The Seer - eARC

by Sonia Lyris

  “Yes,” she said. “But whatever you say, and however you say it, I will know something more than I know now.”

  The mage made a sound, half thoughtful, half amused. “In some lands they say the advice of an enemy is gold. Perhaps you should ask the Lord Commander himself. I am merely his advisor.”

  She glanced at Innel, then back at Keyretura. “But I ask you, High One. Please.”

  The mage looked a question at Innel, who nodded slowly, not quite sure he liked where this was going.

  “Then I will advise, Amarta al Arunkel.” He considered a moment. “It is clear the Lord Commander’s will stretches far beyond his words and touch. Perhaps you wish the contract to say that whether by action or stillness, through his hand or another’s, his power permitting, he has an obligation to keep your sister and nephew whole of body and to refrain from putting them at risk or harm.”

  “Yes.” She looked at Innel. “That is what I want.”

  “Good,” Innel said, “then—”

  “But also you must give them food and water and shelter, if they ask you or those you command.”

  “Ah. Anything else?”

  “For their entire lives.”

  “You ask a lot, Amarta al Arunkel, in return for something whose worth has yet to be proved.”

  She lifted her chin, met his gaze. “You said I should charge more.”

  And so he had. He remembered that night in Botaros keenly, when she had given him the advice that had brought him to this position, and this moment.

  “Very well; I agree to all you have said, and I agree on behalf of my queen. Are there other terms?”

  “No matter what I say, no matter how I answer your questions.”

  “You repeat yourself,” he said, fighting irritation. This much challenge he had not expected.

  She turned to Keyretura. “Will you witness, High One?”

  Innel’s mouth opened in surprise. Where in the seven hells had she learned about mage-witnessing of contracts? It was a rarefied enough practice that he himself had yet to see it done.

  Keyretura looked a him, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Go ahead,” Innel said.

  “I will witness, Seer,” the mage responded.

  Now she looked entirely lost. Capable of negotiating a contract, of this complexity, with someone of his standing—even to ask for witnessing—but she had no idea what to do next? She was a fascinating mix.

  “Are you ready to make this contract with me and the monarchy of Arunkel, Amarta al Arunkel?” he prompted.

  Her eyes flickered around the room. “Yes.” She looked terrified.

  Innel walked to the door, spoke with a guard, and returned.

  “A contract of this importance is typically sealed with gold, gems, or other such valuables. Since you refuse payment, the queen will not insult you with those things. Instead I offer this simple nals as a token of value to seal our contract. Will you accept it as such?”

  She nodded, still looking like a misplaced lamb.

  He held out his hand, the shiny copper nals on his palm. She did not move.

  “Now,” he said, “you put your hand on mine and say: ‘Our contract is made.’”

  Hesitantly she stepped close to him and put her hand palm down on top of his. At the touch, her eyes opened wider. What, he wondered, was she seeing now?

  “Our contract is made,” she whispered.

  “Our hands turn, together, thus, so that the coin is left with you.” His hand now facing down, he drew it back.

  She looked at the coin as if she didn’t know what it was, then looked back at him.

  “And now, Seer, you will answer every question I have, for as long as it takes, and with no more objections. Do you understand?”

  Mutely, she nodded.

  “What do they say, Srel?” Innel asked.

  His stomach was grumbling. Again he had forgotten to eat. Srel held out a platter from which Innel took a bite of something fried and crunchy, salted and peppered, that tasted mildly of fish. He took another.

  “That she is the king’s bastard daughter. Your bastard girl. The queen’s . . .” he paused, clearly not wanting to finish that sentence. Innel gestured for him go on. “The mage’s bastard daughter—though looking at them both, I don’t know how anyone could think that. That she is the seer of rumor, or that she is not, but you are pretending she is. That she is next on the succession list. That she is going onto the hanging wall next week. That you are using her to test loyalties—though I can’t quite sort that one out either. Shall I go on?”

  “Enough.”

  Notably missing was the rumor he had deliberately seeded, about her being a distant cousin of his, orphaned in the recent unrest south. Not salacious enough, clearly.

  Nalas entered. “Colonel Tierda has arrived,” he said. “On her way to report, ser.”

  Innel sighed and looked out the window to Execution Square, considering what Tierda would see this time.

  “How long have they been dead?” he asked of the odd arrangement of limbs suspended on various ropes above the cobblestones of the square.

  “Ah . . .” Srel said. “Six days, I think, ser.”

  “Enough. Clean it up. Close the curtains.” No sense in making the colonel fear for her life on top of her child’s life.

  “Yes, ser,” Nalas said. “Oh, also—the queen. She’s stopped watching. She’s in with them now.”

  “In with the king’s dogs? Again?” Innel stood. “Do I need to—”

  Nalas shook his head. “No. Sachare knows to send word if Her Majesty gets any sort of murderous look in her eye. The keeper’s in there with her and has a new litter of pups she seems to have taken an interest in. No blood has been spilled yet.”

  He had warned Cern that the king’s dogs were unpredictable, that they could be violent. “I know, Innel,” she had said, “but it’s time I understand what my father sees in them.”

