“Ah, yes, the king. Then you will need the red-and-grey.”
Bem extended his hand. “I have the message here.”
“Although I am loyal to the king and nobles of Lornwater, my saptors require feed and training. It takes time and money.”
Offering his free hand, Bem opened it to show two shining coins. “Enough?”
“It will do.”
By now Bem’s eyes had grown accustomed to the poor light in the loft. The saptorman was hunchbacked, his prominent nose curved like a beak, and his eyes were black, glinting. He’d heard how these gifted men readied their birds, but had never witnessed it. A saptorman can mentally influence the female saptor, imparting a specific visual destination. The most skilled saptormen can visualise several cities. He had heard it whispered, however, that elite saptormen can visualise secret destinations, such as royal or noble lofts.
Now, the old hunchback bowed towards the saptor and gently pressed his forehead against the creature’s crest. The bird flinched a couple of times, its wings flapping, and then it settled.
Despite his blood-thirsty calling, Bem was touched by the loyalty of these avians: the female carried the message and the male flew alongside her, to protect her against any predatory birds or other creatures. He wondered if it would take an arrow in its mate’s stead.
The message was fitted to the metal clasp on the saptor’s leg. Of neccessity, the message for the queen had to be brief.
The saptorman opened the window and in an instant, with the flick of wings, the two saptors flew out, heading ranmeron, towards Lornwater’s saptorcote tower.
***
Fourth Sapin of Juvous
Goldalese
The day after the tournament, there were a lot of thick heads, mostly from booze and blows, though Aurelan Crossis suspected uncharitably that some were due to inheritance. Still, they were keen to break camp and move on. Idle soldiers meant trouble. Keep them moving – or fighting – that was the best remedy for them.
As he’d mentioned on arrival that he was following the Lord-General’s caravan, he led his troops in that direction until undulating hills hid them from view from even the city’s tallest buildings; then he wheeled right, heading ranmeron. Whispers began soon afterwards.
Crossis wondered how many of his men would prove loyal once they comprehended his purpose.
“Why are we going to Lornwater?”
“Aurelan runs this show. We go where he says. That’s the deal we signed up for!”
“The money’s good, so I’m not complaining!”
“What’s the captain of the palace guard doing leading us? Shouldn’t he be in the palace?”
“Someone says he’s deserted…”
“No, not Aurelan. He’s no traitor.”
“There’s trouble in the three cities – and more if we get there!”
“Trouble’s what we’re about; we’re fighters, ain’t we?”
When they bivouacked that night, Aurelan told them a little more. “I intend to camp on the manderon side of Saloar Teen, near Dhur Bridge. There, other detachments will join us.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” said Bem, “but are we waiting for something to happen?”
“You could say that,” Aurelan replied.
“He just did,” added Hun.
After the laughter died down, Aurelan said, “We wait until a messenger bird arrives from Lord Tanellor.”
***
Nemond palace, Old City, Lornwater
Using a key that dangled from a thin chain round her neck, Nemond Tantian opened the treasury door and entered. Using a torch from the outside corridor, she lit the room’s wall sconces; they illuminated the shelves on three sides, each crammed with gold ornaments, statues, stacked ingots and trays of coin. In the centre of the room was a table, which held a set of scales, weights, an open parchment book and three bags of gold, deposited earlier by the family’s trusted treasurer. She studied the accounts book and verified the sums, the next payment to the troops of the first, ninth and twelfth toumens. Carefully, she weighed each bag and confirmed it with the scrawled column of figures in the book. Then she lit a long spill from the nearest sconce, melted wax over the seal of the first bag and impressed her signet ring on the molten wax. It quickly hardened, sealed; she repeated the process with the other two bags.
Before leaving, she doused the lights.
As she locked the door, she fumbled with the key and knew why. She was still distressed over Thand’s state of health. Would he ever be fit to rule? His damnable mother thought so, but was she rational? Thought of that woman made her nervous.
She retired to her room, shut the door and crossed over to the window.
