“What kind of assignments, Your Grace?” asked Lawfather Jodas, suspiciously.
“Assignments which are, perhaps, outside of your particular ministry’s purview, but well within the scope of your talents,” proposed the Prime Minister, diplomatically. “Titles alone will not rule a realm without order and control. So we must first concentrate our efforts on order and control, before we attempt to rule. Do any of you disagree?”
No one voiced an objection. Count Angrial continued, fixing each of them by eye as he checked off their assignments on his parchment with a charcoal.
“Good. Now here are your immediate assignments. Count Salgo, I want you to expand your mandate from examination of the Palace Guard to include the larger garrison. It might be a royal garrison, but under the compact it is subject to ducal authority. You are currently that authority. Comb out all the rascals and cowards, the parchment soldiers and sots, and dismiss them. Appoint officers as you see fit. Recruit new men as required.”
“Your Grace,” the lawfather objected, “that garrison is a Royal garrison. We have no legal authority over its composition or its deployment.”
“It is an army within the bounds of my lands,” Anguin countered, simply and sharply. “Under the Laws of Duin, that gives me the right to do what I need to do defend the realm. Including assuming control over that garrison. I’m not attacking it, disbanding it, or even punishing it. I just want it to work less like a pack of thieves and more like a military unit. Count Salgo, I wish the garrison to be reconstituted to provide adequate defense of the capital. Is that understood?”
“Like fine music and a good cup of red,” nodded the Warlord, grinning under his mustache. As he had technically appointed the original officers as Kingdom Warlord, revisiting the roster as it existed must have seemed like a rare opportunity to repair mistakes.
“Sister Saltia? The state of the treasury . . . as we found it?”
“Surprisingly robust,” the nun admitted, frowning. “Once we included the funds discovered in the Steward’s chamber, that is. Around twenty-eight thousand ounces of silver, nearly four thousand ounces of gold. Enough to run the palace for about a month, maybe more. We’re still going through the accounts, however,” she added, disturbed. “It appears as if the palace has accrued considerable debt with local merchants and secular moneylenders under the Steward’s reign.”
“I want those debts investigated and settled,” the young duke ordered, forcefully. “Among the reports of Edmarin’s deficiencies was the debt he was incurring in the name of the palace. Some of those merchants are nearly beggared because they are owed silver that he did not want to pay. See that as many of those claims as possible are resolved, using the baron’s own fortunes first. The sudden influx of coin will not harm the state of the city, I’m certain. And our income, Coinsister?”
“Viscountess Threanas is looking into that now,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the mention of the nun. “We met but briefly,” she added, with a hint of bitterness in her voice – she was clearly unhappy about working with the woman. “Apparently Baron Edmarin would not allow her near the accounts, because he feared she would make a report to His Majesty. A quick review will be difficult, because it’s hard to determine what is palace income, what is ducal income, and what is royal income. It appears that Edmarin got frustrated and consolidated them all into one ledger,” the nun said, indignantly, as if he had smeared feces on his tunic before temple services.
“Shouldn’t that make things easier?” asked Father Amus, surprised.
Sister Saltia snorted in disgust – a lot like Viscountess Threanas, actually, Pentandra noted. She wondered if snorting in disgust was a common trait of Treasury officials.
“Easier? Is untangling a skein of thread easier when it is in one giant ball? Luck be with us if we have the vaguest idea of our actual finances before Briga’s Day!”
“Then untangling that skein is your highest priority, Sister,” agreed Angrial. “Thanks to the good graces of your temple, the generous donations of patriotic expatriates, and the Duke’s personal funds, not to mention other . . . supporters,” he said, his eyes flicking to Pentandra, “we have a large but limited pool of funds to call upon to establish our rule. Most of those funds must be repaid. Establishing a viable income is going to be one of our foremost in our priorities.”
“Raising revenues from a town on the edge of a war zone in the midst of poor economic times is going to be difficult, without some semblance of order and establishment of law,” reminded Lawfather Jodas.
“Which is why your special mandate, Father, will be to meet with and appeal to the merchant class in town, and what traders remain wintered here, to gain their cooperation.”
“Me? Their . . . cooperation?” asked the high priest, surprised. “To do what?”
“To pay their damn taxes!” Count Salgo said, gruffly. “Most are seriously in arrears, or claimed they paid Edmarin’s riff raff but have nothing to prove it. Before the war this town generated about three thousand ounces of silver a month in tax revenue. We need that money, now!”
“Then we must give them the expectation of justice, law, and order in return,” the priest said, haughtily.
“That is our intent – and why you will be our emissary to them. With your assurances they should be persuaded to resume their cooperation with the palace – and the Duchy.”
