Vesteal 01 – 01 – Ghost in the Yew

by Blake Hausladen

  “It might fit the brothers,” Sahin suggested.

  “Guardsmen,” Gern called to a trio not far off. “Get all of this up to the armory and into proper condition.”

  Thell, meanwhile, had taken hold of the Akal-Tak. He had brought the calm gray mare along, and I understood why when the sleek Akal followed his lead. The old man was so happy he looked very close to tears.

  I was about to congratulate him on a reward well earned, but did not get a chance. A growing noise from the town drew my attention. A crowd was gathering in the streets. They looked near panic, and I rushed toward the uproar.

  “Is the prince dead?”

  “Barok is dead.”

  “What? Get the horses.”

  Erom’s voice rose over some. “No, he is not. Quiet you. Enough of that. Get ahold of yourself, man.” But he was outnumbered. I took hold of those who were calm and set them to gathering the crowd toward the meeting hall. The task was not easy.

  The rumor of Hessier and wild tales were boundless. Listening to it all, you would think the Kaaryon was marching all of its Hemari over the mountain to kill us. I called in Haton and Sevat, and with their help everyone got slowly moving to the hall. I went up in search of the prince.

  I found Dia and the Dame, instead, whispering over a large bowl of soup between the greencoats who guarded his closed door.

  “Locked?”

  They nodded. “He built a fire and ran a bath but has not said one word.”

  I knocked without response. “Lord Prince, it is Leger. The town is very troubled. Will you speak to them?”

  I was beginning to worry, but the lock clunked, and the door swung open. He looked out at us with wet hair and sullen eyes, wearing a simple linen tunica. He was staring at his left hand and scratched at it roughly. Behind him a pile of clothes burned in the fire. He blinked at us and sniffed his fingernails. He did not like the smell he found.

  “My lord, will you speak to them?”

  “You do it.”

  “My lord?”

  “Do you remember the touch of the ghosts?”

  “Too well, Barok. I wake with memories of it still.”

  “It tires you—the weight of memory. It … it is very heavy. I feel old. I must rest. Will you do this for me? Calm them?”

  “My friend, you had only to ask.”

  “Thank you, Leger. I trust your voice. See to the town while I recover.”

  I bowed deeply, but when I rose, he had already turned. His pace was almost a stagger, and he leaned his weight into the wall as he moved toward the bed. Dia followed him in, the Dame close behind.

  I strode resolutely back to the meeting hall, confident until I was struck by the wall of noise inside. The red-faced crowd was near panic. My voice died in my throat. The boom of a soldier would not calm them. I stepped up onto a riser and raised my hands.

  Those who knew me well stopped and turned. The din slowly settled. Erom was in the center of the crowd, and his voice carried over the rest. “Muzzle it. The alsman is here. Shut your noisy mouths.”

  The crowd hushed, and all eyes fixed on me. I expected a wink or a friendly smile from the mayor, but got only a bit of a snarl. Sevat stood beside him with a sword on his hip, and his men stacked behind him as if they were going to war.

  I understood their fury then. As Barok went, so did their lives and dreams. The notions of Enhedu as remote and safe had vanished, and with it their poise. For all they knew, they might sleep that night in bailiffs’ cages. They were threatened and terrified.

  I cleared my throat, and Sahin set a chair on the riser beside me. I set one foot up onto the chair but came to a sudden halt as my oath to Vall leapt out of the ashes and set its fangs into my guts. The moment was beyond the pale. I was standing foremost amongst the men who opposed the Exaltier, his chancellor, and his church. I stepped up, filled my treasonous lungs, and opened my lying mouth.

  “The prince is safe. No armies march upon the plains. War is not upon us. If anyone here knows differently, they will declare their knowledge now.” Everyone looked around mutely, and I did not let the quiet linger. “This foolish attempt upon Barok’s life was also very expensive for our enemies. The Exaltier will hear of it, and I pity them for having earned his attention. I also pity the dead, for against Barok’s sword, they had no chance at all.”

