing Charseyt, being here might be better than having too much time on his hands.”

  Charyn nodded. He thought he understood that.

  He and Maertyl walked back through the Chateau and out into the open rear courtyard and then to the enclosed and covered courtyard where all of the Chateau guards were assembling, not in full uniform, but in trousers and worn shirts. Charyn moved to the corner behind Maertyl.

  Maertyl stripped off his uniform jacket. “Guards, ready!”

  “Ready, Guard Captain!” came the response.

  With that, Maertyl began the morning exercise routine.

  Charyn had been joining the guards for exercise most weekday mornings for months, and the majority of guards no longer even looked in his direction. While it might have seemed definitely unregial to Charyn’s father, after all the assassination attempts Charyn had weathered, joining the guards was the safest way to get exercise, and exercise helped not only to keep him fit, which might also increase his chances of avoiding further attempts, but also, at least in part, to keep his mind from dwelling excessively on both Alyncya and Palenya.

  Once he finished exercising, he slipped away and up to his apartments to wash up and dress, before going down to the breakfast room. By the time he’d eaten and made his way to his study, right before seventh glass, it was more than clear that the day was going to be hot and hazy, hardly surprising given that it was midsummer.

  Just before he reached the circular back staircase, Norstan appeared. “Your Grace?”

  The seneschal looked slightly discomfited.

  “What is it, Norstan?”

  “Sir … Chorister Saerlet has requested an appointment for him and Chorister Refaal to see you, today, if possible.”

  Charyn frowned. After all that had happened to his family at the Anomen D’Rex, he hadn’t attended services there since his father’s memorial service. Saerlet had sent at least one note saying that he hoped to see the Rex. And Refaal was the chorister for the largest anomen in the city, the Anomen D’Excelsis. He’d also replaced Chorister Lytaarl, who had been the brother of Factor Elthyrd. “Did he say why?”

  “His messenger just said that Chorister Refaal had a matter that would be of interest and import to you.”

  Interest and import? That could mean anything. Still, his Lundi wasn’t that busy, unlike Meredi, when he had the monthly meeting of both councils.

  “I’ll see them at the first glass of the afternoon.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Norstan inclined his head.

  When Charyn reached the study door, he nodded to Moencriff, one of the two Chateau guards most often assigned to duty outside the study. “Good morning. It’s likely to be quiet today.”

  “Nothing wrong with quiet, Your Grace.”

  Once he was seated behind the wide table desk, Charyn reached for the copy of the master ledgers provided by Alucar, whose entries he had been perusing over the weekend in preparation for the Wednesday Council meeting. Alucar hadn’t finished compiling the latest figures on shipbuilding and the new shipyard, because the report from Solis hadn’t arrived until late on Vendrei, but Charyn needed a better feel for the other expenditures.

  Some four glasses later, he had almost finished jotting down the notes he wanted to review when the chimes struck first glass and Moencriff announced, “Chorister Saerlet and Chorister Refaal, sir.”

  “Have them come in.”

  The round-faced Saerlet was sturdy, but not fat, his glistening dark black hair slicked back with just traces of white at his temples, and he wore the same dark gray jacket, trousers, and shirt Charyn had seen before when he wasn’t conducting services, while around his jacket collar was the black and white chorister’s scarf that did not quite reach his belt. He stopped short of the chairs before the desk and inclined his head.

  Refaal looked to be around fifteen years older than Charyn himself. His face was oval, his skin smooth, and his hair was a dark brown. His jacket, shirt, and trousers were all dark green, as was his scarf.

  “Good afternoon, Choristers.” Charyn gestured to the chairs in front of the table desk, then reseated himself.

  “Thank you for seeing us so promptly, Your Grace,” offered Saerlet, not quite unctuously.

  “I appreciate your willingness to convey information that might be of interest to me.”

  “The informatio
n came to Refaal,” declared Saerlet, “and I thought you should know.”

  “It is information both of interest to me and to Chorister Saerlet, but also to you.” Refaal paused. “Have you heard of the True Believers?”

  True Believers in what? was Charyn’s first thought, but he only said, “No, I haven’t.”

  “I fear we both may be hearing more of them in the days, seasons, and years ahead.” Refaal continued, “They are a group of former choristers and their followers who claim that the majority of choristers of the Nameless have forgotten both the meaning of the Nameless and the true teachings of Rholan. They claim we are misleading those who worship in our anomens.”

  “In what way do they claim you’re misleading worshippers?”

  “They claim that we urge the people to follow the laws of the land, even when those laws are inequitable and unjust, and that when we do we are urging people to seek the favor of the Nameless in a fashion that promotes injustice.”

  “As I have often discussed with the Minister of Justice,” replied Charyn, “the law is not always as just as it could be, and at times there don’t seem to be practical ways to improve certain laws, or to use the law to remedy certain ills … but I’m not sure how urging people to follow the laws has anything to do with seeking favor with the Nameless or that not following the laws is more likely to please the Nameless. You don’t assert that, do you?”

  “Neither of us would condone that,” interjected Saerlet smoothly.

  “We certainly don’t,” added Refaal. “I offer homilies that suggest we should all do our best to follow the precepts of the Nameless, as did Rholan. There are scores of references to what Rholan said about law—and all of them boil down to the same precepts. Justice is what men should do, while law is what codes and powers require them to do, and that is invariably less than what they should do or what the Nameless requires of them. All good choristers are familiar with those words.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t see the problem. Have I missed something?” asked Charyn.

  The two choristers exchanged glances, before Refaal cleared his throat and said, “Two weeks ago, these True Believers stormed the Anomen D’Ruile. Chorister Tharyn had to flee for his life. These … fanatics claim that he is the avatar, whatever that means, of the ancient Tharyn Arysyn who barred Rholan from the anomen in Montagne. They shouted that his presence demonstrated the corruption that has overtaken the anomens of the Nameless.”