Not long now, he thought. It will be good to behold the city again. And to hold Aniri in his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LINEAGE
“All life is death.”
- The Xadra of Quotamantir
Second Durin of Fornious
Lornwater
Baron Laan led his horse through the ranmeron gate and was given leave to pass by the fourth toumen, as he showed forged papers and explained he was on his way to the Daen estate and Prince Haltese. The foresters assumed that the king’s son was loyal to his father; in an orderly world, that might be the case, he mused, but not now.
As he mounted and rode on, carrying the fourth toumen’s emblem of safe passage through the forest, he prayed that the messenger should have reached Haltese’s generals by now; they should be in readiness. The tenth and eleventh toumens must be assembled to ride on Lornwater, if Haltese was ever to wrest the throne from his father.
His heart swelled at the thought of being reunited with Jaora again. He had no qualms about her liaison; Haltese would abide by propriety and not flaunt her in public as his mistress – at least not while he merely aspired to be king.
An exciting frisson traced his flesh as he rode. Jaora had said more than once that he was a more accomplished lover than the prince, some thirty-five years his junior. Experience outweighed youth every time.
***
Endawn
Lord-General Yordine Launette sensed warmth radiate from his chest as dawn light reflected off the multi-hued stone walls of the city. He owned to having a great affection for the city.
Endawn’s structure differed from Lornwater’s in many ways. The streets and avenues were not in a grid pattern, but rather haphazard. Launette believed they would pose more of a hindrance to invaders who penetrated the city walls; it was harder to negotiate a rabbit warren than pristine straight streets. Its walls were built using stone quarried from the Flah rift that sliced into Forshnorer forest. Sunlight glinted on the striations of compacted rock. Where the city of Goldalese boasted an attractive ochre stone, Endawn trumpeted a faceted rainbow that seemed to have emerged from some fantasy. Particularly now, he thought, as the sun’s rays dissipated the morning dew, sending a wafting miasma of mist that curled round the base of the city.
Over to the mandunron side of the city were hundreds of tents; a contingent from his fourteenth toumen bivouacked under the generalship of cousin Bilorn. Like all city state royalty, old King Asselan Dahl Treyan IV of Endawn did not welcome any toumen past his walls. The contingent was sufficient force for ceremonial and protection duties for the duration of the wedding preparation and the actual nuptials. King Asselan was content to see them camped outside, however, and welcomed the trade they brought.
Launette was looking forward to seeing his wife and son. Aniri and Lahaltz had travelled ahead months earlier to make initial preparations. The recent proximity of death made him value Aniri more than ever.
She’d been instrumental in arranging for Ukasur to be courted by the Prince Regent of the House of Asselan, Endawn’s royalty. And she’d made a wise choice for they appeared to be a good match. Asselan Alyne Dahl III was a considerate man and took great pains to follow the convoluted etiquette the Asselan court deemed necessary; a far cry from Saurosen’s behaviour.
He wondered what Haltese, Lornwater’s Prince Royal really thought of his father. Gut instinct told him Haltese wanted to overthrow Saurosen. They always seemed to be bickering. Maybe all noble families behaved in that manner behind closed doors. When he’d been younger, Launette had constantly argued with his father.
Even so, Launette was proud of his lineage, and he had every reason to be. The Yordine family originally harked from the now dead city of Kclenand in Taalland, but they had gavitated towards Lornwater rather than Endawn. His grandfather simply argued that the dunsaron side of the Fault was where future wealth and prosperity were to be made. And he was right. His grandfather became Lornwater’s first Lord-General, Supreme Commander of the armed forces, and his father after him, and now he too carried that noble rank. Despite his father’s disinterest in him virtually since birth, he was trained as he grew into manhood to succeed his begetter. If only Mother had lived to see me now, he thought. In certain light, his sister Ukasur reminded him of her. Once Princess Kemner, a child of Queen Neran, she’d devoted herself to her son. By the time Ukasur was born, he found himself cut adrift from his family, perforce to learn to become a fighting man and a noble one. He cherished those early years at his mother’s side; they were never to be repeated. She died giving birth to a stillborn second son. For some obscure reason his father, Yordine Askader, Lord-General II, blamed Launette for his wife’s demise, so her death meant further estrangement of the heart, though duty required apparent filial devotion in public.