  “Where is he?” someone shouted.

  “In the keep, recovering his strength. He was not injured.”

  “He killed Hessier?”

  “Yes. Two. By his will and with his sword, he put them down. Our lord is strong, and war is not upon us.”

  “Who sent them?” someone shouted.

  I smiled and chuckled. “Certainly not his father, and that is all that matters. This was a coward’s attempt, and a very poor one.”

  “But the Hessier belong to Lord Vall.”

  “No, they do not. Lord Vall and the Sten pay to maintain the Ministry, and in exchange enjoy its protection, but it is Minister Sikhek that controls the Ministry and the Hessier.”

  “What do you know of the business of the Exaltier and the Ministry?” the man demanded.

  “I commanded Lord Vall’s Hemari against the Pqrista in Heneur and carried his sword the day he took a knee before the Sten and was proclaimed Exaltier. I know very well how he deals with those he wants dead, and sending a pair of miserable Hessier is not his way. This pair was sent by others.”

  I nearly vomited from the sudden twist of memories, but the admiring murmurs of the crowd helped keep my breakfast down.

  Someone else asked, “Then who is responsible? How will you find out?”

  “Sir,” I smiled, “think upon that for a moment. We need do nothing. Someone just tried to murder one of Vall’s sons. Probably the same someone responsible for the poisonings and the palace fire, and now Lord Vall has a trail to follow. The men responsible for this are on the line now. They will not survive the season.”

  That softened the crowd’s expression, and I seized upon the moment of calm that followed. “Now, please, go back about your business. No good will come from more worry and more gossip.”

  Haton and Sevat took hold of their fellows and led the groups out. Erom took charge of those around him. The rest of the hall followed their lead, and I did not leave any of them time enough after that to find their worries again. I called men in by name and gave one group after another more work than they could handle. I sent the dockwrights west to survey the bay, and pressed half the Zoviyans into an army of timbermen and carpenter’s assistants. I put Merit in charge of them with orders to complete the first phase of the expansion of the town ten days ahead of schedule. I reminded Haton and the Dame that they were responsible for feeding everyone, and sent riders moving toward the villages with news of it all. The new scribe, a Bessradi man named Selt, stopped me long enough to pull every scribe and bookkeeper from the crowd. It was the only interruption I allowed, and in that single day, the forest west of the keep became a new grid of roped squares and the half circle around it a thick and ordered camp.

  One man had the flesh stripped from his arm when a tree fell in the wrong direction, but the bleeding was stopped, and the break did not seem too bad. I sent him south to the timber camp with ten of Gern’s men and silver enough to buy the services of their healer. It was remarked that it would have been nice to have a healer in town but never with much conviction. Those who were sick made do.

  It had been a long time since I had missed both the afternoon and evening meals. I had a new sympathy for Barok, afterward, especially when I caught an earful from the Dame about how foolish I was being. As she chided me, however, she set scoops of a hardy stew into a wide bowl. After the warmth settled into me, I could barely manage the walk to my soft bed.

  62

  Matron Dia Esar

  Scribes

  Something must have happened during Barok’s fight with the Hessier, lit something inside that burned hot and mean. I wanted my kindhearted Vesteal back. Zoviya had e
nough spitting Yentif bulls.

  It reminded me of the day the snow came, when Barok and I stood atop the battlements. He was so playful that morning—all kisses and hugs. We started a snowball fight, laughing, falling, and getting wonderfully cold. But then something happened—perhaps the sound of Gern’s boots on the drawbridge sparked it. Barok charged across the battlement and hurled snow down upon him as if our very lives were at stake. I had been terrified.

  Fana nudged me from my daydreaming. The staff had already finished their morning meals below, and the dawn poured in across me.

  “Eh, sorry,” I said. “The warmth stole me away for a moment. What did you say?”

  “Has he eaten?”

  “Some, yesterday. He snapped at the Dame, though, so I don’t know if he will be seeing anything more until he apologizes. He did manage to fall asleep soon enough after.”

