Assassin's Price

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  For a moment, Charyn paused. Messengers usually weren’t that loud.

  He had thought about going to the exchange, but decided against it immediately because he wanted to be around when Maitre Alastar departed. Instead, he made his way into the music room, but it was vacant. He looked at the clavecin, then sat down before it, and began to play, trying to recall the shortest of the Covaelyt pieces he’d learned to the limits of his ability in order to impress Palenya. He had achieved less success with several others of Covaelyt’s works, but he still worked on them, if occasionally. It took him three attempts to get the short piece right … or mostly right, despite the fact that it was likely the easiest of those he practiced. When he rose and turned, he found Palenya standing just inside the door.

  “Was the last one … acceptable?” he asked.

  “Somewhat better than acceptable.”

  He smiled sardonically. He hadn’t expected much praise from her. About music, Palenya was usually very honest and direct in her assessments.

  “You could be better if you practiced more.”

  “I do practice. You know that. Even with more practice, I’d never be the best.”

  “Do you have to be the best at everything? Aren’t there some things that you could be good at because you enjoy them?”

  Charyn smiled, honestly. “That’s why I still play. I do like it. I doubt I would were it not for what you’ve taught me.”

  “Flattery, yet.”

  “Flattery,” he admitted, “with truth behind it.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  At that moment, Charyn heard the slamming of a door, and there was only one person who was allowed to slam doors in the Chateau D’Rex. The slammed door also meant that Maitre Alastar had already left the chateau—and that something in that message had very much upset his father. “Please excuse me.” He eased around Palenya and hurried to the grand staircase and started up it, trying to be both quick and not too noisy.

  He’d only taken a few steps when he caught sight of his father heading in the direction of his mother’s sitting room. Something in the message has him upset. Much more upset than usual.

  While he didn’t dare linger outside the door, he could walk past, toward the playroom that hadn’t been used in years, slowly … and trying to catch a sense of what had disturbed his father.

  “… can’t just refuse…”

  “… know there’s nothing … wouldn’t stoop to…”

  “… veiled threat…”

  Charyn wished he could have heard more, but he didn’t dare linger as he turned and made his way to his own sitting room, where he left the door open before sitting down at his desk. There was only one person he knew of that might elicit that reaction … but … that’s still a guess.

  Even after his father returned to his own study, Charyn couldn’t exactly drop in on his mother.

  He still wondered.

  After several moments, he took out a sheet of his personal stationery, uncapped the inkwell, and began to write. A quint later, he signed the letter and sealed it, then slipped it inside his jacket and headed down to the main level, where he walked to the main front entry where the two guards were posted.

  “Were you two here when that message arrived?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who was the messenger?”

  “He didn’t say, sir. He wore maroon livery.”

  Charyn forced himself to nod. “Thank you.”

  He turned to make his way to the courtyard when he noticed Aloryana sitting alone in the receiving parlor, wearing riding clothes. Curious, he stepped inside. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just felt like it. I was going to go riding with Bhayrn, but he was so beastly about it that I decided not to. I heard you talking to the guards. Why did you want to know about a message?”

  Charyn debated evading the question, but then considered that she might know something he didn’t. “I have the feeling that there is something happening that we don’t know. Today and on Lundi, Maitre Alastar came to see Father. Two visits in just a few days. I don’t think that’s happened in months. Then a message came a while ago. The messenger wore the livery of the High Council. After Father read it, he started slamming doors. I could hear him talking to Mother. Not what they said, but he was loud and angry.”

  “Then he will be quiet at dinner tonight,” replied Aloryana. “He gets that way when he’s been angry and upset.”

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “He doesn’t like Uncle Ryel.” Aloryana offered an ironic smile. “Neither does Mother.”

  That was an understatement, to say the least. It was all too obvious to both of them, since their mother would almost never mention Ryel’s name, even though he was Chelia’s brother, and she was never visible on the few occasions when the High Council came to the chateau to meet with the rex. “But this was more than that.”

  “Mother hasn’t said anything,” replied Aloryana. “Do you think the High Holders are getting difficult? More difficult. Father always finds them difficult.”

  “That’s possible. But Maitre Alastar didn’t seem all that disturbed,” said Charyn. “He never does. Not that I’ve seen.”

  “I think Father is wary of him.”

  “I’d be wary, too. Of any imager, but especially of the Maitre.”

  “Do you think people are wary of the women who are imagers?”

  Charyn smiled. “If they aren’t, they should be. Maitre Alyna—she’s his wife…”

  “I know who she is.”

  “She’s said to be as powerful an imager as he is. She might be stronger now that he’s getting older. She’s the Senior Imager. That’s the second-highest post at the Collegium, and—”

  “I know that, too. What else?”

  “She killed a lot of people in the High Holder revolt, and the head of the High Council worries more about her than Maitre Alastar.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  “Charyn, I hate it when you start sounding so superior.” Aloryana stopped as shouts echoed through the lower floor of the chateau, most likely coming from the door to the rear courtyard.

