“He is with the envoy.”
“When will they return?”
“I could not say, ser,” replied the slender older man.
That answer had more than one meaning, but it was pointless to press. Erdyl nodded. “Thank you.”
“Is there any message, ser?”
“No, thank you.”
“Good day, ser.”
Erdyl returned to his coach and ordered Mantar to return to their own residence. As the coach jogged and bounced over the uneven streets, Erdyl considered the results of his efforts. Close to nonexistent. He could only hope that he would have more success at the Lydian reception the following evening, although he had some doubts, given the reaction of those he had already contacted—and given the absence of some of the envoys.
* * *
On sixday evening at sixth glass, Erdyl stepped from his coach outside the residence of the envoy from Lydiar—Kyanelt—and walked across the paved entry terrace to the door, where he was ushered inside and then to a large salon just off the entry hall.
“Erdyl of Norbruel, acting Envoy of Austra,” announced an angular functionary.
Erdyl was all too conscious of the fact that almost no one looked in his direction as he stepped into the salon.
After taking a glass of a hearty red wine from a tray presented by a server, white being unseemly for a mere acting envoy, Erdyl surveyed the large salon, finally picking out a man not much older than himself, attired in gray and black. He made his way across the room easily enough, since no one seemed inclined to talk to him.
As he neared the other, the man smiled warmly and said, “You must be Erdyl, the acting Austran envoy. Dhorian—the assistant to Fhideas, the Envoy from Recluce.”
“I am. I take it the honorable Fhideas is elsewhere?”
“He had other commitments. I do my best to fill in for him.”
Erdyl gestured vaguely toward Dhorian. “Does the black represent Recluce … or your own abilities as a mage?” He sipped the wine, not outstanding, but somewhat better than merely decent, if with a hint too much tannin.
“In my case, more of Recluce than of magery, although I would be remiss not to note that I have some slight abilities with order.”
For an instant, Erdyl wondered why Dhorian mentioned the “slight” order abilities, before realizing that, if Dhorian had such abilities, not mentioning them would be uncomfortable, because it would be slightly chaotic. But … if he doesn’t … lying doesn’t hurt … And that meant that Erdyl had no way of knowing whether Dhorian did in fact have such abilities. “And I, as you can tell, have not the slightest of such abilities.”
“Sometimes, that can be an advantage, especially for an envoy.”
“Because one is not constrained to limit oneself to the facts or truth of a matter?”
“Facts and truth are far from the same, but … yes … your point has much merit.”
“Unless one has certain compunctions about taking too great a liberty with such facts.”
“It’s best, I’ve found, merely to present facts that are accurate and allow others to draw their own conclusions.”
Selective use of accurate facts … but not all the facts. “That is indeed an interesting way of approaching matters. Along those lines, has the recent edict from Lord West come to your attention—the one that makes any man who chooses to work for an outland envoy subject to being conscripted into the Lord’s Guard … or pressed into merchanter service?”
“I am aware of his statement. It is not properly an edict or proclamation, but a statement of intention … which is not exactly the same thing.”
“In practice, it is.”
“Ah … but practice and law—”
“Are not the same thing,” Erdyl concluded. “That I understand, but as a strictly practical matter, it makes no difference to me … or to Austra.”
Dhorian nodded. “You are right to be concerned, young Erdyl. It definitely does put you, and perhaps the envoy from Sligo, in a difficult position, and perhaps Gosperk as well.”
“Then you might consider looking into the matter.” Erdyl took another sip of the wine and offered an expression of pleasant attentiveness.
“Envoy Fhideas already has, but it is a question of the Balance. Ever since the untoward … incident at Fairhaven, the Council must consider all aspects of the Balance.”
Hearing the destruction of Fairhaven—even though it had occurred many, many years earlier—described as an “incident” unsettled Erdyl for a moment. “Is it not somewhat unbalanced that an edict from Lord West has, as you put it, an untoward impact on just three envoys out of a number?”