Turning in his saddle, he told Omagma, “Tell everyone to prepare for our arrival. I suspect the ladies will need to change.”
“Aye, sir!” Chuckling, Omagma rode back along the column of wagons.
***
New City, Lornwater
Badol Melomar sat opposite Olelsang in a shadowy corner of the sector twenty-three Open House.
“Badol Melomar,” Olelsang said, “you have people in the Second City and the means of contacting them; is that not so?”
Indeed, he had an extensive spy network like many powerful men in the three cities.
“I might have.”
Olelsang smirked. “I hoped that you would let me use those contacts to pass on information of rebel movements and plans.”
“Why should I do that?”
“I know you side with the king and are no friend of Mowensar. He should never have been appointed Great Gildmaster. That honour should be mine. Precious metals are a recent skill compared to saddle-making. My gild is one of the oldest.”
“It has nothing to do with seniority or history.” Badol chuckled. He dipped his fingers in his leather purse and jiggled coins. “It’s money, that’s what gets promotion, position and prestige.”
“I know you’re right, but it isn’t fair.”
“Fair?” Badol Melomar leaned forward, glaring. “You’re a gildmaster in Saurosen’s city and you talk about ‘fair’? Don’t make me laugh!”
“You’re no lover of the king, but I believe you don’t side with the rebels. Why not join with me? We can ride out this unpleasantness and gain much.”
Badol Melomar smirked. He saw this as a way of acquiring more favour with the king and of also gaining a chance to control, at last, the Red Tellar inn. “We might be able to reach an accommodation, Olelsang. Tell me more. Convince me.”
***
Mowensar, Ranell and Welde Dep hurried past the Open House inn, turned down a narrow alley and finally stopped in front of a careworn building with a solid darkwood iron-studded door. Mowensar used the key. As he opened the door, it creaked.
They entered a passageway, Mowensar leading. He stopped at a door on the left; to one side stood a bucket that contained half a dozen torches. Mowensar sparked flint and lit one and held it up. He opened the door and descended a flight of steps. The others followed warily with their own torches.
The room was split into sections by metal cages, each section secured with a padlock. Mowensar opened one of them. He pointed to a shelf piled with tier upon tier of golden coins. “Here, fill the sacks.”
“How much should we take?” Ranell asked.
“Take as much as you can carry. Coin will be useful in the coming days, I suspect. That and food…”
***
After a stiff session of bargaining Badol Melomar agreed to help and Olelsang’s heart lifted at the prospect. “You will not regret this, I assure you,” Olelsang said.
Badol Melomar shook his hand. “I feel like a woman to celebrate …” He stood.
“I shall nurse my drink until you have sated yourself, Badol Melomar.”
“You might have a long wait, Gildmaster,” Badol said with a laugh and made for the sta
irs.
As Badol Melomar climbed the staircase, Olelsang noticed Epal Danorr enter the inn. He waved him over. “Join me for a beer, old friend!” he offered.
After they’d sipped half their tankards of ale, Olelsang said, “You seem very quiet tonight, Danorr. Why is that?”
“I think you know.” Danorr stared into his tankard.
“I suspect that your infatuation with Lorar, the intended of Ranell, has met with a problem or two, no?”
“Yes, most observant of you.”
Glancing out the window, Olelsang noticed a small group led by Ranell. He recognised Mowensar with them; all carrying weighty sacks. He guessed their destination. “If you persist in wanting the woman, I think there may be a way,” he said.
“Don’t jest,” Danorr remonstrated. “This is a serious matter of the heart!”
Olelsang smirked, pointedly eyeing another portion of Danorr’s anatomy. “We’ll see about that. Stay here, while I run an urgent errand.” He stood and went upstairs.
He knew which room to approach and knocked on the door, then barged in.
