If the Regency feels it cannot adjudicate and enforce the rightful succession, then I further must insist that Fussen be allowed to determine its own affairs … .
Anna shook her head as she finished the scroll. After Ustal’s scroll, Jecks or Dythya had set the one from Falar, the younger son of the late Lord Vlassa of Fussen. Anna began to read it, gingerly.
To the Regent of Defalk, Sorceress of the Land, and Lady of Mencha,
Your graciousness, with heavy heart and burdened conscience I send this missive. Because you have sacrificed much for Defalk, and will doubtless sacrifice more in the years to come, your heart may also be heavy with the news of dissension about the succession in Fussen. Unlike others, I have been reluctant to address you, yet address you I must, not for my sake, but for the sake of the people of Fussen … .
Anna smiled. Young Falar or his advisors were far from stupid.
… my elder brother has abused the trust of the people and squandered the substance of Fussen, so much so that the merchants and freeholders have requested that I seek the succession and pledged their lives and coins to that end … .
Anna’s lips tightened. If … if what the scroll said was indeed true, matters were a mess in Fussen. Behind Falar’s scroll were Jecks’ responses—identical to each brother—stating that the Regent was returning from repairing the ford at Sorprat and would be addressing the concerns of the succession upon her return. Anna nodded. She never had to tell Jecks anything twice. He’s told you things twice … that he shouldn’t have had to. Anna winced at the thought.
“Counselor Dythya,” announced another page—Resor.
“Have her come in.” Anna set down the scrolls, for the moment.
“Lady Anna.” The gray-haired and stocky Dythya bowed as she entered the receiving room.
Anna nodded to the seat across the small conference/worktable from her. “Where do we stand with our golds?”
“I thought you might wish to know.” Dythya smiled and extended a single sheet of parchment. “Those show what the liedstadt has received, and what remains in the treasury.”
Anna looked at the precise black script numbers: six thousand golds from Cheor, three thousand from Suhl, two thousand from Stromwer, and two thousand from Dumar … .
“Dumar owes another four thousand golds,” Dythya pointed out.
“And we owe the Ranuan Exchange a thousand.”
“Not until harvest.”
“Have it sent now. We could use the goodwill.”
“My lady …” Dythya cleared her throat. “About the accounts …”
Anna skipped to the bottom line … barely a thousand more than what her expeditions of submission and conquest had brought in. “You’re going to tell me that we’re spending more golds and that we’re spending them faster than we planned?”
“Yes, lady.”
“How much faster?” Anna’s voice was wary. She took another swallow of the water. Already the room felt stifling, despite the open window behind her.
“Almost four thousand golds more.” Dythya eased a sheet of parchment across the table.
Anna scanned the listing. Nearly a thousand golds more in supplies for the liedburg—to replace food stocks and other things that Barjim had not. Anna had authorized that. Four hundred golds for wrought-iron stock for the weapons smith—whom they had to replace. Nearly a thousand golds in silvers paid to the armsmen who had followed and supported Anna in her campaign to subdue the rebellious Suhlmorran lords of Defalk and Lord Ehara of Dumar. Eight hundred golds for replacement mounts … Anna took a deep breath. She’d authorized most of the expenditures. “But after we pay everything, we still should have almost seven thousand more than at the beginning of summer.”
“Six thousand if you pay the Ranuans, and you cannot count on the liedgeld being paid on time,” Dythya pointed out.
“Only from Cheor, Elheld, and Mencha,” Anna replied, adding after a pause, “and Stromwer, Suhl, Lerona, Abenfel, and Pamr.”
A surprised look crossed Dythya’s face, as if a quarter of the lords paying on time were a novelty. “That is true.”
“But you’re right,” Anna replied. “We will be cutting it close. I still want to pay the Ranuans, though. If we or any of the lords have to borrow from them in the future, it might make it easier. We also may need allies, and a land that repays its debts is a better ally than one who doesn’t.” She paused. “If you would draft a scroll and make the arrangements with Arms Commander Hanfor to ensure the repayment reaches Encora safely?”