“Perhaps it might seem that way, but one must balance these events over time. As you certainly know, your predecessor used a great deal of order and, in the process, killed rather significant numbers of Nordlan troopers and a number of Hamorians, not to mention several of the heirs to the previous Lord of the West Quadrant. People would rather not deal with anything that recalls such recent ‘unpleasantness,’ particularly when it reminds them of their inability to do anything about it. As for the matter to which you allude, I have my doubts that the Council would be much interested in creating more upheaval here in Brysta by seeming to back Austra on such a comparatively insignificant statement, not even an edict, made by Lord West, especially given the possibility that a less drastic solution or more creative resolution might be worked out.” Dhorian smiled.
Erdyl returned the smile. “I had thought that might be the position of Recluce, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. What might be the basis for such a less drastic or more creative solution?”
“One that complies with the letter of Lord West’s word but that provides the protection you feel you, your residence, and your retainers require.”
Rather more difficult than it sounds when you don’t know exactly what he said and when asking directly might well make the matter worse. “I do thank you for your advice.”
“My pleasure. If you will excuse me…”
“Of course.”
Erdyl only stood there for a moment before making his way across the salon to where a black-haired man in a maroon jacket stood talking to another man whom Erdyl did not recognize. When the unknown man turned to leave, Erdyl eased forward.
“Envoy Erdyl … welcome to the residence.”
Erdyl smiled pleasantly at Kyanelt, the envoy from Lydiar. “Thank you. This is a splendid reception … and I do like your hearty red wine.”
“As we both know, it is a good vintage, but not great. One must make economies where one can. Few will remark on having an excellent vintage, but all will recall a terrible one.”
“That is similar to decisions by rulers,” Erdyl replied dryly.
Kyanelt laughed. “Too true. All too true.”
“But then,” Erdyl continued, “there is always the question of taste, of opinion. What is a good wine for one man contains too much bouquet, or too little, for another, too much of the almond, and not enough of the pearapple. Like the words of a ruler, perhaps Lord West…”
“Rulers will do what they will, as they can, particularly Lord West, unlike the wine, which is what it is, although those who sip may taste it differently. The man who does not like a wine needs not drink it. Likewise the man who feels a ruler’s intentions are harmful can either depart the land, akin to not drinking, or add something to his life or profession to avoid or mitigate those intentions … but it does little good for him to enlist the support of others who, if you will, do not taste the wine as he does, for the wine is acceptable to them.”
Clearly, Kyanelt knew why you approached him. “That is good advice, both about wines and rulers.”
“I try to be helpful, young Erdyl.”
“I do appreciate that.” Erdyl inclined his head. “And I do like the hearty red.”
“I’m glad.” With a parting smile Kyanelt slipped away.
Again, Erdyl surveyed the salon. There was no mistaking Whetoryk, the Hamorian envoy, not i
n his crimson tunic and black trousers, with boots so polished they gleamed, his golden-brown hair shorter than the fashion but longer than that of Hamorian troopers.
What continued to both amuse and appall Erdyl was that Whetoryk had returned to Brysta immediately after the attempted overthrow of Osten by his brothers, an overthrow covertly supported by Hamorian golds and mages—and thwarted by Lord Kharl. And no one says anything. Understandable as it was, given the importance of trade between Hamor and Nordla, Erdyl felt a certain sense of unreality, as though everyone totally ignored what had happened. Because they have to? He smiled wryly, realizing that he was just like them, with nothing to gain and everything to lose by mentioning the past “unpleasantness.”
After considering that there was little point in even mentioning Lord West’s intended actions to Whetoryk, and possibly great disadvantage in doing so, especially given that Lord Kharl had thwarted the Hamorian attempt to effectively control the West Quadrant, Erdyl smiled politely at Whetoryk before turning and taking several steps toward Largaan, a short, dapper man in a dark green jacket and deep gray trousers who was effectively Osten’s chief factor, although he was officially called the Lord’s Secretary.
