Endgames

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “I’ll tell the stablemaster to have a mount for you. It’s likely to be a quint before I’ll have guards ready to ride out with you.”

  “I’ll be ready then.”

  Charyn put away the music for his “new” pieces, then headed up to his quarters to get an oilskin riding jacket and a plain green visor cap.

  Lead Guard Reynalt stood waiting for Charyn, just inside the door to the rear courtyard of the Chateau. “The guard detachment is drawn up just inside the stables, sir.”

  “Thank you. We’ll head out immediately.”

  Faelln was waiting with the four guards in the stable. “L’Avenue D’Commercia is above water and will take you to the river north of the flooded area. I trust you’ll stay out of deep water, Your Grace.”

  Charyn understood Faelln’s unspoken point that few of the mounts were water-trained. “I’ll do my best. I hope we won’t be too long, but I’ll need to see the extent of the flooding myself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Faelln’s tone also told Charyn that the guard undercaptain was anything but pleased with Charyn’s decision to ride out to see the damage.

  “It’s far safer for me to ride out now than it would be tomorrow. It’s Solayi and still raining.” Charyn led the chestnut gelding out of the stables and mounted.

  The four guards—and Reynalt—all wore dark green oilskins, as did Charyn, and were all armed with rifles in holders, as well as sabres. The only weapon Charyn carried was his pistol, although he was decent, but not outstanding, with a rifle.

  Two of the guards rode down the back drive to the Ring Road, followed by Reynalt and Charyn, with two guards in the rear. The rain didn’t seem as bad as Charyn had thought as they rode to the southeast side of the Ring Road and turned onto L’Avenue D’Commercia. The six of them were the only ones Charyn saw on the avenue for the first mille. Then he saw several carts and handcarts, some filled with bundles, moving away from the river.

  Those working with the carts scarcely looked through the light rain at the riders, except to make sure that they avoided the horses.

  More than a quint later, Charyn and the guards reined up at the top of a slight decline in the avenue, less than a hundred yards from the spreading water. Charyn had expected to see something like a torrent of water raging through a break in the stone of the river walls, but what he saw was quite different. From what he could tell, the top courses of stone had been swept away or pushed back and some of the river flowed over the remaining stone walls, almost as if over a spillway of sorts, creating a shallow lake that covered the West River Road. Upstream of the lake, to Charyn’s left, the tops of the piers were above water, if barely, and the buildings behind them, including Paersyt’s factorage, looked to stand in perhaps a third of a yard of water. The buildings farther south along the river were inundated by a least a yard of brownish water, each building rising like an island out of the slowly swirling brown water that extended at least several hundred yards to the west, until it reached a point where the ground was higher.

  Charyn gestured. “We’ll take the next street to the right. I need to see just how far the water extends.”

  For the next glass, Charyn and the guards rode south, flanking the river and the water that covered the lower ground for almost a mille, until the land farther south rose just enough to contain the overflow from the river. Even so, there had to be hundreds if not a thousand or more dwellings and other structures along that strip of land several hundred yards wide and almost a mille long suffering some degree of flooding, although it appeared that in no place was the water deeper than a yard or so.

  Just deep enough to ruin almost everything.

  When he turned the chestnut back, Charyn was both dismayed at the extent of the flooding and relieved that it hadn’t been worse. Not that it’s not going to cause many people to suffer.

  At least a handful of people had likely recognized the guards, even in green oilskins, as Chateau guards, and in time, some might guess that Charyn had been with them. So long as it’s in time, and not immediate.

  Even as he thought that, he wondered if he was getting to be too worried about being killed. The previous attempts had all been targeted at him because Ryel had wanted to wipe out the family, but Ryel and all his family, except for Karyel and Iryella, and, of course, Charyn’s mother, were dead.

  When the six rode back into the rear courtyard just before third glass, a clearly relieved Faelln greeted Charyn. “I take it there was no trouble, Your Grace?”

  “Not for us. There are a great number of houses and shops that have been damaged. It could be worse, but if the rain lets up, that might not happen.” Not in L’Excelsis, but what about farther downriver?

  Charyn just hoped the flooding didn’t spread any further or turn out to be calamitous in some other fashion.

  14

  The rain stopped by midday on Solayi, although the sky remained cloudy and the air damp. Charyn tried not to dwell too much on the flooding, spending several glasses trying to improve his skills on the clavecin and working on learning and improving his technique with both the Pavane and Variations pieces.

  He went back upstairs to his study and pored over the master ledgers, trying to see where he might squeeze out more golds … and then wondered how much the flood would set back Paersyt’s work on his steam engine.

  At fifth glass he entered the unmarked carriage for the ride to Imagisle, only to find himself looking from the carriage at the torrent that flowed under the bridge as he rode across the bridge to Imagisle. He also couldn’t help but admire the skill and strength of the imaging done by the Collegium’s founders, especially given the imposing stone river walls and the bridges, none of which bore any signs of age or damage after more than four hundred years, especially since the top of the river walls around the isle were still well above the torrent.

  He even enjoyed walking through the rain with Aloryana to the anomen.

