And send for troops he had. The Sunset Coast sat up along the coastline where the Heartlands left off, and Promontory was not far further north, so it was less than a tenday before the first of Arriola’s forces arrived. Most, Welgray knew, would never come through Benn’s Harbour, with the cargo ships at dock in Promontory ready to carry them across to Somria; more would be transported by ships from the Northern Islands, along with soldiers from the other provinces that had no coastline, and thus no ships.
Still, the armies that arrived a few days after Llory’s fateful presentation were impressive, filling the hills above the harbour with camps. Those in turn filled the autumn sky with smoke during the day, and with campfires during the night. How many had already arrived Welgray did not feel qualified to estimate, but certainly in the thousands. Arriola was always the last to lend his support to the solution of war, but as history had shown, he would be the first to march once the declaration was made. Cautious yet decisive is how Welgray would characterize the man as well as the ruler. He hoped history would find him equally so, should his place prove worthy of appearing in it.
Lady Carissa had been less compelling in her demonstration of force, with only a few companies of soldiers appearing around the city bearing her colours, but she more than made up for it with ships. The harbour below Welgray’s window was overflowing with warships, as was the bay beyond. There were as many of the wide, low freeboard transport ships as there were dual-masted, nimble destroyers, but dwarfing them all were the stunning, three-masted battleships. There were only a few of those, but their towering triangular sails and seemingly endless rows of oars dominated the view of the bay. Welgray had never seen their like.
He sipped on his kaf as he took in the view. It would, he imagined, be a sight never seen in the Lords’ Lands, and perhaps one that would never be seen again. War had certainly been part of the history of the land, the more so before the formation of the Lords’ Council, when petty differences spurred on meaningless conflicts between the rulers of independent states. But on this scale? There had been nothing like it. Perhaps Somrians had stories to tell their children of such events, but not the citizens of the Lords’ Lands.
He shook his head sadly. Now they would.
He had nearly finished the rich, hot elixir when the door opened, and a tired-looking Wissa entered the apartments. She had left sometime during the night; Welgray had not heard her leave, surprisingly. Now dark circles shadowed her eyes as she made her way out to the patio and collapsed to her knees before him, wrapped her arms around his lower leg and resting her head on his knee.
“She is working you too hard, Wissa,” Welgray said, his brow furrowed. That Llory would make use of his . . . well, he didn’t know the word to use anymore for Wissa, but she still seemed to be his, in any case. That Llory would use her so was an irritation in itself, but he didn’t like to see her overworked as she had been the last few nights. What did Llory have her doing?
For a moment he imagined that the former Chamber Seat was actually using her for some sort of sordid entertainment, sipping wine from a cozy lounge while viewing her being penetrated by dozens of warders at a time. At the thought, he felt hot blood flush into his face and his jaw tightened. Then he started in shock. Was that jealousy? Irrational, as well—Llory would not do such a thing.
How was he beginning to think of Wissa?
Troubled by his own obscure emotions, he stroked her hair gently, then felt his heart warm over as she began to sigh in contented pleasure. Was it so wrong to allow himself to become attached to his servant? Well—former servant. In any case, she was devoted to him, and there was nothing strange in developing a fondness for her as his subject. It was no different from the love a man might feel for a pet.
Was it?
Welgray wasn’t sure what troubled him more; that he might be developing a deeper attachment for Wissa than he desired—it would be a distraction, after all, and inappropriate as well—or that he was unable to decipher his own feelings.
While he had been troubled with his attachments, Wissa had fallen asleep; she was snoring softly. He could feel the vibration passing from her chest and into his knee, and her large breasts were pressed against his leg. For a moment he considered waking her to satisfy the urge that stiffened him, but he dismissed the notion. She was too exhausted, and deserved her sleep. He couldn’t carry her to the bedroom—she outweighed him, and could much more easily have carried him than he her—so he simply sat there, the remnants of his kaf going cold, and watched her sleep.
What an inconvenience she has become, he thought to himself, but it was unconvincing. When she finally stirred hundreds of heartbeats later, apologizing for drifting off, and staggering into the sleeping room, he felt only a pang of sadness that the moment was over.
In that instant, with a smirk half curling his lip at his laxity, he suddenly realized what it was that he was feeling, and his eyes widened in surprise.
・
Welgray spent the afternoon at the Library as he had taken to habit, putting on the appearance of indulging himself in its massive collection of tomes and scrolls on the upper floor. In actuality, he was enjoying delving into those, but his real purpose in positioning himself there was to observe goings-on on the main floor. Lords did not typically meet there, but these were not typical times, and they had, on that first day, decided that they would use the Library as a planning centre for their offensive. Thus, it was there they met to discuss any changes or new developments, and it was there that each of them, especially those having departed the city, had placed a constable to send and receive important communications.
He could not, of course, see what each of the constables was reading when a written message arrived, but more often than not it came in spoken form, and Welgray was positioned perfectly to overhear. When an important written communication was received, he noticed a change in the posture of the receiving constable, and immediately made his way downstairs to inquire of it. The constables were so astonished by his immediate appearance when such a message came in, that they would blurt out what he wished to know before they could consider the appropriateness of telling him (a not-so-subtle dose of the The Inquisitor helped that process). Soon enough, they began to look for him as soon as anything important came in, and he did not even need to come down for it; they came up and told him.