“Secretary Largaan…”
“Ah … oh, Erdyl the acting Austran envoy … I hadn’t thought to see you here.”
“Envoy Kyanelt was kind enough to invite me, but then, given how many Austran ships port in Lydiar…” Erdyl left his sentence unfinished and smiled. “How are you this evening?”
“Cold. I’ll be glad when winter’s over.”
“It’s barely late fall. Just be thankful that Lord West hasn’t made you envoy to Valmurl. There’s already snow and ice there.”
“Then I’ll have to make sure Lord West finds me indispensable here in Brysta.” Largaan glanced around the salon, as if he sought any excuse to escape Erdyl.
“I overheard a rumor the other day,” Erdyl said quietly, but firmly.
“One cannot trust rumors. Not in the slightest.”
“I see. Then, I suppose you could assure me that if I hire a few guards and retainers for the Austran residence, they would have absolutely no fear of being conscripted into Lord West’s Guard or pressed into merchanter service.”
“I can only speak on matters of trade, Envoy Erdyl.” Largaan appeared distinctly uncomfortable, again glancing past Erdyl.
“I see. And who might address that matter?”
“I really cannot say. Perhaps Lord West himself. Other than that…” Largaan smiled thinly. “Excuse me. I do need to speak to young Dhorian.”
“Of course.” Erdyl inclined his head and then watched as Largaan sedately fled. No one will admit it … but they won’t deny it … and you can’t hire men who could lose what little they have under those circumstances, not in good conscience.
As he studied the salon again, Erdyl realized that he had not seen anyone from Sarronnyn or from Southwind. Because Kyanelt invited no women … or because they chose not to attend? He shook his head. Even as an assistant, Jemelya was certainly the equal of, if not superior to, many of those in attendance at the reception.
Abruptly, he nodded, if only to himself. Considering what he had observed … and what others had said … there just might be another way.
As a server approached, Erdyl handed him the scarcely touched goblet of the hearty red and took the single goblet of white from amid the other goblets of hearty red on the tray. Then he walked back toward Whetoryk.
“Envoy Whetoryk … Erdyl of Norbruel, acting Envoy of Austra. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you personally … although Lord Kharl was most impressed with your sense of presence…”
“Ah, yes … Erdyl, is it? Your Lord Kharl was the one with presence. Quite a presence, I might add. You wouldn’t happen to know where he might be posted now … or where he might be headed?”
“I believe, for the moment, he is enjoying the quiet of his own estates. Like me, he does serve at the pleasure of Lord Ghrant, and I could not say where he might next appear or be posted.” Erdyl had no doubts that Lord Ghrant would not hesitate to “request” Kharl’s services as necessary.
Whetoryk nodded. “Lord Ghrant is fortunate to have such an ally.”
“All of us in Austra are fortunate, but I understand that your emperor is also fortunate to have your services.”
“I do my poor best.”
“As do I,” replied Erdyl, understanding that the remainder of the evening would be filled with pleasantries and veiled statements.
* * *
On sevenday, Erdyl waited until early afternoon before having Mantar drive him to the Sarronnese residence once again. This time, once he stepped into the entry hall, Jemelya was the one to greet him, not Ziela.
“You have some news?”
“No,” he admitted, suddenly uncertain as to whether he should proceed.
“Then … on a sevenday…?” Her eyebrows lifted.
Erdyl found himself looking into those golden-green eyes. He swallowed. “I’m here to make a proposal of sorts.”
“Not a personal one, I trust.”
Her words were so gently and humorously spoken that Erdyl found himself smiling. “Not at all.” Though I wish I knew you well enough that I could.
“Come in and tell me about it.” Jemelya stepped back and gestured, then closed the residence door and again led the way to the library. This time she nodded to the small circular table where she took a seat.
Erdyl took the chair across from her.