  “Eat more,” Srel urged him. Innel accepted a tiny roll with a curl of green-herbed cheese atop, washing it down with warm, spiced wine.

  A knock. Tierda. He pushed the food away.

  Her expression as she saluted was dour and resolved. She knew what was coming.

  “This,” he told her, “is turning into a very expensive problem.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “And still the smithies stand idle, waiting for ore. Sinetel was supposed to be in hand. Last year.”

  “It was in hand, ser. Truly it was. Then word came about Erakat’s mining towns demanding a bigger share. Then Rott and Lukata started to complain, and—” She fell silent. She had the miserable look of someone who had run out of ideas as well as words.

  “And?”

  “Masked riders, carrying torches, spooking the horses. Riding off before we could catch them. Attacks on the rails. Large rocks rolled onto the tracks in the night. But we put out the fires,” she added, as if hoping that might pass for good news.

  “Rocks on the rails,” he muttered, recalling the seer’s prediction of this problem. Now, if he could only get her to deliver a solution. The foundation of the empire’s wealth was being chewed away, mine by mine. Town by town. “What do you need—a soldier at every cross-brace of track to keep it secure? What does it take?”

  Correctly sensing from his tone that he didn’t want a response, she stayed silent.

  Sufficient force. Swift examples. He rubbed his head.

  “I’ll get you more troops and cavalry, but then I expect you to see to it that the wagons go through on schedule. Make it known to all the towns that anyone who approaches the rail without authorization will be executed. Then do it. Publicly and with a lot of noise and blood.”

  “Yes, Lord Commander.”

  He gave her an assessing look. It was one thing to attack an opposing force well-equipped with weapons, but another to take the lives of townspeople who carried nothing more dangerous than rocks.

  And another thing entirely to make people howl for mercy and c
ontinue to cause them to suffer and die. This was why the old king had so often forced the Cohort to long observation of interrogations and executions. To make sure they understood the difference.

  Tierda, he judged, was exhausted, not only in mind but also in spirit. This problem needed someone with resolve. Casting his mind over the members of the Cohort who had seemed most keenly interested in those particular lessons and who might currently be free of House obligations, he said to Nalas, “Find Putar. See if he wants a captaincy and the chance to cause some pain.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “My Cohort brother Putar will help you with the least pleasant parts of this matter,” Innel said to the colonel. “You will restore order. I will look in on your child.” Part reassurance, part reminder. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Lord Commander,” she said, voice low and quavering.

  He was tempted to replace her, but she still knew the area and issues better than anyone. Would another commander do better? Would it matter?

  More questions for the seer.

  Innel watched Amarta stare into space and drew on his reserves of patience. Enough hours had gone by for Srel to have sent for multiple meals. Even Keyretura had come to look less impassive than bored.

  Keyretura could afford to lose interest. He was not responsible for the welfare of an empire.

  Amarta put the tips her first two fingers on the tops of the northern mountain range that stretched north to the ocean through the Labari Province.

  “In the warm months ore shipments resume,” she said. “In autumn they slow. By winter they cease.”

  It was the same answer she had given the last ten times he had asked this and similar questions. He had tried every variation he could conceive of.

  “How can it not matter who leads the troops?” he asked.

  Again, the far-away, slack-jawed look. How much of her expression was pretense, intended to convince him that she was actually seeing the future?

  “Within the year, yes, ser, it changes. But three years hence, it is the same result.”

  “Then—ten companies here—” he said, moving the small, painted red wooden markers. “Four to Lukata, four to Rott, the rest to Sinetel.” He looked at Amarta. “Well?”

  She moved her fingers to the coast of Labari, drawing them across the paint and fabric of hundreds of miles.

  “One year,” she said softly. “Two. Then three. The same result, Lord Commander.”

  He swept five more red blocks north. “Here. Enough to destroy Sinetel entirely. Labari, Lukata, Rott—they’ll come into line if Sinetel goes down hard. Three years hence. Answer.” He could hear the harshness in his tone.

  She had developed the habit of sucking on the knuckles of her right hand, which she did now. He was beginning to find it annoying.

  “There are still troops here.” She pulled her hand from her mouth to point at the northern mining towns. “The miners refuse to work. The ore shipments stop.”

  “You know nothing of this situation,” he snapped. “Look south. The mines of the Karmarn Range. Erakat. Garaya.” He walked down the side of the table, set troops beyond Munasee in Gotar’s mountain range.

  “The cities, they—” She stopped, looked at him.

  “Go on.”

  “They claim independence.”

  “No,” he said. “They do not.”

  Garaya at least was in hand. He had sent Sutarnan south with twenty companies, well more than enough to stiffen the spine of the counter-rebellion his Cohort brother had cleverly arranged. Sutarnan had a general with him, an experienced veteran in the south, who had assured Innel the plan was sound. Innel had made it clear to them both that he wanted the corrupt governor brought back alive and whole to stand before the queen. The man had earned that at least: a spectacular and lengthy execution, one impressive and bloody enough to be told and retold across the empire.

  Sweeping markers down the thin line of the Great Road, then east to the raised areas, he said, “Twenty more companies to Erakat and the Gotar Mountains.”