Below spread the palace gardens. She wondered how much longer she could cope with Thand’s waywardness. The lush foliage reminded her of those days long ago when she had been the lover of Launette, the Lord-General, when they had cavorted in the gardens of his family demesne. That was before Aniri captured his heart; before Tantian was betrothed to Thand. She truly envied Aniri.
***
First Sabin of Fornious
Jahdemor Fane, Lornwater
Ranell stood with Lorar and Baron Laan to the right of the dais. The noise of the first day of the Kcarran carnival outside was a dim hubbub; a reminder that the majority of the populace in this sector defied the edict of the king. Ranell scanned the faces of all those gathered and it was clear that they considered this meeting was a momentous occasion. A few admitted in whispers that it was also controversial.
Hansear Mowensar, Master Goldsmith, was elected Great Gildmaster in place of Fascar Dak who had been killed in the massacre.
He glanced to the left side and noticed Olelsang watching the new incumbent. If he didn’t know better, Ranell fancied he noted chagrin evident on Olelsang’s features; surely the man had never contemplated taking the place of Fascar Dak?
For his first role as the new Master, Hansear Mowensar declared that the populace assembled here must swear allegiance to Haltese.
Murmurs rose from the rear, and a couple of accolytes next to Olelsang mumbled.
“We must build a strategy,” the Master Goldsmith declared. “My prayer is to minimise the loss of life – on both sides.”
“Why should we get involved in a family squabble?” asked one man.
“Because that family is the royal line of Lornwater!” another snapped.
Mowensar held up his hands in a placatory gesture. “We have assurances that the Royal Prince will repeal his father’s strict edicts. If we show force and will against the king, his troops will see sense and come over to our side.”
“Yes, only in your dreams!”
“You’re one to talk about fighting against the king, but I don’t see you carrying a weapon!”
“If you won’t swear allegiance,” said Mowensar, “then the king will prevail and your lives will be grimmer than before, you know this.”
Baron Laan stepped forward. “I have assurances, as our Master Goldsmith states. I simply await your declaration and then I will send a message to the Daen toran.” He scanned the assembly. “Well, what is it to be? Capitulation or revolt?”
“Revolt!” shouted someone at the back.
An instant later, there were shouts from almost everyone: “Revolt!” There was an undercurrent of laughter too.
Laan nodded grimly. “Very well; but remember, this is a gravely serious matter. I will despatch a messenger at once.”
He descended from the dais. People shuffled aside to make way for him as he strode purposefully to the door.
Once outside, he beckoned to the waiting messenger who stood by his horse. “We have our answer,” Laan said.
The messenger responded, “Aye, sir.”
Laan threw him a small pouch of chinking coins. “Take care, adherents of the king will be lurking about the roads. Deliver your message directly into the Prince’s hands. He’s waiting.”
Mounting, the messenger said, �
��I will, sir.” He eased his horse round and rode in the direction of the gate.
For better or worse, the die was cast. Laan turned on his heel and walked to the nearest Open House.
***
New City, Lornwater
On their way over the Old Drawbridge, Lord Tanellor and Sergeant Bayuan Aco passed into sector fourteen. They had no wish to be observed talking in the Old City; besides, that city offered no inns; and an inn was preferable to the upmarket saloons of the Second City. Here, both observed the city-dwellers’ disregard for the king’s edict.
They passed stalls offering sweet-meats sizzling in wide pans, frothy ale and strange varieties of smoke-weeds.
“I’m surprised,” said Bayuan. “Flouting the law like this.” He licked his lips as they walked past a stall offering juicy steaks.
“I suspect the watchmen are trying to keep a lid on the discontent.” Tanellor nodded at a tall beak-nosed watchman pacing at the end of the street, recognising him as Welde Dep, who seemed out of place here as he was a special investigations man; another was visible on the rooftop to their left.
