Beside the tower, the lower, longer stone building of the pfalz proper stood between hay-meadow and gardens of some kind. Gardens? No, Tycho decided as he walked closer, just trees and some plants that appeared to be a garden. Perhaps they had once been, before the emperors retreated to the far north. Given what he now guessed about magic, Tycho wondered if they had left the southern lands before they drained them completely of magic. Or perhaps the northmen had more need of a strong leader's presence. Or perhaps the gods and the emperors had a contract, as sailors and the Lady of Waters. Tycho recognized fruit trees, and what appeared to be a nut tree, and something low and bushy that looked dreadfully like the bitter greens that the physicians averred cleansed one's blood and kidneys. Tycho wrinkled his nose and hoped that the cooks had not discovered the patch.
The main building reminded him of a well-built wares-house, but long rather than tall. The ground level sported small, round windows, and three doors, now open for air and light. The stones had been laid in stripes, light yellow and darker tan, and the masons had carved twining patterns around the doors and windows. The building faced south, probably to catch light and heat in winter. Smoke rose from two chimneys, and he wondered if it had a kitchen inside, or had a separate cooking building, as the old wooden buildings often did. The first floor boasted windows as tall as a man with hundreds of pieces of glass. Truly, the preservation mages must work full time keeping that much glass whole. Or perhaps the court forbade children, careless servants, and growing boys from entering the rooms. That might be easier, Tycho sighed.
"Well met, Master Tycho," a voice called. He turned and saw a messenger approaching. "His Majesty wishes your presence in the summer throne room."
Tycho bowed, winced at the dirt on his boots, and followed the blue and white clad young woman. She wore her hair tied up under a blue head-cover that reminded him a bit of a bag with embroidery around the mouth. Part of him wanted to ask why women other than laundresses and professionals traveled with the court, and the rest of him feared causing an honor offense. As well as things had been going otherwise, he'd probably find himself facing an angry father and two brothers, all determined to avenge the slight. Better not to ask. Tycho wiped his boots on the stone sill, then followed the woman up to the first floor. She stepped aside and a page bowed, opening the door for him. Tycho entered, removed his hat, and went to one knee.
"Rise, Master Tycho, and come here. We need your observations and thoughts." He gulped and creaked a little as he stood, then walked closer to where the emperor sat at the head of a table. Scribes and nobles sat beside him. "You have the most experience of any here in dealing with Liambruu," Emperor Mimir Borghindson began. "We have letters from them that make little sense to us. But our knowledge is perhaps older than is useful. What, to your understanding, has happened south of the Comb in the past ten years?"
Rank folly and pure heresy with a large dose of stupidity for seasoning, or so Tycho thought to himself. Not that his opinion would clarify matters for the emperor. Tycho sorted through his thoughts and impressions before beginning. "Most Imperial Majesty, please understand, I am a merchant and seller of hides, not a diplomat or far-traveler. I can tell you what I know as fact, and what I have heard as rumor, but I have not been south of the Comb since I was on my journey-years, and that only to a port and for a short visit."
"That is better than what we have," the emperor replied, waving a hand at books and letters. He had removed his gloves, and Tycho wondered what caused the scars on both back and fingers. "Bring a seat for Master Tycho, and refreshment."
Tycho sat on a travel stool. A page placed a small table and a large mug of small-beer beside him, bowed, and retreated. Tycho took a deep breath and sent a plea to Maarsrodi that he recall everything in order. He could just see the tip of Hugan's tail flipping back and forth at the edge of the table.
"During my journey years, I was aboard a ship that went as far south as Dimark, on the coast of Liambruu. The king then was, ah," he tried to recall. "Sanhal the Fourth. We traded spices for hides, some cloth but very little and that mostly canvas and heavy-use fabrics, and some furs. They purchased more dried fish than anything, and salt-fish. We saw little magic, and the temple to Maarsdam," Tycho frowned. "Most imperial Majesty, storage sheds in wares-house gardens are larger and finer, more fitting for the Great Traveler than was the temple. Donwah and Korval held pride of place, and a city goddess I do not remember. The wind came from the east, and smelled like hot metal and dust. The food did not agree with me, that I recall clearly." The spices and sharp-sauces had unbalanced his cool, moist nature and he'd needed a week to recover.
Some of the nobles chuckled, but the emperor did not. "Do you recall any magic in use, Master Tycho?"
"Yes, but only in the temples. I saw no mage guild marks, and no mage-lights or evidence of preservation spells in use. The ship's master commented on it, said that we would have to be very careful loading the purchased goods because they lacked spell-protections. Perhaps my memory fails, Imperial Majesty, but I do not recall words said against magic, or the priests insisting that goods be tested for preservation spells. People simply used things other than magic for their purposes. I did not visit a healing center to see if such were true there as well."
The northerners discussed something among themselves, and Tycho stole a sip of the beer. It had preservation herbs in it, sharpening the taste, but clearing his mouth of dust as well. "That matches what we have heard, that the kings tolerated rather than encouraging magic, at least until the current ruler." The emperor made a note on paper, then smoothed his mustache. "What of more recent matters?"
