“I will try to remember how, for your sake and your sake alone. I will remember the winter nights when there was no rank, the hard battles when we were brothers. I will remember the camaraderie we shared in the Ravenspine Mountains, how we trusted one another with our lives and shared our meals as we shared our fates.” A shadow passed across the lord’s eyes, one that Raelyn recognized well. “Yes, I will remember, my friend. You deserve as much.
“Now go,” he said, his words entreating rather than commanding. “Go and prepare yourself. This is important to you and me both. It’s important that you look like my man this evening.” He paused and reached out, placing his hand on Raelyn’s arm. “I am taking a risk in this. Not in trusting you, but in my belief that your service in this will win you back into the good graces of the other lords and chambermen of the city. If this goes poorly, your situation will not change; but my judgment will be called into question. I do this because, in spite of what you may think, I have always considered you a friend.”
“I won’t fail you in this,” Raelyn said as he rose. “I won’t fail either of us in this. I’ll learn what I can, what Corlwyn may not be able to. And with Moradarn at our side we may discover who was responsible for this and why, so that you don’t have to worry, for any reason.” Lord Perinor stood, clasping his forearm with a smile.
“Godspeed to you, man,” he said, the warmth evident in his tone. “See Drian about the livery. He’ll see you well outfitted. And be careful about with whom you speak. We do not yet know the reason behind this murder, and I can trust only you.”
Raelyn smiled at Lord Perinor and bowed his head slightly, a gesture of familiarity rather than formality. Lord Perinor returned the nod, still smiling. He turned to go, crossing the garden courtyard to the small passage that was the only exit. And a chill came over him, for only an instant, his instincts speaking to him in their familiar tongue. Something bodes ill of all of this, he thought. He just couldn’t tell what it was.
Chapter Three
Raelyn had stayed in Lord Perinor’s city manor in the Nobles’ District, telling Drian that it was far too long a walk to make it to his apartment and back in time for the meeting at Lord Elotarn’s estate in the Garden District. The servants of the house helped him with a room and a bath, as well as a clean change of clothes. He had eaten and drunk, and was feeling much better than he had in the morning, the previous night’s punishment settling its score with time. He had also shaved, and was looking at his reflection in the fine glass mirror above the dresser in one of the guest chambers.
At thirty four, he still maintained the fit condition of his youth, the later years adding muscle rather than fat. He was a couple inches taller than most Oervan men, standing five foot ten, but his broad chest and thick arms gave him the appearance of being larger than he was. Daily exercise and a life of swordplay had kept his body strong and toned, and he still moved with the casual grace and confidence of youth. His dark blond hair was streaked with grey now, but he kept it tied back with a leather thong in the fashion of young men, and his hazel eyes were bright when not sodden with drink. A burgundy tabard with the crest of the family Altorin draped over a sleeveless linen shift. A pair of dark grey breeches and comfortable boots with a soft sole and hard heel, good for fighting on any but the most treacherous terrain, completed the uniform. He searched for a word to describe his appearance, before settling on one that fit: Professional. It made him chuckle to himself.
He prepared himself to leave, strapping on the leather belt that held his sword and dagger, and slipping a small blade into the side of his boot, where it was not likely to be seen unless sought for. He took his rings off, putting them in a small pouch that he tucked into his breeches to deter would-be thieves. It’s a fool who fights with rings on, he thought, recalling once when he witnessed a man lose his grip on a blade for wearing too many. And he placed around his neck his amulet of Thelorin, the god of protection, kissing the steel disk and slipping it under his shift to warm against his chest. With one last glance in the mirror, he was ready to go.
The manor was busy with activity as he made his way down the stairs, walking to the great hall. Servants who were used to seeing him unshaven and in his cups paused for a second glance, many of them bowing as he walked by. He chuckled when one maid of the house did so, turning her eyes down. He could swear that he saw a blush light on her cheeks.