  She was silent long enough that he looked from the table to her face. She again had that startled look of fear. So much emotion. It had to be pretense.

  “Answer.”

  With an inhale she walked around the table to the south end. Her hand trembled as she lifted the black and gold chain that separated Arunkel from Perripur and slowly dragged it north and west over small rises and dips, with a single movement taking cities, mining towns, and hundreds of miles of Arunkel Empire and turning it into Perripin lands.

  “The cities, they claim—” she began.

  “This, then—all these to the Munasee Cut, by ship.” He moved small blocks onto the blue of ocean and then south to below the borderline, moving the chain back where it belonged. “They march north from there to hold the trade routes, here and here. Favorable contracts to Erakat and the Gotar mines if they provide immediate support with no lapse in production. A new governor in Garaya. Lowered tax rates for merchants trading with Kelerre.”

  She put a finger on the chain.

  “Take your hand off that,” he said. She quickly pulled her fingers back. “Answer.”

  “The mountain regions will declare independence because Perripur will offer them . . .” She faltered, glanced at Keyretura. “What the empire does not.”

  “Which is what?”

  “The chance to rule themselves.”

  “No troops, then,” Innel said. “Half the tax rate. Protections for all trade. What now?”

  “The mountain towns will seem to cooperate, but within five years they will claim independence and—”

  “Enough,” Innel said. “There are other answers. You don’t know enough yet. But you will.”

  “Yes, ser. Maybe—” she began.

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe it’s like a fishing net with too many fish. If you try to hold them all, the net breaks.”

  It astounded him, the things that she thought it sensible to say. He walked toward her. She took a step backward.

  “Have you ever held such a net, Amarta?” She shook her head, retreating as he advanced. “You would stand with it at the edge of the water and you would starve. You are here to tell me what I want to know, not to blather about nets and governance revealing the astonishing depth of your ignorance. If you want to keep your tongue, you will use it to answer my questions. Is this clear?”

  She swallowed repeatedly, nodding. “Yes, ser.”

  Maybe Keyretura was right: maybe she only had an instinct for speculation. Flawed and unreliable. He exhaled frustration and turned from the table, still seeing red blocks against green lands from his hours of focusing. “Land grants to leaders in the mining towns and to the new governors of the cities. What changes?”

  “These areas.” She pointed to the southern provinces. “They have Perripin names now.”

  “What?” he shouted, outraged, aware that his temper was fraying. He turned his back on her and walked to the window. From here he could see the Houses of Nital, Sartor, and Kincel. But even these Houses, working in wood and stone and textiles, needed metal for their tools. Metal was the spine of the empire.

  And Perripur—he could almost feel the country to the south watching, biding its time, wondering if Arunkel was still strong enough to defend itself, or ripe enough to bite. The chain must not slide north.

  He turned back to the table and moved all his red wooden markers to the chain.

  “Look again, Seer,” he said. “With care.” He looked at Keyretura. “Every troop to the Perripur border. All of them. Now what?”

  Keyretura did not even blink.

  For some time she stared, the blank look again on her face. The minutes stretched until he could stand it no longer.

  “Well?”

  “There is no more red and black here,” she whispered. “So much death.”

  He ignored this. “Where is the border? In five years? In ten? In twenty?”

  She looked around
the room, at the high walls, the weapons, then back at him, wide-eyed, silent.

  This was what all the years of searching and expense had bought him? A blank stare and useless answers? He felt a craving to hit her until she spoke sense. “Answer,” he said.

  “In twenty years only this city will call itself Arunkel.”

  His entire empire reduced to one city? It was beyond possible. What was she attempting here?

  At his look, she cringed.

  “You are tired,” he said flatly. “Not seeing clearly. We will try again tomorrow.”

  He went to the door, instructed the guards to take her back to her room. Then he carefully moved all the troops back to where they belonged, adjusted the chain minutely.

  “Well?” he asked Keyretura at last. “Is she lying?”

  “Many people believe their visions. That does not make them true.”

  “Her answers are unacceptable.”

  “Perhaps you’re asking too gently.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And perhaps you give her too much credit for a few clever guesses, and some of them not all that clever.”

  “She can predict the toss of a coin, High One.”

  “So? A coin is a small thing. The answers you want are a bit wider in scope than that. If her answers are not sound, ignore them, and keep her as a token to frighten your enemies. Or kill her and be done with it.”

  “I think she is keeping something from me.”

  “The location of the sister and nephew, at least.”

  This thing that she seemed to care most about. A loose end he would prefer not to have dangling.

  “If I want her dead?”

  “Easily done. Do you want this now?”

  “No.” Not yet.

  He gave the mage a thoughtful look. Mage, yes, but also a Perripin, from a land where many stood to profit from the confusion and strife the empire was already facing.

  “Should I be concerned about your loyalty to your homeland, High One?”

  The mage barked a rare laugh. “You trust an ignorant commoner girl to advise you on troop movements, yet you doubt my word? A Perripur-Arunkel war would merely entertain me, and my home is remote enough that I could watch it in comfort. Our contract is sound, Commander.”