  The thrust of Iskhar’s homily was certainly timely, particularly one part where the chorister said, “… for most of the summer growers have been praying to the Nameless for rain. Now the rains have come, and people are praying that they will stop. A cynical man might say that it shows how people are never satisfied. Another might say that it shows the wisdom of moderation in prayer. But … a wiser man might ask whether the Nameless chooses to control the weather based on how many people pray for what. The idea that our prayers can induce the Nameless to behave in a way that fulfills our needs and desires is but another form of Naming … of believing or wanting to believe that we are greater than we are. We are not what we wish or believe ourselves to be. We are what we do. We are the sum total of those acts we do and those we choose not to do…”

  As they walked back toward the Maitre’s house, Aloryana looked to her brother. “You liked Iskhar’s homily, didn’t you?”

  “How could you tell?”

  “You listened, and you nodded.”

  “He had some good things to say, especially about how choosing not to do things is also important.”

  “He didn’t say that. He said that we are what we do and what we don’t do.”

  “It’s the same thing. If we choose not to do something evil or unwise, isn’t that also good?” Especially for a Rex?

  “Maitre Gaellen,” interjected Lystara, “says that’s one of the most important parts of healing—not to do any harm.”

  “Something in common with Rexes,” said Charyn dryly.

  “Charyn,” ventured Aloryana quietly, “did you like any of the women you invited to that dinner party?”

  “I wouldn’t have invited anyone I didn’t like, unless she were someone Ferrand liked, and that wasn’t the case.” Charyn wondered exactly what his sister had in mind, because he only mentioned the dinner party in passing.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Because. That’s why. You shouldn’t be all alone in the Chateau.”

  �
�That’s one reason why I’m here, to be with you.”

  “I’m glad you are, but I want to meet any woman you really like. Promise me that you’ll let me meet anyone you’re thinking about marrying before you ask her.”

  “Aloryana…”

  “Promise me.” Aloryana’s voice was firm.

  Charyn didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. Six months at Imagisle had definitely made Aloryana stronger, and she’d never been shy before. “I promise.”

  “Good. You’ve never broken your word to me.”

  “Was this your idea or someone else’s?”

  “It was mine.” Aloryana smiled. “But I know some other people who’d agree with me.”

  So did Charyn.

  15

  Very early on Lundi morning, Charyn again rode out with a handful of guards to survey the flooded section of L’Excelsis. While the rain had subsided, the standing water had not, and the sky was still cloudy. When he rode out again on Mardi morning, the steamy fog rose off everything, but he was glad to see that the water had receded from most, but not all of the flooded areas. Unfortunately, the waters had also left behind mud, limbs, bushes, and occasional carcasses of various animals, but people were already out and beginning to clean up the mud and debris.

  More than a few looked, at least in passing, at the six riders.

  Once he returned to the Chateau, Charyn left word for Alucar to see him when he arrived, then began to read through Vaelln’s latest report. He’d only gotten to the bottom of the first page when Alucar arrived.

  “You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”

  “I did. I’ve been surveying the damage caused by the flood…”

  “The repairs that you paid for held.”

  “Which shifted the damage downstream. I feel that we should provide some aid to those whose homes and shops were damaged.”

  “There aren’t enough golds in the treasury to recompense a fraction of the damage.”

  “I can’t afford not to do something.”

  “Your Grace … you didn’t cause the rains or the floods.” After a pause, Alucar asked, “What about a notice that all factors and crafters in the flooded area, and only in the flooded area, will have any tariffs owed reduced by half, just for this year?”

  “You’re the one who said we’re short of golds,” Charyn pointed out.

  “We are, but those are future golds, and many of them we would never see because they won’t make enough to pay them in any event.”

  “A seemingly generous offer that isn’t that generous.”

  “You can’t afford a truly generous offer,” countered Alucar.

  “What about giving out food to some of the people? It wouldn’t cost that much.”

  “The moment word gets out, people will swarm from everywhere.”

  Unfortunately, Charyn could see that happening. “Fine. Get me a bag of a hundred silvers.”

  Alucar frowned. “Your Grace?”

  “Please just do it.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Charyn could tell that Alucar was anything but pleased, but he knew he had to do something. After the Finance Minister left, Charyn picked up the latest copy of Tableta, reading the various articles before coming to one on the bottom of the first page.

  Word is that our beloved Rex actually rode out in the rain on Solayi to look over the flooding when the river walls south of the west river piers collapsed. The Rex did pay for repairs to the pier walls earlier this year, to the benefit of factors and certain High Holders. Too bad he couldn’t pay for more to strengthen the walls that failed and didn’t protect flooded out crafters and others less fortunate. He also wasn’t at services Solayi evening, at least not at the Anomen D’Rex. No one expects a Rex to hold back the storms, but you might expect that at least he’d pray for the afflicted.

  Charyn wanted to shake his head. What had he done to merit that sort of personal attack?

  But then, that was yet another reason why he needed to do something.

  A quint later, Moencriff opened the door. He held a leather pouch. “Minister Alucar sent this. He said you’d asked for it.”