Badol Melomar was entertaining a naked lady in an unkempt bed. “How dare you!” Badol exclaimed.
“Sorry, but this is very urgent business and cannot wait.”
Angrily thrusting aside the woman, Badol glared. “Tell me, then, and be quick about it!”
“The king asked you to give him firm facts,” Olelsang said. “Well, Gildmaster Mowensar and Ranell of the Red Tellar have just passed the inn and they seem very furtive and are carrying heavy sacks…”
Badol Melomar beamed, and then glanced over his shoulder. “Girl, keep the bed warm. I will be back soon!” He swung out of bed and hurriedly dressed.
“Come with me, Olelsang!” Badol barked. He led the way along the upper landing and stopped outside another door.He didn’t knock but pushed it open and entered.
“Ah, Hin-era Baf!” Badol Melomar exclaimed. “Caught you cheating at Squares again, I see!”
There were four men in the room, all swarthy and in need of a shave. The place smelled of body odour and mindsaur smoke. They sat around a table and spread before them was a checkered board with coloured wooden pieces; by each man’s elbow was a small pile of coins.
The bulkiest man stood, squinted through the fug, and then guffawed, putting his arms akimbo. “Badol Melomar, what brings you to my little session? I’ll wager it isn’t to play!”
“You’d be right. You and your family have scores to settle with Mowensar, have you not?”
“Aye. What of it?”
Badol Melomar beckoned to the man, though he was careful not to get too close; he doubted if his nose would survive the olfactory onslaught. “Take heed, and you will rejoice later tonight.”
***
“These coins grow heavy at each step,” moaned Mowensar as the three of them clung to the shadows and slowly moved through the city streets.
“I’d offer to help you but my load is more than enough,” said Welde Dep.
“I appreciate you joining us, Watchman,” Mowensar said, gasping.
Ranell carried his two sacks seemingly effortlessly. “We should have brought a cart!”
“No, it would have drawn undue attention,” Watchman Dep said. “I fear any laden cart will be a target for looters now.”
“We’ve been fortunate not to be accosted,” Mowensar said.
“You spoke too soon,” Ranell said, lowering his two bags.
Ahead of them were three men, each with a drawn sword.
“What contraband are you carrying there?” said the swarthy bulky man.
“Stand aside!” Watchmen Dep ordered, lowering his bag and drawing his sword. “This is watchman business!”
“What have the watchmen to do with the inn of the Red Tellar and a gildmaster, eh? Shouldn’t you be impartial at a time like this?”
“What we do is none of your business!” exclaimed Mowensar.
“Open them sacks, and then we’ll see, eh?”
“Yeah, open them!” barked the other two in unison.
“Ye gods, I know you – all of you!” Mowensar shouted. “You’re the Hin-era family!”
All three of them bowed.
Ranell stepped forward. “I warn you, if you hinder us, you will be sorry!”
“Three against three seems like good odds to me,” said Hin-era Baf, crouching low, sword ready.
Ranell sprang forward and his blade clashed with the swords of the leader and another. Welde Dep was behind him in an instant, engaging the third Hin-era man.
Slowly, countering, parrying, the Hin-era men shuffled backwards towards the dark alley on the right.
Alarmingly Mowensar let out a shout and tumbled to the ground, dropping his sack. A fourth family member had emerged from another side alley and had attacked without warning. The attacker stood, holding a bloody knife.
Savagely, Ranell beat his two opponents back, wounding both in their arms and chest. And then they hastily turned and fled, laughing as they went.
When he returned to Mowensar, Watchman Dep was already kneeling by the stricken gildmaster. “He’s badly wounded,” Dep said. “And his attacker stole his sack.” He gestured at scattered coins on the ground, a trail leading to the alley.
***
From an upstairs room that overlooked the street, Epal Danorr sensed a warm glow of pleasure as he watched the entire fight. The knife-wound Mowensar suffered seemed fatal. Olelsang had proved a good friend indeed.
Turning away from the window, he smiled thinly at the man and wife, the owners of this house.
He hefted the bag of coins just delivered to him; it was still weighty, even after he’d paid off the Hin-era family.