“Yes, lady.”
“Also … perhaps you could draft a scroll to go with that party, and copies that could be sent elsewhere. We’ll offer a twenty-gold bonus for weapons smith. Five golds after examination of his work, five golds after the first month, and ten golds after the first year.”
Dythya nodded.
“How is the schooling going for the pages and fosterlings?”
“Well enough for most …” Dythya’s voice was cautious.
“Except Hoede is becoming impossible?”
“He has difficulty with numbers. He has little interest in them, and less in learning them from a woman.”
Anna shook her head sadly. “How about the others? What about Nelmor’s heir—Tiersen, is it?”
“After the first weeks, he is fine. His sister had a word with him, I believe.” A smile crossed Dythya’s lips.
Anna smiled as well. Had the timid Ytrude actually had the nerve to advise her brother? “Any other problems?”
“No. The others learn well. Some, like Cataryzna and Lysara, know as much as I do already, and even young Secca has begun to do complicated sums like the others. Skent is the best of the young men, but Jimbob works hard.”
That the heir of Defalk worked hard was good, but Anna hoped at least some of the motivation was internal, rather than provided by his grandsire externally.
“Lord Jecks, lady,” announced Resor.
Anna motioned for the white-haired lord to enter.
“Will that be all?” asked Dythya, standing.
“Just for now,” Anna said. “I wanted to know how things stood before I started thinking about spending golds.”
“Would that more rulers thought such, my lady,” Jecks offered as he bowed to Anna.
Dythya bowed and slipped out of the receiving room. With Anna’s gesture, Jecks took the seat the counselor had vacated.
“How am I supposed to deal with the mess in Fussen?” she asked him.
“As Regent, you must reach a decision about which will inherit—and quickly.”
“I don’t know either one.”
Jecks smiled. “Yet, my lady.”
“I think, you schemer, that you’re saying I need to go to Fussen and meet the two young men.”
“How else will you know them? How else will the Thirty-three feel at ease with your decision? You have not been to the west of Defalk, my lady.”
“If I upheld the older male, no one would say anything So …”—she dragged out the word—“that means that you think something’s rotten in Fussen, or at least with Ustal, and you think my presence will reassure such stalwarts as Nelmor—”
“ … and Lord Jearle.”
Anna looked and felt blank at the last name. She took another swallow of water and blotted a forehead that had become damp as the midmorning heat had begun to build in the receiving room.
“Lord of Denguic,” Jecks explained.
The name was vaguely familiar, but probably only from the liedgeld lists. “We haven’t heard much from him.”
“He is the Lord of the Western Marches,” Jecks explained. “He was supposed to defend the approach from Neserea.”
“He didn’t do much to stop Behlem.”
Jecks nodded. “He sent a scroll claiming that he had lost tenscore en and would have lost all had he not surrendered. He relinquished the title and the one-third exemption from liedgeld.”
“Whom did he send it to?” Anna asked. “Behlem didn’t m
arch into Defalk until after Lord Barjim was killed at the Sand Pass.”
“It was addressed to Barjim and was waiting at the liedburg for Lord Behlem. Menares found it and brought it to me sometime back.”
“No wonder he paid his liedgeld on time,” Anna muttered. Barjim and his consort Alasia had risked everything and borrowed from the future to raise arms to fight off Ebra.
“Jearle saw no point in dying when he could not stop the Prophet’s armsmen and lancers,” Jecks said dryly.
“I don’t think we’ll restore his title or his duties, and especially not his exemption from paying the liedgeld,” Anna said.
“There has always been a Lord of the Western Marches.”
“There may be again,” Anna conceded. But not anyone that slippery. She looked meaningfully at the pile of scrolls. “We have a few other matters to discuss.”
“I feared such.”