  Charyn immediately turned, stepped out into the hall, and headed toward the rear past the foot of the grand staircase, where he saw Bhayrn, looking pale, several guards, and Churwyl.

  “What happened?” Charyn demanded, then, looking at Bharyn more closely, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. My horse isn’t.”

  Charyn looked back to the guard captain.

  “Someone shot Lord Bhayrn’s mount. Then they shot one of the guards dead, and then the other’s mount.”

  “Who did it?”

  “We don’t know. The surviving guard and Lord Bhayrn took the remaining mount back from the hunting park. I’ve sent guards to see what they can find.”

  “They won’t find much,” predicted Charyn, turning to Bharyn and asking, “Did you see anyone?”

  “Of course not. One moment I was riding looking for the red deer, and the next I was scrambling to keep from being crushed.”

  “The other guard saw a man in a brown cloak, but he was out of sight before the guard could recover his rifle.”

  Recover? Then Charyn realized that the guard had likely lost it when his mount went down. “Bhayrn. You and the guard and Captain Churwyl need to tell Father what happened. Now!”

  “You’re not—”

  “Now! You think this was an accident or happenstance?”

  Charyn watched as the three headed up the grand staircase. He had no desire to be present in their father’s study. He’d hear enough later.

  That possibility occurred sooner than he believed would happen, since less than a quint after Bhayrn had trudged up the grand staircase, Charyn and Aloryana had been summoned and were climbing the same steps and making their way to Lorien’s study. When Charyn and his sister entered the study, they discovered that Chelia, Bhayrn, and their father were all w
aiting.

  No one was seated, and Lorien was pacing back and forth beside the widows near his desk. He looked up. “Close the door.”

  Charyn was already in the process of doing so.

  “Now that you’re all here.” He shook his head. “First the mess with the High Council and High Holder Ryel … and now this.” Lorien glared at Bhayrn, then Charyn, before glancing briefly at Chelia.

  “You didn’t tell us about the High Council and High Holder Ryel,” said Charyn mildly.

  “It’s none—” Lorien stopped as Chelia looked hard at him. “I suppose it is, since one of you got shot at.”

  “Ryel sent me a message this afternoon, insisting that he had to step down as head of the High Council not only because he has served long enough, but because of what he said were significant threats against him and his family. He claims not to know the source, but he doubts that it is from any High Holder. He didn’t say why he believed that.”

  Since no one else spoke, Charyn did. “Do you believe him, sir?”

  “I don’t trust him. I’ve never trusted him.” Lorien paused. “But … yes, I’m inclined to believe him. At least about this.”

  “Why?” asked Chelia. “Why now?”

  “Because we’ve reached an accommodation with the High Holders. They’ve lost two revolts in twenty years, and I haven’t proposed any significant increases in tariffs. What would be the point for any of the High Holders to threaten Ryel now?”

  Chelia’s expression conveyed reservations, if not doubt. “Could that be a concealment for the reasons behind the attack on Bhayrn?”

  “The attack wasn’t on Bhayrn,” replied Lorien. “Whoever was shooting was good enough to bring down two horses and kill a guard in four shots. If they’d meant to have killed Bhayrn, they would have. The guard was killed to make that point.”

  “You haven’t received any threats,” Chelia pointed out.

  “We will, before long.” Lorien glanced toward the hangings that covered the window to his right. “It’s easier to shoot at someone before they’re warned.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” asked Bhayrn.

  “For one thing, no one is to go riding until we know more,” declared Lorien. “No one. I’ve already instructed Churwyl to double the guards around the chateau and to engage in regular patrols of the hunting park. I’ve already sent summonses to Maitre Alastar, High Holder Ryel, and Factor Elthyrd to meet here with me at the first glass of the afternoon tomorrow.”

  “So early?” murmured Bhayrn.

  Lorien whirled. “No comments from you. You’re fortunate to be alive.”

  “You said they weren’t aiming at me.”

  “They could have missed your mount and hit you, you know? Even the best marksmen occasionally miss.” Lorien snorted. “That’s all. Remember, no riding.” He turned to face Chelia, as if to indicate that the three siblings were to leave.

  Bhayrn did not quite bolt for the study door.

  Charyn walked beside Aloryana, then motioned for her to precede him. He did let Maertyl, the duty guard, close the study door.

  “What do you think they want from Father?” Aloryana asked quietly as they walked toward the central upper hall, well behind Bhayrn.

  “I suspect he’ll find out before long.”

  “Why are they doing it?”

  “The last two revolts proved that the imagers can defeat both armies and small groups of attackers. It’s much harder to deal with snipers and people who stay hidden.”

  “But … won’t what they want reveal who they are?”

  “You’d think so,” replied Charyn, “but things aren’t always what we think.” After what had happened, that was definitely so, and another reason why he’d need to burn the letter he’d penned.

  8

  Although Charyn had thought to ride to the exchange on Vendrei morning, after what had happened to Bhayrn the afternoon before, he decided that discretion was to be preferred over senseless valor, and he took the small and elegant, but nondescript, coach, accompanied by Yarselt and another guard, both wearing the plain brown coats. He also left early so that his father was not up or awake enough to forbid his departure. There was little point in meeting with Norstan, either, since Charyn already knew who had visited his father.