Tycho took a deep breath, then let it out again to gather his thoughts. "Imperial Majesty, trouble began seven years ago, perhaps eight, but most certainly seven. Trade from Liambruu became more difficult, and the king set very high taxes on northern traders who travelled south, enough so that the Five Free Cities stopped sending ships. A few still called at Dimark if storms arose as they returned from Chin'mai, but otherwise all trade passed through Chin'mai first, or Milunis. Merchants from Liambruu did come north, and traded at the trafelds. Even then, far fewer made the journey than in the past, and they kept to themselves, not using the confraternity residences or inns in the merchants' quarters. Seven years ago, I saw two southern merchants during the entire trading season, and they never left the port cities. They sent their goods and coin to the trafelds, but they themselves did not go, and they actually stayed outside the city walls."
One of the nobles, a man with silver hair, frowned. "Why, Master Tycho? Did they fear disease?"
"No, my lord, Imperial Majesty. Magic." Tycho shook his head and waved one hand. "The priests and king had declared all magic anathema. They permitted me to come to their fire, since I am most certainly not a mage and had no charmed or bespelled objects on my person." A cloak with water-away charms in addition to wax and oiling would be nice, but then so would a ten-year tax exemption and a monopoly on shoe-leather, and fish that roasted themselves after you brought them home. "Any object with spells on it had to remain north of the Comb, or onboard ship. All goods had to be inspected for the least taint of magic, and the merchants themselves faced heavy fees to be purified from the corruption of magic." The men of Liambruu could make no profit, Tycho had realized, and he'd wondered why they had even bothered coming north. Now he had a suspicion. "The next year even fewer came, and the Crown failed to pay its bills. All merchants, cities, and even temples refused Liambruu letters of credit. Only good coin, and only letters of credit from known individual merchants who paid half in advance in coin."
"Did you hear any reason why Sanchohaakon forfeited?" The emperor leaned forward, green eyes intent on Tycho, and Hugan's tail twitched faster.
"No, Imperial Majesty." Tycho took another sip of small beer. "Your pardon. The rumors that I remember were," he counted off on his fingers. "A bad harvest had come without warning, that they planned for war and had drained the treasury, that the mines
failed and no more silver or gold emerged from the ground, that the queen had spent the treasury on goods from Chin'mai, and that the king squandered his funds on other things." Tycho shrugged. "All appeared possible, and all men know that the spices and fine fabrics of Chin'mai have led more than one family to bankruptcy."
The emperor's mouth twitched, and he glanced at one of the nobles. The man seemed to be coughing, as if he had inhaled a bug or a swallow of drink. The other nobles winked or looked too grave. So that problem did not confine itself to the southern lands, Tycho guessed. Spices or sheer fabrics? Or those shimmery patterned things that had been fashionable ten years or so ago? Daughter or wife?
"And then?" the emperor prompted, bringing him back to the matter at hand.
"And then, Imperial Majesty, bad coin began appearing just as the northern merchants and cities stopped accepting any credit from Liambruu. You know the rest, about the ah, difficulty Sanchohaakon's ambassador experienced in Milunis." Tycho certainly would not forget it.
"Indeed." A new voice spoke, and a figure emerged from one of the darker corners of the room. Tycho bowed from his seat to the black-clad, hooded figure of the Scavenger's priest. "We," he gestured to himself then out, meaning all clergy, "spread the word to all who would listen. The gods left the world to men for a reason, and wise men do not encourage their return."
"Indeed," the emperor echoed. "The Lady of the North is not a kind mistress for men." he glanced toward Hugan as he spoke, and Tycho wondered if the great cats were the symbol of Sneelah, as rats were the symbol and totem of the Scavenger. Which led to a most irreverent image of Hugan chasing a large rat as the priests arguing over proprieties. Tycho shooed the idea from his mind and begged silent forgiveness for the slight. "What think you of this, Master Tycho?" He held out a document. A page took it and brought it to Tycho.
"I think he pays his scribes too much, Most Imperial Majesty," Tycho stated, squinting at the terrible script. It took several lines before he could puzzle out the words with full confidence. He'd have lodged a complaint with the confraternity if any notary mage or scribe had attempted to foist that scrawl off on him or an associate. The letter appeared to be a threat, and Tycho backed up and began once more.
"To the Northern Emperor, greetings. We, Sanchohaakon, King of Liambruu, Duke of Milunis, Lord of the lands of the Moahne, acknowledge your suzerainty of the northern cities and the lands of snow. We command that all claims to the lands south of the Moahne cease, all monies claimed as taxes be returned to Us, and that the residents of those lands be returned to Us. Our forefathers succored and protected all south of the Moahne, and it is Our right and honor to govern them without challenge.
"Furthermore, We demand that the corruption and evil called magic cease immediately, lest the gods destroy all with fire or ice. If Our requests are not granted and Our cautions are not heeded, the gods will move. Already they have sent their messengers to Us, and We have obeyed their commands.
"We demand restitution for the lives of our ambassador to Milunis and for the lives of the priests slain by foul corruption in Rhonari. We demand blood price, and the lives of those who murdered and damned the speakers for the gods.