The lord was not yet in the great hall, but Drian was, observing the movements of the household staff. His clever eyes took everything in, including Raelyn’s entrance, to which he nodded his head and smiled. He also wore a tabard with the house crest, prepared to accompany the lord on his trip. It was seldom that the lord traveled without his seneschal since he had returned from the war seven years ago.
Raelyn approached Drian, and the two took one another in. Drian looked like any other Slovani: short and slight with fine features, mischievous dark eyes, and pale skin. He was only an inch or two over five feet with narrow shoulders and hips, and hands so delicate that they looked like they would break if put to any hard use. On any other race those features would look womanly, Raelyn thought with a smile. His straight black hair was cropped short and clean, as was every Slovani resident of the city, it seemed. It’s no wonder that only one Oervan out of a score can tell two Slovani men apart.
“You look good, very well kempt,” Drian said with a smile as he reached for Raelyn’s hand. They shook in the Slovani manner, with hands instead of forearms, a soft clasping rather than a firm shake. Raelyn smiled in return. He had many friends of the small boned race, and had become accustomed to their soft manners and mild customs.
“Thank you, Restol Drian,” he replied, switching to the Slovani tongue and addressing him in the Slovani custom, his house name first. He had learned the language well enough on campaign, although he could neither read nor write its difficult script. He took every opportunity he could to practice the nuances, and he had become familiar with the peculiarities of dealing with the Slovani that had moved to Galavan’s Port from far-off Mitigol. “You did a good job at finding clothes that flatter me. I have to say, it’s more a credit to Lord Perinor’s tailor than to my own breeding if I look fit to accompany you tonight.”
Drian’s smile broadened to a grin, nodding his approval at Raelyn’s pronunciation and tone, both of which were important in conveying respect and an understanding of relative station in society. Raelyn was speaking to Drian as an equal, and of an intermediate familiarity. It was appropriate, Raelyn thought, and Drian’s response seemed to confirm his feelings.
The two spoke in Slovani for a few minutes, Raelyn stumbling through some of the more difficult sentences, and then Lord Perinor came down to join them. Accompanying him was Jethu, the head of the guardsmen in the lord’s house and the lord’s personal bodyguard. Jethu was built like a bear, tall and broad and hairy, and had come into their company just before the campaign in the mountains had ended. He had a wide, easy grin, and the hazel eyes typical of most Oervan. He greeted Raelyn warmly, clapping him on the back in a hug.
“It’s good to see you back, Rae.” Jethu was never formal, especially not with Raelyn. “I hear you’re going to be hanging around a bit, no?”
Raelyn smiled at the easy friendship. I miss this. The camaraderie, the jokes, the feeling of brotherhood. Why do I stay away? “Yeah, Jethu, for a little while. Until this business with Aertis is sorted out. With any luck it will be a run-of-the-mill murder and tucked away quick, and then you won’t have to bother with me but weekly for drill with your men.”
“I don’t hope so. I could use you around. My men think I’m too soft on them; they don’t take me seriously when I try to give them lessons. And with Borin and Shandan leaving, all I got left is whelps! You’re the only thing that scares ‘em straight anymore.” Raelyn knew it was false modesty on Jethu’s part. He had a reputation for making his men fearless and loyal, just as he was.
“Well, I’ll speak to Lord Perinor,” Raelyn replied, a g
limmer of amusement in his eye. “If you’re not up for it and I do such a good job of it as you say, maybe I’ll have a chance at a good position in the house.”
Jethu laughed at the jest, and quipped back, “Oh, I don’t think so, Rae. I don’t think we could keep your hours; most soldiers need to be up before noontime to stay in shape, and they certainly don’t need anyone to encourage them to go out drinking and whoring any more than they do! They’re well paid, but not well enough to keep up with your pace!” The jest was good natured, and Raelyn took no offense, although he felt a little sting from the truth of it.