He knew Welde, a dedicated investigator who helped establish the city’s Special Investigation Branch in 2039. Behind those close-set dark brown eyes lay a cunning intelligence, he knew. The man’s left ear had been sliced off, only a grisly pit in its place, remaining uncovered by long black hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore a black beard and moustache. His plaid cloak was draped over his shoulder to reveal a leather hauberk impressed with three metal discs, his badge of office. The crown of his bronze helm showed an open eye.
A man in the garb of king’s ostler was arguing with a trader. “You dare to defy our liege – and charge the earth for your wares as well! It’s criminal.” He beckoned to Watchman Welde. “Hey, come here, I want to make an official complaint! This bandit’s trying to rob me!”
Welde Dep sauntered over. “What’s the trouble, then?”
The ostler snarled, jabbed a finger at the tradesman. “He’s charging twice what his produce is worth! He’s a robber!”
Good-naturedly, Welde Dep folded his arms across his chest. “There’s no law against that, sir. You’re not being forced to buy from him, are you?”
“He shouldn’t be here anyway! The king forbids it!” The ostler shoved both hands forcefully against the stall and it wobbled, and various items fell to the ground.
“Hey, leave off!” shouted the trader.
“Sir, desist,” Welde said, “you’re damaging this trader’s property!”
The ostler kicked at the stall and it collapsed. “He’s defying the edict!” He gestured at the other stall holders. “All of them are!” The trader leaped over his fallen stall and grappled the ostler to the ground.
“Break it up, there!” shouted Welde Dep.
Bayuan grabbed the collar of the trader and yanked him off the ostler. Welde Dep snapped a metal cuff on the ostler. “Thanks for the help.”
“You’re arresting the wrong person, Watchman. The ostler is in the right.”
“I have my orders, Sergeant, and it’s to maintain the peace. Not start a riot!”
Bayuan shoved the trader at the watchman. “Arrest them both, then!”
“Very well, I shall.” Welde Dep released another metal cuff and clamped it on the trader’s wrist; now the two disgruntled men were attached. The watchman turned to the milling crowd. “Get back to your business. There’s nothing to see now!”
“What about my stall?” the trader wailed.
Welde Dep raised a whistle to his lips.
Shortly, two watchmen ran up to them.
“Clear away this mess,” Welde told his fellows. “Impound the lot as evidence.”
“No, you can’t do that!” the trader shouted.
The ostler snickered. “That’ll teach you to rob your customers!”
Welde clipped the ostler about the ear. “And you’ll be charged with criminal damage and causing an affray, to start with. If you don’t shut up, more charges will be forthcoming!”
The ostler scowled but kept his mouth shut.
Tanellor and Bayuan left and made their way to the second of two Open House inns in this sector.
***
Smoke from mindsaur pipes created a heavy fug in the Open House. In a shadowy corner sat Olelsang and opposite him lounged Badol Melomar. Badol stroked his swallowtail beard. “This information is valuable. But are you sure?”
“An uprising is imminent,” Olelsang said. “We need to take sides, and prepare to pick up the pieces and jostle for a good position afterwards.”
Badol grinned, revealing sharp pointed teeth. “If you’re right, then I see this as a great opportunity to take over the Red Tellar Inn in the ensuing chaos.”
“That interfering innman and his offspring should be dealt with, I agree. Ulran seems to wield more power than any gildsman.”
“I know. He has the ear of several nobles – and certain gildsmen.” Badol scowled. “I had thought Ulran would already have been dealt with on the road, actually. But my spies tell me my underling failed; they came upon his headless corpse this morning. They couldn’t find his head anywhere.”
Olelsang shuddered. “No matter. Ulran has left the Red Tellar in the hands of his son. A boy shouldn’t prove too difficult to deal with, no?”
“I wouldn’t underestimate him. But I will see what I can do; I have a few suitable contacts.”
***
Some distance from Olelsang’s table sat Lord Tanellor with Sergeant Bayuan Aco; he idly watched the motley crowd as they drank and gambled at various tables. Bayuan was poor company, but he felt obliged to buy the man a drink in an attempt to remove the bilious taste of all those corpses at the mine.