  His early departure meant that he needed to visit Elthyrd first, and possibly even Paersyt, before the exchange opened.

  As he rode south on the Avenue D’Commercia, Charyn still wondered about the shooting in the hunting park. As his father had pointed out, the only way that made sense was if it happened to be a threat or a warning—but what kind of threat or warning? The only people who might threaten both Ryel and his father would be unhappy factors and merchants. What would be the purpose of such threats? Killing either man—or both—wouldn’t solve the problems the factors faced, not immediately, assuming that was even the motivation. Nor would burning an exchange building, he realized, really do much besides express anger and create more anger in those who had to pay for its replacement.

  He’d debated not doing what he had in mind, but his father had only explicitly forbidden riding. Besides, he doubted there would be any more attempts or threats until after his father received some sort of explicit threat. If he didn’t …

  Charyn shook his head. In that case, he and his family could spend years in the chateau waiting for something else to occur. But that’s not likely to happen.

  As seemed to be usual at Elthyrd’s factorage, men were loading and unloading flatboats under a clear sky that should have indicated a day warmer than it was. Not seeing Elthyrd outside, Charyn entered the factorage, where a young square-faced clerk looked up from the farther table desk. His eyes took in the exchange pin on Charyn’s jacket. “Sir?”

  “Suyrien D’Chaeryll to see Factor Elthyrd.”

  “Ah…”

  “I’ll see him.” Elthyrd appeared in the doorway of his study.

  Charyn stepped around the table desks and joined Elthyrd in the study, closing the door behind himself.

  “Are you here because of the summons your father issued?” asked Elthyrd, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk.

  “The first reason I came was to offer my thanks for your support of my membership in the exchange. Since I’ll be going there shortly, it seemed that I should stop and offer thanks.”

  “The second reason being something your father wishes?”

  “I’m not here because of anything my father has done,” replied Charyn as he seated himself. “If I’m to be truthful, he’d prefer that I not associate with factors at all, except in the strict course of business.”

  “He has conveyed a certain distance.”

  Charyn merely nodded. Much as he agreed with Elthyrd, commenting was unnecessary and unwise.

  “Do you have any idea why he requested my presence?”

  “He only said that he had requested your presence. My sire doesn’t divulge to me, or likely anyone, what he plans to say to you or others with whom he meets. I do know that he received a missive yesterday that greatly upset him and that someone took a shot at my brother yesterday.”

  “Someone shot your brother?”

  “Shot at him. They hit a guard and the mounts.”

  “Shot at your brother…” Elthyrd repeated, almost musingly.

  “I doubt that my sire would be pleased that I informed you, but you would be even less pleased had I not. We have no idea who did it, but whether that has any bearing on what he will discuss with you, I have no idea. Usually, I never find out anything he does not wish to reveal, and there is little he wishes to reveal.”

  “Even to you?”

  “He tells me he has no intention of dying any time soon, and I have plenty of time to learn.”

  “I appreciate the information, but will not reveal that I knew previously.”

  “Thank you. The other matter about which I came to see you was something entirely different. The other day I got a briefing from Marshal Vaelln. He w
as telling me that the Jariolan privateers are taking a great toll on Solidaran shipping, particularly near Jariola and Ferrum. I also gained the impression that some of those privateers are heading into the southern ocean. That might well affect those trading with the lands of Otelyrn, particularly those in the spice trade.”

  “Ha! It already is. All you have to do when you’re at the exchange is check the future price of pepper.”

  “I take it that the price is up considerably. Do you know if the Jariolan warships and privateers are taking more than supposed deserters?”

  “I doubt it could be otherwise. Some factors claim they are. Some have lost ships. They’re the most vocal of all those who want more warships built.”

  The way Elthyrd had phrased his response suggested something to Charyn, and he tried to phrase his next question carefully. “Is that why the Factors’ Council is concerned about the pace of adding warships?”

  “We’ve been telling your sire for two years that he’s adding ships too slowly. There’s no secret about that.”

  Except to me. “And the High Holders have been protesting that building more ships more quickly will require higher tariffs and will result in more unhappy High Holders and more unrest?”

  “He hasn’t told you that?” Elthyrd looked surprised.

  “No … but it makes sense.” Charyn smiled, sheepishly, he hoped. “I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

  “Probably not, but you can see why some merchants and factors aren’t terribly pleased with the situation.”

  Or Father. “It doesn’t seem as though anything will make everyone happy.”

  “At the moment, no one’s happy,” Elthyrd pointed out. “The burning of the exchange in Solis didn’t help matters.”

  “That’s a very good observation.” Charyn paused. “I will have to leave before long. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

  “The way you’re playing your plaques could be dangerous.”

  “I’m trying not to play at all, but if I don’t learn more than I have, I may not be in the game at all when it comes my turn to play.”

  Elthyrd nodded. “It’s good to know you don’t consider yourself a player. I can see that is what you wish. Others may not be so charitable.”