"Our army moves to possess and cleanse Our lands. Do not challenge us."
Tycho peered at the seal and signature. Black wax, so that fit, and the emblem resembled those he had seen on true Liambruu coins. The signature could be Sanchohaakon, or it could be a worm that someone had crushed on the page and that had stained the paper. Tycho rubbed the paper between his fingers, noting the rough texture, like cheap leaf-pulp that the men of Chin'mai used for screens and fans. He looked up at the northerners. "Imperial Majesty, the king of Liambruu is not the duke of Milunis, and so the city records show going back to the Great Cold, records I have seen for myself."
Several nobles nodded.
How to ask his question without causing offense? Tycho shifted a little on the stool. "Ah, Most Imperial Majesty, honored Father," he nodded toward the hooded shape lurking off to the side. "How does one damn another, since I take it that the letter does not refer to common epithets and curses one man says to someone who angers him?"
The emperor glanced down at Hugan, then over to the priest. The priest unfolded his arms. "Those south of the Comb have come to believe that working magic, or having magic worked against one, sends the soul to the places of punishment in the same way that murder, rape, and other crimes done deliberately and without repentance do." The voice from the depths of the hood suggested skepticism. "We have not found a reason to change our teachings on the matter. One man cannot damn another, although he may lead someone into damnation by encouraging and tempting to corruption."
Which all men knew. Tycho bowed from his seat toward the priest. "I am curious which messengers of the gods the king of Liambruu means, honored Father, Imperial Majesty. Otherwise, the letter sounds very much apiece with the ultimatum the late ambassador presented to Milunis, and the words of the delegation in Rhonari." He held the document out, and the page collected it and returned it to the emperor.
"So are we," the priest said, then returned to his corner. Something in his voice raised the little hairs on Tycho's neck.
"We have sent word to Milunis, reaffirming our jurisdiction over the city and its lands north of the Comb. We too wonder about the so-called messengers of the gods." The emperor frowned down at another paper. "Given the dearth of magic workers in the southern lands, the call to end magic use appears moot."
"Aye, Imperial Majesty. The corrupted grain killed so many that it is a wonder any lived to work at all."
The emperor inhaled, green eyes flashing with anger. "And those who survived remain weaker than before, crippled in endurance. Liambruu owes far more blood and honor price to the people of the empire than the empire owes for the lives of the false priests."
And that, Tycho decided, was why the cities preferred the Great Northern Emperor to any other overlord. He would take care of his people, and then leave them alone.
"So, after the days of rest, we will continue south. And we request your counsel, Master Tycho. You will travel in with our party from this point on."
That did not please Tycho so greatly. But he bowed even so.
5
Rumors from the South
As Tycho went to find supper late that afternoon, he observed a new addition to the grounds of the pfalz. Eight poles now stood fifty feet or so back from the road, neatly smoothed and roughly fifteen feet tall. A human head capped each pole. The birds had not yet found the heads, or were perhaps biding their time until the imperial Procession moved on and they could eat in peace with fewer observers. Tycho shrugged. Waste of good, straight timber, but it would perhaps deter the light-fingered and foolish for a season or so. Perhaps.
After supper, Tycho joined the guards as they worked. The morning practices appeared to be primarily instruction for the younger men, and Tycho preferred not to deal with the eager and energetic before his body finished waking. He'd brought both staff and sword, and at the sergeant's nod, he put the sword on and released the peace-tie. He needed to practice staff while wearing the sword, because if he forgot that it hung in his way, well...
After warming his muscles, Tycho accepted a set of lightly padded practice armor and faced off with an older guard. The other man used a pike staff, heavier and longer than Tycho's merchant's staff. That gave him the advantage, but it also slowed his ability to reposition and redirect after a blow. They began with basic attacks and blocks, and Tycho saw that the guardsman rarely struck low. That made sense for a pike-man—his task was to pierce attackers at a distance. Pikes swung low tended to tangle unless they all moved at the same time and same speed. Tycho had seen it work exactly once, and that during practice. Getting under the heavy pike would not be easy, since the guard could just let go and drop the thing onto Tycho's head or shoulder. Instead Tycho waited until the man lunged forward in a stabbing block. Tycho scuttled forward, bringing the staff's iron-shod end
down on the man's shoulder. He pull the blow enough that it would count, but not hurt so much as to cause serious injury. Then he hurried back and to the side, glancing that way for other combatants.
"Heh." The sergeant smiled, or at least half of his mouth lifted. "An that's why a pike-man on his own uses a sword or ax, Otto."
Otto mouthed something Tycho suspected was not complimentary.
"This is what you do." The sergeant hefted a staff almost the same size as Tycho's but thicker, and raised it. Tycho mirrored him and they tapped staves, backed apart, and then began. The sergeant had youth and larger shoulders to his advantage. Tycho relied on experience and dirty tricks. He managed to knock the sergeant off his feet once, and the sergeant returned the favor by getting into Tycho's defenses and tapping him on the top of the head, hard enough to sting through the padded hood. "Enough," the sergeant called, and Tycho stopped his own blow. They touched staves again and left the practice area to others.
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