  “I did.” Charyn rose from the desk and walked to the study door, where he took the pouch, hearing the sound of silvers against each other. “If you’d convey to Guard Captain Maertyl that I need to make another inspection ride in half a glass, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Moencriff did not hide his puzzlement.

  Charyn walked back to his desk and set the pouch on it, then turned toward the window and the sunlight beyond the glass, thinking how displeased Alucar had seemed. The fact that he hadn’t delivered the silvers personally emphasized that.

  He shook his head, then sat down at the desk and began to write his at-least-weekly letter to his mother. He needed to let her know about the flood, and what Aloryana had said on Solayi, among other things.

  Three quints later, Charyn was once more riding south on L’Avenue D’Commercia. When he and the guards reached the intersection with the road to the Sud Bridge, where the ground sloped down into the flooded area, Charyn signaled them to halt. Then he studied the mud-covered streets and structures to the south, mentally mapping out where he wanted to begin, starting with the side street a block off the West River Road heading south. Most of the buildings fronting the West River Road belonged to factors or more successful crafters, and what he could afford to offer would mean little to them.

  He gestured again and urged the chestnut forward, riding some fifty yards before turning south on the side street. The left side of the street consisted entirely of the rear sections of the larger buildings facing onto the West River Road. The right side held a mixture of small dwellings and shops.

  The first building on the right looked as though it had been abandoned even before the flood, and Charyn rode past it toward the second, a narrow brick dwelling with just a door and single window facing the street. A man not much older than Charyn was sweeping the mud off the low stoop. Charyn rode up close to him and asked, “Is this your dwelling?”

  The man looked up warily, as if to reply angrily, but he paused as he saw the mounted guards behind Charyn. “No one else’d be sweeping out all this swill … sir.”

  “I’m sorry that you have to,” replied Charyn, leaning forward and extending a silver. “I wish I could do more, but I hope this will help. It’s a token of my concern. Please keep word of this to yourself and your family for a few days. Otherwise, I won’t be able to help others.”

  The man looked at the silver in his hand, then at Charyn, taking in the uniform greens, and his face screwed up in puzzlement.

  “I won’t keep you from what you need to do.” Then Charyn urged the chestnut forward, moving toward the next building, where a gray-haired man and a boy were carrying buckets out of the shop, which looked to be a cooperage from the half barrel displayed above the double doors to the shop.

  The man lowered the bucket and watched as Charyn approached.

  “Is this your cooperage?”

  “It is. It was, anyway. Why do you ask?”

  Rather than answer directly, Charyn bent forward in the saddle and handed the cooper a silver. “A token of my concern. Also, your tariffs for this year will be half of last year’s. Please keep this to yourself for a day or so.”

  As he moved on, Charyn could hear the boy ask his father, “Who was that man?”

  He didn’t hear the answer, if there was one.

  Then next dwelling was vacant, or, at least, no one answered when one of the guards rapped on the door.

  In front of the fourth building, a white-haired woman and a small boy were scraping mud off the stoop. A younger woman, if still old enough to be Charyn’s mother, carried out a wooden bucket filled with muddy water and emptied it onto the mud-covered stone pavement, a pavement that had more broken stones than intact ones, at least it seemed that way to Charyn.

  “What are you looking for, dandy-man?” snapped the old woman.

&
nbsp; “For whoever’s house this is,” replied Charyn.

  “It’s mine,” replied the woman with the bucket. “Leastwise, I’m the one paying the rent. What might you be wanting?”

  Charyn eased the mount toward her. “To offer a token of my concern.” He handed her the silver. “I wish it could be more, but there are so many who need assistance.” He straightened in the saddle.

  “Sir…” offered the woman, “Widow Baarlan lives in the next cot. She can’t come to the door.”

  Charyn handed the woman a second silver. “I trust you will give this to her, then.”

  That was a gamble, Charyn knew, but he had the feeling that the woman would do what he hoped. Sometimes, you can only hope.

  “That I will, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you.”

  The house beyond the widow’s had been empty for a time, with no glass in the single window.

  The next building had a basket over a narrow door, and a man and a woman were working hard at scrubbing the mud off the lower bricks. The walk and stoop were already clean, and the door was wide open. From what Charyn could see, the floor beyond the door was already clean.

  The woman looked up at the riders, then gestured to the man. He turned, frowning.

  Charyn beckoned for the man to approach, which the basketmaker did, if gingerly, then tendered the silver with the same words as before.

  “You’re right, sir. It’s only a token. What do you expect in return, Your Grace?”

  “I’m asking nothing. Do you pay yearly tariffs?”

  “After this?”

  “Your tariffs, if you owe anything, will be halved for this year. That’s only for those factors and crafters who were flooded.” Charyn nodded, then eased the chestnut toward the next dwelling.

  He wasn’t looking forward to the next few glasses.

  Charyn’s legs and back were aching when he rode back into the rear courtyard of the Chateau at a quint past fifth glass. He’d seen and smelled more than he’d thought, and he’d given out every single silver.