Anna wanted to laugh at the rueful tone of his voice. Instead, she nodded. “So do I, but remember, you thought my being Regent was a good idea.”
“My life was simpler before I thought so much …”
Anna did laugh before she picked up the next scroll. She jotted down a quick note on the back of a used piece of parchment to talk to Menares about sending a scroll to Gatrune about the young chandler—and learning his name. At times, especially when she returned to Falcor from somewhere, she wondered if she would ever be able to juggle all the problems.
9
ESARIA, NESEREA
The workroom is large, light, and airy. Dark woods ranging from flat planks to narrow timbers are stacked against one of the inner walls. A woodworker’s bench is set out from the other inner wall, and on a set of wooden shelves beside the bench are set planes, chisels, saws, clamps, wood knives, several jars with stoppers, clean rags, and other implements.
Three dark circular frames fill much of the open floor space. Each is man-high, and a stocky but bent and gray-haired man carefully smooths a rib of the frame closest to the door. The door opens, revealing that the outside is guarded by two of the Prophet’s Guards. The craftsman steps back from the frame on which he was working and straightens, waiting.
The Prophet Rabyn steps into the workroom, followed by an older Mansuuran officer who accompanies him. Rabyn pauses by the smooth and polished frame. His fingers caress the nearly black wood, before his eyes go to the gray-haired craftsman, who glances from the young Prophet to Nubara.
“You know what I want?” demands the youth.
“Yes, most honored Prophet. I have studied the scrolls you gave me, and I will do as they show.” The crafter gestures to the three frames. “These are to the requirements of the scrolls.”
“There must be no imperfections. Do you understand?”
“There will be none, honored sire. None at all.” The woodworker lowers his head.
“Good.” Rabyn studies the second frame and then the third. With an abrupt nod, he turns and departs.
Nubara follows hurriedly. The door closes, and the two walk along the outer corridor back toward the columned audience chamber.
The Mansuuran officer glances from Rabyn back toward the guarded door. “How do you know he will do as you say?”
“He has a daughter, Nubara. Right now, she is in the south villa, with her mother.”
“Her mother?” Nubara frowns.
“Of course. That way, he will know no one has abused her.” Rabyn’s laugh is cold. “I have not touched either. No one has. She is not that attractive, but he does not know that. Besides, I could turn her over to the lowest of the Westfels Foot, and he knows that. Or”—Rabyn smiles, and his face appears almost serpentlike—“I could think of something.”
“Yet you will reward him if he builds these … these devices?”
“Even I know, Nubara, that a ruler must keep his promises.” A second laugh follows. “You might notice how few I make, and how careful I am with my words.” Rabyn looks toward the audience chamber. “The glass has come for me to appear concerned and caring for the welfare of my people.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, honored Prophet.”
Rabyn does not look at the Mansuuran officer before stepping through the door that a servant has opened for him.
Behind him, Nubara shivers, then follows.
10
Anna stepped out of the receiving room and nodded at the two guards, Lejun and Rickel. “I’m going to observe the lessons.”
The two followed her as she turned into the small service hall. Three sets of boots echoed on the stone floor of the narrow passage until Anna stopped at the back door of the large hall that continued as the working classroom for the pages and fosterlings. Until you can figure out something better … like everything else.
She eased open the narrow door and slipped behind the tapestry arras, simultaneously listening and attempting to keep from sneezing in the narrow and dusty space.
“ … Sturinn is not a land nation, such as Mansuur or Defalk. It is but a collection of large and small isles set in the Western Sea. These isles are held together by great fleets, by a form of Darksong magic, and by the largest numbers of armsmen in our world. The Maitre of Sturinn lost more than forty great vessels and two hundred–score armsmen when the Regent unloosed the Falche River. These were but as a handful of ships and men to the Maitre … yet the loss of the same number of armsmen ruined Dumar and left it prostrate.”
Anna shook her head as the heavyset and gray-haired Menares droned on.