The four men moved out to the gate, where a pair of pages were waiting with the horses. It was a short walk across the Wisteria Bridge to Lord Elotarn’s manor, but Lord Perinor preferred to ride. He bred horses at his summer estate in Weddleton and was often eager to put them on display. The sky was still bright although the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the air was clear and cool. A breeze was blowing in from the bay, bringing a salty tang with it and drawing the afternoon heat off of the city. Lamplighters had begun their work, filling and lighting the oil lamps that lined the streets of the Nobles’ and Garden Districts and would keep the paths light until the second hour past midnight. At this time of night most of the city was safe. Raelyn surveyed the wide, clean streets with their even cobblestones as they made their way down the gentle slope of the hill on their way down to the Alewine. In an hour the streets of the Wharf District would become dangerous, but here Perinor could ride all night unmolested. Raelyn noticed two members of the Watch walking toward them, making way for the horses. They nodded their heads and smiled to the party as they passed, greeting Lord Perinor by name. In other parts of the city you would have looked at us like villains. Why does everyone expect that men of wealth and power are of noble character? I’ve met as many men I’d trust with my life who are poor as who are rich.
The party arrived at the wide stone expanse of the bridge, whose arches rose high above the dark water below. The shadows were long in the evening, and the path of the River Road below was obscured by night, although the high road above was clearly lit by the lamps and what little sunlight remained. Traffic across the bridge was light, mostly people out for an evening walk. Ancient wisteria vines climbed up the sides of the arches, their tangles leafy for the season, and the smell of their small lavender flowers wafted like a perfume over the river water that ran below. Raelyn had been here many times in his life, mostly for festivals, when the common folk would line the River Road below as gaudily decorated barges floated down the Alewine, their costumed riders throwing candy to children and waving to people as they looked on and cheered. He had climbed the ancient vines when he was young, proving his young mettle against the fairy stories of the Bridge Goat and the fear of falling into the water or onto the stones below.
They crossed into the Garden District, through the ornate iron gate that stood at the other side of the bridge. The boulevard sloped down , the ground having been built up less on this side of the river, and branched off to both sides towards the large estates that lined the river and surrounded the public gardens of the district. People were less in evidence here, with the district closing to commoners at nightfall; nobody molested a High Lord of the City, though, and the guards bowed deeply to Lord Perinor as they passed. The trees and hedges of the district obscured the sky, and the lamplight gave the streets a magical quality, as if being on a forest path. Raelyn instinctively pricked up at the sounds and sensations around him, conditioned from long years of fighting Coscan raiders in ambush in the foothills of the Ravenspine.
Jethu pulled his horse up to his, catching his eye. “Relax, Rae,” he said, his voice too low for Lord Perinor or Drian to hear. “It’s the Garden District. There aren’t any enemies out here tonight, just lords and merchants and their men. Look around; nobody’s out but emissaries and guards.”
Raelyn forced himself to relax, smiling to Jethu. He’s right, he thought, suddenly embarrassed by his wariness in the most well-protected area of the city. These aren’t the mountains of the Vashtik States. There are no lurking raiders, no army patrols. He quieted his breathing, relaxed in the saddle. He realized with a bit of surprise that he had seldom been back to the Garden District upon returning to Galavan’s Port, and almost never after dark. He had once loved its meandering streets, full of the sounds of nature, but his time spent in campaign had conditioned him to see menacing ambushes around every curve, in every bush.
Lord Elotarn’s manor was a sprawling complex on the river dominated by a large stone wall. The pages went ahead to announce their arrival, and they were met by two men on horseback, personal guard of the high lord. He clung to the old ways, still employing a large retinue for his household and living like a lord of Orevanthar on his estate. His grounds were easily defended, with a gatehouse and portcullis, in the unlikely event of an invasion that sacked the city. Raelyn shook his head to himself at the expense of it; none in the city but old Lord Elotarn could afford to keep such a household, although he couldn’t imagine how the lord could earn an income that would be great enough. His staff was said to be among the most well paid in the city, and loyal as a result.