He was surprised to see Llory enter the Library mid-afternoon. Since the meeting a tenday before she had not made an appearance there; today she arrived in the company of another Collector, which stunned Welgray. Llory and the newcomer, a tall, thin man with harsh features and greying hair, found seats at one of the tables in the gallery and spoke quietly while Welgray pondered adding to his spies at the entrances to the city. How had he not heard of the man’s arrival in Benn’s Harbour? Collectors did not disguise their appearance, and his sources would surely have noticed the man’s arrival. Perhaps the man only just arrived, and came directly to the Library?
While he considered, Lord Arriola entered, followed shortly thereafter by Lady Carissa Odvacar. They approached the table where the two Collectors sat, and joined them. Once the two Lords were comfortably seated—the only two lords still present in the city—Llory stood and looked up at Welgray, startling him.
“Collector Welgray, it would be best if you also joined us,” she said clearly enough for her voice to resonate throughout the gallery.
Welgray stood and, somewhat abashedly, made his way to the stairs. He had not intended for his presence at the Library to be common knowledge, and was somewhat embarrassed by the way Llory had called him out.
He made his way down the stone steps with a deliberate grace; he was a Collector, after all, and as such he was equal to everyone in the room, despite being much younger than the other two of his order. He would command some respect.
If Llory showed any disdain at his ponderous approach, she did not show it; rather, she appeared quite happy to sit at the table endlessly, with a gentle if sad smile dire
cted at the two lords sitting opposite her.
Once he was seated, it was the newcomer that spoke up, not Llory.
“I am Collector Nuemen Drast, on assignment from the Chamber of the Spire,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough. His hands were on the table in front of him, palms down; Welgray saw that they were rough as well, as if the man had led the life of a farmer, and not a scholar. Perhaps he had, Welgray mused; some Collectors were not discovered until well into adult life. Typically they were deemed useless, but occasionally one was considered for admission against all tradition, and became a Collector. He wondered if Drast was such.
“We welcome you, Collector Drast,” Lord Arriola said smoothly, though Welgray saw a crease on his forehead that was not normally there. Clearly he was disturbed at the presence of another Collector, and wondered what it could mean—the Spire had no business in war.
“I have been sent to place Collector Llory under arrest, and return her to the Spire for judgement,” Drast said, answering Arriola’s unspoken question.
There was a moment of dead silence; Welgray became implicitly aware that they were alone in all the vast stone chambers of the Library. He was as shocked as the others at Drast’s declaration, but his conditioning ruled, and he studied them for their reactions.
Lady Carissa was stunned, her eyes wide. She was clearly concerned for what would come of the conflict without Llory’s guidance. That was interesting; Welgray would not have imagined that any of the lords would see Llory as their leader. He filed the information carefully away for future use.
Lord Arriola was angry. The seat of his jawline spoke of an imperious stubbornness; he wasn’t prepared to allow Llory to be taken.
Llory was not surprised at all.
Welgray paused on that. If his own spies at the gates—and at the docks—had not detected the Collector entering the city, Llory could not have known any more than he had. So Drast had gone directly to Llory and told her what was happening, then escorted her to the Council of Lords so she could inform them. Welgray found that . . . odd. Why risk inciting the ire of the Lords’ Council? If he had been the Chamber Seat giving the order, the obvious choice would be to seize her in secrecy, and explain to the Council after the fact.
He filed that away as well, for future consideration.
“Have you been informed of the situation?” Arriola asked sternly.
The Collector nodded. “Yes,” he replied.
“Then you know that Collector Llory resigned her seat to protect the realm. And you can infer that we are grateful to her for that action, and wish no punishment upon her as a result.”
The Collector nodded again, the motion a perfect match to the first; he wasn’t giving anything away. Welgray wondered why he would be so cautious with his intent, when the lords were not capable of delving.
Was it him? Was the man hiding something from him?
Arriola nodded as well. “Then I—we,” he added, glancing at Lady Carissa, who nodded assent, “would ask that you belay those intentions, at least until after the crisis is over. We need her,” he added, somewhat reluctantly.
“I understand,” Drast said. “Nevertheless, she will be returning with me to face judgement by the Chamber of the Spire.”
Arriola clenched a fist atop the stone table, veins standing out among the age spots that decorated his forearms. He looked as if he wanted to slam it down on the stone, but he did not. Instead, he gave the Lady Odvacar a long, considering look before turning back to the Collector. “You will not reconsider this decision? In the interests of maintaining a positive, cooperative relationship with the Council of Lords? We are at war,” he added, “or about to be. In such times, cooperation is needed—no, expected—from all within our borders.”
The Collector paused for a long moment; he was twisting. For a moment Welgray considered interjecting with a twist of his own. Llory’s goals were also his own, at least to a certain extent; the Lower Valley girl had to be returned to the Lords’ Lands, for the good of the Spire. Could he even accomplish it without Llory?