“And if they ask for concessions?”
“Then note them and tell them that the Duke will take them under advisement. But this is not a negotiation. This is an invitation to voluntarily comply, ahead of a much stricter – and more just – era of commerce. Listen to what they have to say. But promise them nothing more than our best efforts . . . and our vigilant observation.”
“They cannot fail to mention the corruption and crime rampant in the town,” the Lawfather added.
Tenacious bugger, Pentandra noted. That could be a very good thing or a very bad thing in the Minister of Justice . . . or both.
“As far as corruption goes, Lawfather, I trust your legendary devotion to order to prevail over the transitory nature of worldly corruption in the presentation of cases before His Grace.” A grunt and a smile from the old priest foretold just how much he looked forward to that task.
“But there are places in Vorone where even the fear of Luin’s righteous staff has no meaning. At the moment, the presence of the criminal element in Vorone is not merely a matter of justice or commerce . . . it is a threat to the security of the state. Indeed, His Grace and I have agreed that it is a threat to the stability of the realm sufficient to eschew normal judicial procedure.”
Count Sagal frowned. “You wish to employ the military?” No soldier liked to be pressed into service as a constabulary force. It muddied things, from what Pentandra understood about the profession.
“Considering the current state of the garrison and the guard, and the transitional nature of our contract with the Orphans, that would be a poor and ineffective use of our resources. And likely ineffective, even if we did try. From what our agents have been able to tell us the criminals in question are adept at hiding and obfuscation. We could send all the troops we like into town, but the moment they’re gone the gangs will be right back in control.”
“Then how?”
“The manner in which the criminal underground is entrenched requires a more deft hand to root out without destroying the good will and commerce we are attempting to establish elsewhere,” reflected Angrial. “No normal imposition of martial law will eliminate them, it will merely send them into hiding until better times appear. Eliminating them entirely will be a subtle and delicate task.
“Which is why I have assigned that task to . . . Lady Pentandra, the new Court Wizard,” the Prime Minister continued, smoothly.
“What?” Pentandra asked, her eyes wide.
“Such an entrenched and establish cult of criminals will defy mundane methods of pursuit. We could fill the streets with soldiers, and it would not stop the Rats.
No normal imposition of martial law will eliminate them, it will merely send them into hiding until better times appear. Eliminating them will be a subtle and delicate task, requiring the kind of dedication and ruthlessness often associated with magic. And since His Grace has one of the most powerful magi in the land on his staff, it seems a pity not to use her against his greatest state threat.”
“But . . . but I’m a mage, not a constable!”
“Then make friends with the constable, and do what you must to eliminate the threat. There is a new one, a local by the name of Sir Vemas His Grace appointed.”
“I met him earlier today,” she sighed. “He’s quite charming.”
“He’s quite ambitious, too. And more keen-minded than most of his fellows. Consult with him . . . and then, together, track down every rat hole, destroy every nest, and free Vorone from vermin. Permanently,” he added, darkly.
“Nor am I an assassin!” Pentandra sputtered.
“Then make friends with an assassin,” suggested Count Salgo. “More than one, if you need to. These men need not be subject to ordinary justice, if they pose an extraordinary threat. Nor will the agents acting in the Duke’s name.”
“But . . . but . . .”
“Count Angrial, I object!” Lawfather Jodas huffed. “Luin’s law does not allow for such unjust acts on the part of the aristocracy! The gods decry it!”
“Not all the gods,” Angrial said, quietly. “Every duke has the right to invoke Kulin’s Law, at need.”
That hushed the Lawfather. While Luin the Lawgiver was especially adored in the Narasi pantheon, and his cult was the basis of most Narasi jurisprudence, it was not the only law the Narasi respected. Most of the major gods had books of law concerning the issues of their particular spheres. Or at least their worshippers did. Usually, Luin’s Law, detailing the rights and responsibilities of each element of Narasi society, was considered superior to the others.
But if the God of Law was powerful, he was not absolute. There were plenty of gaps in guidance for a noble devoted to the law. And plenty of situations that fell within the spheres of other gods’ laws.
Invoking Kulin, the youngest brother of the Narasi divinities, took special courage. Kulin the Horselord was not merely the patron of equestrian affairs, he was also the patron of thieves, kidnappers, and assassins. So of course the lawbook detailing the god’s guidance was, by necessity, permissive of things that no other cult would have seriously considered.
But it was legally viable, and morally defensible. Dukes had used the exceptions in the Book of Kulin to justify and rationalize their clandestine actions since the earliest days of the Conquest. Priests of Luin, like Father Amus, hated that.