The four men dismounted, turning their horses over to the pages. The main house was fashioned as a smaller version of an Orevanthar castle, its stone towers rising high above the courtyard. It was one of the tallest structures in the city, although there were those that rose higher on the hills of the Nobles’ District, and the tops of its towers were visible to ships coming into port. Lord Elotarn’s family had dwelled in this castle for over a century, and the blue pennants and tiles that marked its roof stood in contrast to the red clay tiles that dominated the city, bearing witness to a time when Galavan’s Port was considered the first city of the newly born Kingdom of Shaelwyn, before she had declared her independence. The gardens of the estate were older than the Rolin family’s claim to the land, with ancient oak and willow trees lining the bank of the river. It was a source of pride to the family and the city that this edifice remained, untouched by conflict or civil unrest.
A servant led them through the inner gatehouse and into the great hall, where the Lord Elotarn was waiting in his chair at the head of the table that dominated its center. A sumptuous feast was laid out on the great table—whole red snapper roasted with lemon and dill, dishes of mussels steamed in wine and garlic, deep sea crabs and cold water lobster with crocks of drawn butter on their platters. The bounty of the sea, Raelyn thought; a traditional Oervan feast. Lord Elotarn wants to remind us all that we’re here as guests of the wealthiest and most powerful man in the city. He’s turned a simple meeting of peers into something rivaling a wedding feast.
A herald announced their arrival: “Lord Elotarn Rolin, First High Lord of Galavan’s Port, I present to you High Lord Perinor Altorin of Galavan’s Port, his seneschal Drian Restol of Mitigol, his captain Jethu Carbo of Holdwood, and his master at arms Raelyn Leithstrom of Galavan’s Port.” Lord Elotarn rose in welcome, smiling as Lord Perinor crossed the hall to meet him and clasp his wrist in greeting.
“Welcome to my home, Lord Perinor.” His words were formal, as was his stature, but Raelyn could see the familiar camaraderie enjoyed by the men. “Have your men supped? None may enter my hall hungry lest they leave it sated.” The welcome was as familiar as it was old. Lord Perinor went to the head of the table to sit with Lord Elotarn, while the rest of his coterie were seated near the end of the table. One of the servants offered them their choice among the numerous platters of food, and they were brought flagons of ale and honeyed wine.
Raelyn ate little and drank less, resisting the temptation of the ale. He wanted to be able to take in everything around him. Jethu held no such compunctions, however, and immediately started devouring everything within arm’s reach, downing his first flagon of ale in one long draught. Jethu looked over at Raelyn, grinning. “You should have some of this, Rae,” he said with a smile. “When’s the next time you’ll get the chanc
e to have spider crab?” Raelyn chuckled, in spite of the situation. It was impossible to be tense with Jethu around.
The high lords were not yet all assembled. He looked at Lord Elotarn down the length of the table. “He looks old,” he said to Jethu under his breath. The First High Lord’s hair had all gone white. He was in his late sixties, and his beard and long hair looked wispy in his age. His eyes still looked sharp, though, and the tone of command was still in his voice, and Raelyn did not doubt that he was still the lord of the estate.
To his left hand sat a Slovani woman in a fine silk gown of blue and black, colors matching the livery of the Rolin household. Raelyn didn’t recognize her. “Who’s that?” he asked Jethu.
Jethu’s mouth was full of grouper, but he replied anyway. “Illia Katest,” he said, putting her given name before her family name. “She’s been Lord Elotarn’s consort for a while now. All of a sudden she’s being treated like the lady of the house.” He took a swallow of ale. “I hear she’s pregnant. He’ll probably marry her so the kid’ll be an heir, though it’ll make a bunch of people mad.” He gave Raelyn a sly look. “Of course, you’d probably know that if you hadn’t been hiding under a rock the past couple of years.”
Raelyn chuckled. “Sure, Jethu. Laugh about it all you want.” He considered Illia for a moment. “She’s lovely enough, and it’s not surprising he’s taken a Slovani consort again. I think they’ve all been Slovani since Lady Selice died, right?”
Jethu shrugged. “He does like the Slovani women,” he agreed.
Raelyn looked to Lord Elotarn’s right, where the First High Lord’s eldest son was sitting. “How do you think Teoryn feels about that?” he asked Jethu.
Erosan's Tears Page 3