“The Council of Lords has the full support of the Spire,” Drast said graciously, with a minute inclination of the head.
“Then leave Collector Llory in my care until she is no longer needed here,” Arriola countered. “I may be held personally responsible for her return when the time is right.”
“The Chamber of Grand Collectors has seen fit to send a team of Collectors to serve the Council of Lords,” Drast replied without pause. “All experts in the study of war and negotiation. To serve Lord Arriola and his fellows, for the good of the Lords’ Lands.”
Arriola sat stunned; Welgray was equally so, though he shielded himself with a projection of The Studious Gazer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Llory’s eyebrows had raised; she appeared not to have known this either. Odd that she hadn’t thought to project her own mask.
“How—how many Collectors?” asked Lady Carissa, her voice full of anticipation.
“Eighteen,” Collector Drast responded. “The Spire intends to insure the safety of our host lands.”
Arriola was quiet. He nodded slowly. “I see,” he finally said.
Llory had not yet spoken, but now she leaned forward and, somewhat inexplicably, placed her hand over Lord Arriola’s. “My lord, I greatly appreciate your desire to protect me. But there is no doubt that eighteen expert tacticians and historians will better serve our cause than I could,” she said, her words soft and filled with regret. There was just a hint of twisting in them as well, though even Welgray could barely detect it. “Besides, I knew my time would come—I acted with full knowledge that there would be consequences. You can be assured that the Chamber will not judge me unfairly. I know and trust each of them,” she finished.
Arriola was nodding again slowly, though he looked older even than his considerable years.
“I’m sorry, Collector Llory,” Lady Carissa said sadly. “You deserve better for helping us see the danger. You may well have saved the lands.”
“I have only shown you the light,” Llory replied. “It remains for you to keep it burning bright.” She was smiling wistfully at the Lady, and pressing her lips together as if holding back her emotions. Welgray, however, wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t add up.
“Go then,” Arriola said suddenly, standing. “Take with you our appreciations for these Collectors sent to aide us, and our regrets that Collector Llory could not remain as one of them.”
Collector Drast stood as well, followed by Llory and Welgray. The Lady Odvacar drifted to her feet a moment later, allowing Arriola to direct a short bow at her before he headed for the exit.
“Lord Valanti is not pleased,” she said quietly to no one in particular, watching him go.
“It will be well, Lady Carissa,” Llory assured her. “I have no doubt that all will turn out as I have foreseen, now that you are aware of the danger.”
“The Lords’ Lands will stand strong,” the Lady Odvacar recited hopefully, the last words in a poem known to all in Benn’s Harbour and beyond.
Llory smiled and lowered her head to the Lady in a shallow curtsey. Lady Carissa returned her smile and, with a short bow of her head to the three Collectors, made gracefully for the arched exit.
Llory turned to Welgray. “Give my best to Wissa, Collector Welgray,” she said politely. “I’ve become fond of her these last few tendays.”
“And she of you,” Welgray replied mechanically. His head was still muddled, both with the sudden shift in events and with the suspicion that Llory was once again concealing something from him—something profound. “Collector Llory . . . how may I, in your absence—”
“You will manage,” Llory interrupted, though he wasn’t about to reveal her plan regarding the Lower Valley girl to Drast. “The other Collectors will help in the war effort, but your task will be the hardest—to make certain that our goals are achieved.”
No doubt Drast assumed she meant the illumination of the Overlo
ad as to Commander-General Sherzi’s warmongering, but Welgray knew she meant recovering Sayri and hiding her away until Llory could return. It still didn’t make sense, though; why would she trust him to bring the girl back, then to wait for Llory to come and benefit from her knowledge? Was he to believe that she suspected no ambitions in him?
Llory said something else in farewell; Welgray wasn’t listening, but he accepted it gracefully and wished her a safe journey, and Drast as well. He watched the two Collectors leave, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
As much as he had been certain that she had left the Chamber of the Spire purposefully, and not for the reasons she stated, he was equally sure now that she had every intention of returning there, of her own volition. He was sure that Llory had a plan, and it was all gradually coming to fruition.
But what could it be?
He was, he realized, particularly troubled with Llory’s response to Lady Carissa’s quotation. She had smiled and curtseyed, but had not answered . . . and Collectors did not lie.
If Llory truly saw her predictions coming to pass, but they did not involve the Lords’ Lands standing strong, then what had she foreseen?
35 WISSA
There was a slight chill in the air, Wissa noticed; autumn was finally coming to the Heartlands, though she didn’t expect to see snow for tendays yet, at least. She shivered in her sheer, revealing blouse, made from the expensive, shiny fabric Welgray had bought for her. The top barely covered her breasts, leaving the skin along the sides of her body uncovered, and she longed for a thick cloak to block the cool afternoon breeze; she had only intended a quick trip to the markets to prepare dinner for Welgray, but Llory’s messenger had intercepted her and told her that she was expected by the former Chamber Seat. Returning to retrieve warmer outdoor clothes would have been the prudent choice, with the sun close to setting now and the air cooling quickly, but the messenger had expressed urgency in the summons.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 42