“Now … see this map. You can see how many deks lie between Mansuur and the nearest isles of Sturinn. Those are the Ostisles, and five years ago they were free. Likewise, fifteen years ago, Buerann was governed by the young lord Zuerien.”
“Buerann?” asked a voice Anna did not recognize.
“The large island here, in the corner, north of Pelara.”
At least he’s using maps … . Anna slipped out from behind the arras, as silently as she could.
The red-haired Lysara saw the sorceress, and the girl’s mouth formed an O. Anna smiled, and put a finger to her own lips. Lysara quickly looked back toward the graying tutor.
“What matters it,” asked the sandy-haired Hoede, his tone verging on insolence, “how far lies Sturinn? The Sturinnese cannot sail their ships to Defalk.”
“Their ships … do not just affect Nordwei or Mansuur,” replied Menares. “Had the sorceress not stopped them in Dumar, Stromwer would now belong to Sturinn, and all the trade that goes through that road would either pay tribute to the Maitre or travel a far longer way to Ranuak, and that would cost the lords of the south many golds … .”
“They’re all Suhlmorrans anyway,” mumbled Hoede. “Weak women … all of them.”
Anna tightened her lips, deciding that she could not wait much longer to deal with Hoede. But here is not the place or time.
The blonde Cataryzna—the object of Skent’s affection—glanced toward the back of the hall, then looked quickly back to Menares. Beside Cataryzna, Secca sat almost at the end of the table, the redheaded and youngest of the fosterlings and pages, and very much the smallest.
Looking at Secca, Anna was reminded of several things. She had yet to resolve the rather mysterious nature of the death of Lord Hryding, the little redhead’s father. The red-haired child, an echo of her own redheads, prompted her resolve to rewrite the letter to Elizabetta—or write a cover note—and just try to send the envelope without looking at her daughter, and ask Elizabetta to write a letter in return—and leave it someplace where it would be undisturbed and somewhere that Anna could visualize—like under the stairwell at Avery’s lake house.
“Oh … Lady Anna …” Menares looked up from the map on the easel.
“I’ll only be a moment.” Anna studied the fosterlings and pages slowly, her eyes resting on each in turn before she finally spoke. “There are neither Suhlmorrans nor northern lords in Defalk, not if you wish to have your children remain under the banner of Defalk, and not that of
Sturinn or Mansuur or Neserea.” Her eyes fixed on Hoede, but the stocky blond refused to meet her eyes.
“There’s another reason why ships are important,” Anna said after another pause. “It costs less to carry grains and cargoes for long distances by ship. That is why Nordwei is powerful and how the Ranuans manage to get so much gold for their Exchange.”
Seeing the confusion on both Tiersen’s and Hoede’s faces, Anna added, “Some of you wonder what golds have to do with power. How do we get the weapons for armsmen? We have to buy iron and pay a weapons smith to forge them. What do you pay armsmen with? If the Regency has to use levies for more than a few weeks, they must be paid, and even if they aren’t, their food costs money. Coins,” she added. It was still hard to recall that not all English terms translated into Defalkan German /Old English.
Tiersen, Skent, and Kinor nodded. Hoede continued to look blankly at Menares, as if he didn’t even want to acknowledge the Regent’s presence.
“You may continue, Menares.” Anna nodded at the older tutor before slipping out the main door, Rickel before her and Lejun behind her.
Why are the young men such knuckleheads? Does all that swordplay and honor nonsense knock every bit of the ability to think out of their skulls? That couldn’t be it. Jecks was reputed as one of the best blades of Defalk, and the white-haired lord could certainly think.
As she slipped back into the receiving room, she slowed, and said to the duty page—Cens—“Find Lord Jecks for me, if you would.”
Cens bowed and scurried off. Anna picked up yet another scroll, another petition from the rivermen for a reduction in their permit taxes. How can you say “no” in another and different way?
Before she had finished, there was a rap on the door.
Darksong Rising: The Third Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 6