While Bayuan drained his mug and chatted with a harlot on his left, Tanellor scanned the room and then stopped, noticing Baron Laan ensconced in a corner stall. What was he doing here? Slumming it, wasn’t he? Laan sat with a lithe man of weathered complexion; someone not of the baron’s class, his clothing quite garish: crimson padded trunks and doublet slashed to display gaudy padding underneath. A knife glinted at his belt. The man’s nose was flat and wide, his hair flint-coloured; his mouth was narrow with a jutting jaw. Judging by the body language of the pair, they were conducting some kind of secret assignation. Interesting. Tanellor wondered what was being said.
Tanellor was still furious with the king over the Oxor mine disaster. He would feel better about it on the morrow, perhaps.
Baron Laan got to his feet and bowed slightly to the other man, then headed for the door.
Tanellor decided to have a word with the baron. He glanced at the sergeant.
Bayuan seemed content to stay with the harlot, allowing her to drape an arm over his shoulder while he supped.
Standing, Tanellor excused himself. “I’ll speak to the king tomorrow,” he said and left two coins for another drink.
Tearing his eyes away from the woman, Bayuan touched his forelock. “Aye, sir.” The harlot giggled and snuggled up to the sergeant.
Well, Tanellor mused, I almost envy the man. Tonight he’ll have a woman to bed, while I won’t. As Duke of Oxor, and a powerful lord, he could have the pick of almost any woman; save one, the one he loved. Try as he might, he couldn’t rid his heart and mind of her. Yet she truly loved her husband, the king. His love for Queen Jikkos must remain unrequited – at least until the king’s downfall. He must try to protect her and then, perhaps, he dared to hope, he might win her heart.
***
As soon as Lord Tanellor left the inn, Bayuan stood up, straightened his clothes and pushed aside the woman’s hand. He thumbed at the coins on the table: “Your payment.” He moved away from the table, ignoring the harlot’s harsh comments that her company was worth more than that. “Think yourself fortunate I let you live to spend it! Now, slink away, before I lose my temper! I have urgent business in the palace.”
His ire was up, and she must have detected the steely glint in his eyes. She
backed away, scooping the money into her hand. Slowly, she moved towards the bar.
On his way to the door, he heard the harlot’s curses. She’d shame many a soldier with her coarse language.
Once outside he walked towards the Old Drawbridge and mulled over what he’d overheard in the Oxor mining shed.
First, he would seek the queen. She was very protective of her husband. His information might be worth early promotion.
The guards at the palace gave him access without demur since the status of palace guards was high, higher than most officers in the toumen. But it was too late. Her lady-in-waiting advised him that her mistress had retired for the night. He would have to request audience with the queen tomorrow. “First thing?” he suggested.
“Yes, my mistress will see you then.” She pointed to an arched doorway. “Be here at first light and wait in the ante-chamber. Her majesty will summon you.”
“Thank you.” He pivoted on his heel, cursing his stupidity. As a sergeant of the palace guard, he knew he had easy access. But he hadn’t given any thought to the time.
His truckle bed in the barracks attached to the palace beckoned. Now, he regretted his hasty dismissal of that harlot.
***
Lord Tanellor walked hurriedly about twenty paces behind Baron Laan. “Baron, wait,” he called, “might I have a word?”
Laan stopped and turned round, his cloak swept over his shoulder, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. Then he visibly relaxed. “Lord Tanellor, what brings you here?”
“I have but recently returned from Oxor mines. The carnage was dreadful. I needed a drink to wash away the raw memory. And what about you? I can’t be sure but I think I’ve seen that gaudily clad companion of yours before.”
“You might have, though he tends to keep to himself. We had state business to discuss.”
“Really? And your colourful friend just happens to be useful with a sword, is that it?”
“What do you mean, Lord Tanellor?”
“Don’t fence with me, Baron. I’ve remembered who the man is, what he does. And I know your true allegiance…”
Stepping into the shadows, Laan said, “Let us discuss this away from prying eyes. I do believe we have our sights set on the same objective.”
Floreskand_King Page 8