* * *
As the snowflakes drifted slowly out of the graying sky, Erdyl glanced through the study window at the guard wearing the green-and-black uniform of an Austran marine—a well-muscled woman also bearing the double shortswords with which she had been trained by Luryessa’s senior guards … and then by Demyst. With a smile, he walked to the table desk and lifted the dispatch that had arrived on the Seahound several glasses earlier. His eyes skipped over the salutation to the important words … or rather the ones he had thought were important at first.
Given your successful and creative resolution of the difficulties posed in obtaining trained and capable guards for the residence in Brysta, His Lordship, Ghrant of Dykaru, Lord of Austra, and Scion of the North, having been well satisfied in your conduct, and mindful of your heritage, is pleased to confer upon you the position of Envoy of Austra to Osten, Lord of the West Quadrant of Nordla, from this time forth, and confers on you the rank of unlanded Lord for that time that you serve and thereafter at the pleasure of His Lordship … You will find enclosed the sealed appointment to be tendered to Lord West …
Lord? Even a lower Lord? Erdyl looked to the second sealed missive, the one addressed to Lord West, containing his “new” credentials and appointment, before he continued re-reading the remainder of the dispatch.
… has also have received word that Osten, Lord of the West Quadrant of Nordla, may have reached an agreement with the Duke of Lydiar to offer porting facilities at Brysta to certain vessels flying the ensign of Lydiar, vessels which have been preying on Austran merchanters. More information on this possibility would be greatly appreciated.
In addition, the envoy from Hydlen to Austra has disappeared, and his residence is chained and locked … Jeranyi pirate vessels now sail openly out of Worrak as they did centuries in the past … request that you discover what you can …
The listing of “requests” went on for a full page.
Erdyl shook his head and set the dispatch on the desk. You only thought you had a problem before. Then he grinned ruefully.
You should tell Luryessa … and Jemelya.
Definitely Jemelya. He’d enjoy working with her … at the very least.
When I wrote the first Recluce books, more than a few readers equated “black” with good, but as this story illustrates, even in the city of Nylan, that equation is a bit too simplistic … especially when applied to trade and factors.
THE PRICE OF PERFECT ORDER
I
>
Lanciano looked across the table of the public room at me. “You still owe us two hundred golds, Trader Moraris.” Like all Hamorians, he had an olive-shaded skin as smooth as lard. Unlike many, he was as burly as an Austran northlander. His hand dropped below the edge of the table, suggesting the blade at his hip.
I shrugged. “I don’t have it. You know I don’t. What do you want me to do?”
“You cannot escape your obligations.”
“I certainly can’t meet them if you use that blade on me. I think you want the golds more than you want an insignificant trader from Nylan dead.”
“If there is no hope of obtaining the golds, we must uphold our reputation for not allowing ourselves to be swindled.”
“Yes … there is that small point,” I replied, trying to think of a way out. It didn’t help that Skaenyr had caught me switching dice the night before. How was I to know that his snot-nosed nephew was a student mage? I’d made almost thirty golds, and I’d been fortunate to escape in one piece. But then, Skaenyr was happy to take the golds. Ten had been mine—almost all that I had left after paying off the debts on the factorage, as well as Elnora’s share, all because Elnora’s family had insisted that her dowry was forfeit … and her uncle was just high enough in the Brotherhood that I hadn’t had much choice, even if she’d refused to share my bed for the last year.
And then, I’d just been getting started in winning the next twenty in the high stakes game and would have won more if it hadn’t been for that little snot. On top of it all, Lanciano had ported this morning—a good two eightdays before he’d been expected—to collect on the note I’d taken to buy out Elnora’s share of the factorage. “You could have the factorage.”
“An empty gesture, that.” His accent was atrocious, but since I didn’t speak Hamorian, barbaric tongue that it was, we dealt with each other in the language of Recluce, the old Temple tongue. “Your Brotherhood will not allow outsiders to hold property in Nylan or anywhere in Recluce … and you cannot sell it, except to another trader, and they have no need of what little you have.”
Absently, I wondered how he’d known. I’d have to do something about that as well … but not at the moment. “As I said, you’d prefer the golds.”
Recluce Tales Page 35