He threw four coins to the man and his wife, adding, “Thank you for your hospitality.”
The husband knelt and scrabbled for the money, while the woman studied him with a sullen expression.
***
Hansear house, New City, Lornwater
Ranell entered the Hansear house carrying Mowensar. Welde Dep dropped the two sacks of coins to the floor, glad to be free of the excessive weight.
A servant rushed up, her face pale, and gestured for Ranell to follow her.
They went into the lounge they had occupied earlier.
“Thank you, Watchman Welde,” Ranell said, laying Mowensar on a settee. Straightening up, he clasped Welde’s hand. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be here, in a rebel household?”
“I keep the peace – and help those in need – when I can. That is my role. Watchmen do not take sides.”
“I never doubted that, Watchman.”
Lorar burst through the opening in a curtain, her face alight with pleasure at sight of Ranell. “You’re safe!” she stated and then she noticed her father. Her face paled and she ran over to him, knelt by his side, clasping his hand.
Her eyes awash, she looked up at Ranell. “What happened – no, don’t bother, it’s obvious, you led my father to his death!” She turned, rested her head on her father’s blood-stained chest and sobbed. “All for paltry coin for turncoat soldiers!”
Epal Danorr entered the room. “Have I missed something?” Then he gave a start, pointing at Mowensar. “Oh, dear, what…?”
Most of those present ignored him, intent on Morwensar. But Watchman Dep studied Danorr, perplexed by the cast of the man’s features. He didn’t appear distressed; rather pleased, in fact. Where had Epal been?
Ranell seemed crestfallen, incapable of replying to Lorar.
The woman Osa passed through the curtain and rushed to Lorar, who was shuddering with anguish, almost hysterical.
Osa knelt and tenderly stroked Lorar’s hair, squeezed her shoulders and gradually calmed her. She addressed Ranell: “I have sent for the renowned Damureling.”
Ranell gently raised Osa to her feet and led her to stand beside Welde Dep. He whispered, “I fear not even Damureling can save Mowensar.”
Osa rested a hand on his arm, briefly. “She will, I fee
l sure, Ranell.”
A short while later Damureling arrived. The mystic and healer was believed to be in her eighth decade and yet Welde Dep wondered, for she was tall, thin-boned, carrying no extraneous fat, and he glimpsed her tendons: toned, belying her purported age. Her ebony complexion was blemished with patches of grey. Her eye-sockets were sunken, the eye-colour a startling egg-shell blue with flecks of gold; oddly, one of her eyes was clouded. Her long hair was in plaits, red with streaks of black. She had a misshapen mouth rumoured to be due to a spell that went wrong when she caught the back-blast; she did not talk about it, however. She wore a necklace comprising several amulets, as she was known to state that she was beholden to no single god or entity. Her yellow dress was bound by a belt from which various phials and instruments dangled.
Epal Danorr said, “About time, Damureling!” He leered at Lorar. “Now, work your magic and make Mowensar well, there’s a good healer!”
Damureling put him in his place with a glance and a growl that showed jagged white teeth.
Everyone seemed distracted by Damureling and Epal Danorr. Watchman Dep turned his attention to Morwensar who was coughing badly. Osa poured water into the gildmaster’s mouth. Morwensar’s eyes stared, his lips moved, but no words came out.
Not long afterwards, Mowensar died. Lorar lay prostrate over his body and no amount of cajoling or consoling would shift her.
Ranell paced around the settee.
Damureling’s high forehead creased.
“You seem puzzled,” Welde Dep said.
“His wounds were fatal, I have no doubt, but he should not have died so quickly from them.” Her voice was strong, soothing. “He simply stopped breathing.” She leaned over the corpse, studied the face. “He has a blue tinge. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he succumbed to moonseed.”
“The poison?” Welde Dep queried.
“Perhaps the sword that cut him was treated with poison,” suggested Osa.
“No,” Damureling said, “moonseed works very fast. He’d have been dead before you got him here. I am deeply perplexed.”
Floreskand_King Page 18