  She pointed at the dark circle of a bruise on my wrist suddenly. “Dia, what happened? Are you okay?”

  I felt for a moment the rest of them upon my body. “Nothing,” I said and hid my arm under the table. “Barok was a bit rough. It’s nothing.”

  “Dia, what happened?”

  “It will be all right. It’s nothing. How far did you and Selt get on the census documents yesterday?”

  “No farther than we had before our morning was interrupted. Selt snatched a group of bookkeepers out of the crowd, so we lost the day to learning what they can do. Selt is getting them ready to take over all the bookkeeping so he can get to work documenting all of the Zoviyans.”

  I looked around the gallery and noticed the new men for the first time. Selt said something to one of them, and he rose dejectedly and made his way down.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  “Selt promised to dismiss any man who made an error during the first five days.”

  I could only approve. The only apparent differences between them and the diligent scribes in a Deyalu booking room was what they wore.

  “Did he comment on our progress?”

  “We are ahead of schedule. If we can maintain our pace, we should be ready to leave in a day or two. Fortunately, all of the newly arrived Zoviyans will be documented as part of the new bookkeepers’ work.”

  Selt noticed us chatting and circled the gallery. His stern pace and expression made him seem very Yentif.

  “Enjoying yourself?” I smiled.

  “Tremendously,” he said when he was close enough that only we could hear. “An opportunity is taken seriously only as much as it is understood that it can be lost to others. As you know only too well.”

  “Where will the ones you dismissed go?”

  “Not far. Just back to the alsman to attend to the needs of his businesses.”

  “He doesn’t pay as well, does he?”

  “No. He does not.”

  “And this lot’s work? Do we know how many the new Zoviyans are?”

  “Less than Leger thought. 8,400 is my estimation of them.”

  The number was still startling. Enhedu’s population had been doubled. I hissed and shut my eyes tight. “Those master craftsmen Leger brought us had better be all Leger claims and more. We had trouble enough managing a hundred men from Trace.”

  “Yes,” Selt said with a more somber tone than I had previously heard from him. “I have heard. It will hold together, I think. The town has an excellent sense of itself, and Erom and master Sevat have set a very high standard of conduct. Leger’s plan to spread them through the villages is also sound. Only a third will stay in Urnedi.”

  “We’ll be ready to leave in a few days then?”

  “You and Fana will have to do it alone.”

  “Fana mentioned you were going to stay,” I said.

  “Better perhaps to stay together?” Fana asked nervously.

  “We’ll be fine,” I told her, though I had thought the same. “Someone needs to stay and manage this lot.”

  “Just so,” Selt nodded. “Perhaps Thell could accompany you? He knows the peninsula better than most. Finish preparing the ledgers today, and we can spend tomorrow practicing how to interview the villages.”

  The thump of boots upon the stairs halted our conversation, and we carefully closed our ledgers and set them aside. It was Gern. He had hold of a letter case sealed with a black diamond.

  He handed it to me, saying, “The messenger was a bit shaken, having passed the dead Hessier on the road. He is anxious to return, so best be quick if you want to send a reply.”

  I broke the seal and tried to read it out loud but the handwriting was atrocious.

  * * *

  The 43rd of Summer, 1195

  * * *

  Barok of Enhedu,

  It has come to the attention of the Chancellery that the citizenry of Enhedu is largely comprised of vagabonds and outlaws. As municipal head of the province, you are required to delivery any such churls into municipal service. Since no civic project in Enhedu rises above the needs of those at the capital, you will provide four thousand men sufficient for daily labor to this office and pay a fine in the amount of 50 weights of gold for each day that passes from the date of this letter until they are received.

  * * *

  Acknowledge this writ.

  * * *

  Helet Parsatayn, Lord Chancellor of Bessradi

  * * *

  I handed it to Selt, and after a moment he was smirking again. “Written by Parsatayn himself. Almost identical to the first letter. He did add a daily fine of fifty gold weights, but it is inconsequential.”

  “Inconsequential?”

  “What is gold compared to the loss of liberty? The fine adds little weight. It is just more words until Parsatayn’s men accompany the letter. I think opinion of Enhedu has served it well, yet again. We are not taken seriously.”

  “What response do you intend?”

  Selt shrugged and smirked and we crossed our arms at him. He cleared his throat and found vellum and ink. His brush moved furiously and filled the page with flawless script.

  * * *

  The 57th of Summer, 1195

  * * *

  Lord Chancellor,

  A letter from your office arrived today. It was, however, utterly unreadable. The letter case it arrived in was undamaged, its seal intact, but the letter itself was rotting, and the ink upon it smeared from apparent wetness. Please find it enclosed. I cannot imagine the circumstance that led to such damage and am deeply troubled that correspondence from your high office is not take better care of. The road to Enhedu is arduous, but not insurmountable. Please resend your inquiry.

  * * *

  S. Sestar,

  Senior Scribe, Urnedi in Enhedu

  * * *

  Then he moved down into the great hall where he dipped the chancellor’s letter in the leather water bucket beside the fireplace. When he had climbed back up to our alcove, I had my head held in my hands.

  “We are all going to hang.”

  He shrugged. “That will depend entirely upon whether you return with a completed census before Parsatayn sends his bailiffs.”

  “I’ll delay the messenger as best I can,” Gern said. He shook Selt’s hands and took the letter down. I felt bad for the punishment the messenger would face, but for only a moment. Bessradi had thousands more like him.

  A quietness set in then, and the day raced to its end.

  I made my way up to our chamber that night, fearful of what I would find. I opened the door and saw Barok bent over his manual of sword before a single dim candle, his arms twitching, his neck and brow streaked with sweat. He did not hear my hello and pushed away the touch of my hand. I grabbed and kissed him, and like a mindless beast, he was upon me. I tried to keep his hands from squeezing as he climbed on me, but all I felt was pain until he finished and fell asleep. The candle burned out before I found any rest myself.

  The next day saw us in the meeting hall. Selt taught us how to fill the blank spaces in our ledgers with answers to the census questions. All the work w
e had done carefully labeling and marking each page made so much more sense as we worked. The brush had only to paint the answer upon the page. The questions became easy, the process remarkably straightforward.

  Barok was asleep when I went up. I almost woke him but made ready for the road, instead, and slept on a bench in one of the gallery alcoves. My bruises were too many to risk another night by his side.

  Thell and Fana woke me before the dawn, and we hurried to ready horses. Gern and Selt bid us farewell. We ate as we rode.

  63

  Colonel Leger Mertone

  The Warmest Days of Summer, 1195

  I’d liked the black butterflies that swarmed the stinging nettles around the Chaukai camp until I learned they swarmed because they were hungry. The bites on my arms were nicely swollen by the time I returned to Urnedi. My review of the camp, though, was more than enough to distract me from the irritation. The third round of recruits had started their fifty, and I’d found them as I had hoped—nervous, fearful of the sergeants, and eager. The sergeants had them well in hand, and the Chaukai had managed more for me besides. With Thell’s help, Gern and Company had begun crossing Fells and Akal-Tak, and they were renting out the many hundreds of extra ponies for any number of tasks. They had also established a watch on the road and were ready to put my plans for the construction of a palisade into action. Each man also had his ears open for mentions of Bayen or his priests, but so far they had heard nothing more than the occasional habitual benediction.

  The next morning went to a consortium meeting that would hopefully decide which craftsmen would be moving out into the villages. Sahin and Sevat came prepared and proposed that those who worked with raw materials or were subordinate craftsmen should go north and those who made finished goods should stay in town. Sahin liked it because it made each village a vital supplier of goods as well as needful of all things made in town. Sevat liked it because all the finished goods would be easier to organize and deliver to market if centralized at Urnedi. I liked it, selfishly, because it put all of the noisier and smellier professions far away. Who wants to sleep in a town with a tannery and a saltern? There was very little dissent before the consortium voted in favor of their proposal.