“I understand this is not the task you thought you would be doing, my dear,” the Prime Minister said, kindly. “It is not expected that you will be entirely successful. But we have used spies and assassins in the past, when dealing with the Brotherhood, and gotten little result. His Grace wishes to employ the forces of magic to the problem instead. He shares Count Salgo’s confidence in your ability to make some progress against them. In fact, any information you could glean about their doings in the Rebel Territories would be splendid, in terms of informing His Grace’s internal policies,” he added.
“And now a spy?” snorted Pentandra.
Count Angrial sighed heavily, a long, reedy sigh like a deflating bladderpipe. “If you don’t think yourself up to it, my dear, I’m certain His Grace—”
“No!” Pentandra said, automatically. “I’ll do it. I just have no idea how I’ll do it,” she admitted.
“If you need the assistance of the court, you need only ask. His Grace has instructed all ministries to cooperate with you fully, at need. Hopefully this will be a temporary assignment. But you must act quietly – secretly – as the laws of Kulin demand. Until the savages exploiting the unfortunate and hopeless for every last copper are rooted out in the capital, the tree of sovereignty will be in very loose soil indeed.”
And now I’m a gardener, Pentandra fumed to herself, wisely choosing discretion for once before she opened her lips. “I shall do my best,” she promised, invoking the Kasari motto. This was court, not a debate.
“Your best will be splendid,” assured Count Salgo. Others at the table did not look so confident.
Pentandra didn’t care. She’d been handed an impossible task she had no idea how to achieve, and she’d accepted it . . . just like she’d done when she’d agreed to be the Steward of the Arcane Orders. She’d managed that well enough by faking it until she hired the right people. This mandate was just as broad, in its way; it was just more . . . bloody. She would have to have people killed, she knew. She’d done it before, when she needed to, but it was not something in her nature.
That’s just part of the job description of the Court Wizard of Alshar, now, she reminded herself.
“If I do this,” she said, carefully, “then I’m going to want better quarters at the palace. The current arrangement for my office is entirely unsuitable.” She had yet to even move into them, but she knew they were inadequate. Master Thinradel, her processor, had been adamant about that.
“About that,” the young Duke said, wincing. Pentandra’s heart fell. “I am afraid that when the rest of our reinforcements arrive from Gilmora, my lady, I must regretfully request the use of your apartments for the quartering of some of the more senior supporters. A few knights and their households, is all, and likely only until the Orphan’s Band departs after midwinter. But if you could possibly find another place within the city to practice your craft and hold your house, I . . . would appreciate it.”
“And at my own expense, no doubt,” Pentandra grumbled.
“You may submit a request for reimbursement,” offered Sister Saltia. “I’m sure I can persuade Viscountess Threanas to pay it!”
“If that is what the Duke requires of me, then I shall comply,” she sighed. “Does that mean that I must also find sufficient funds to pay for this . . . initiative?” she asked, distastefully. In fact, she already had a contingency against this, though it was one she was reluctant to use. Minalan once claimed the townhouse of his former lord, Sire Koucey, in Vorone. She fully intended on making use of it, while things got sorted out. While she wasn’t expecting to actually move in, it was more expedient than trying to find quarters closer to the palace.
“As for that, we will fund your efforts. Merely ask for what you need, Lady Mage,” repeated the Duke.
“And after this housing crisis is over . . . I get new quarters?”
“I shall do my best to provide them for you,” the Prime Minister assured. “Come springtime, Ishi willing, there will be a lot more room at the palace. And time and opportunity to construct what we do not already have.”
“Then I accept,” she said, simply. “If the price of bloodthirstiness is a new office and decent quarters, how can I say no?”
It occurred to her that she couldn’t. But then she’d known women who would have leapt at the chance to get a grand new home at the palace and wouldn’t have even counted the bodies it took to get them.
At Alar she had flouted academy policy and rented a suite in the town, only nominally “living” in the tiny cell in which they expected scholars of magic to exist . . . and earning the ire of the masters. In Castabriel she had selected spacious quarters for her role as Steward of the Arcane Orders, but she had quickly found a more comfortable existence just outside of the capital, at her beloved Fairoaks estate.
In Sevendor she had quickly fled the quaint quarters Minalan had given her in his barbaric old castle and had a hall constructed – at the expense of her father and his friends – so that she could enjoy her comforts. Even in the wilds of Kasar she had found a way to take shelter in her own manner, rather than depend on other’s ideas of comfort.
But now that she was married, she had more than one person’s comfort to consider. It did not matter that Arborn would have been as comfortable in a makeshift shelter as a pala
ce – more – it mattered that suddenly Pentandra had to take his needs into consideration, as well as her own.
Chapter Seven
Troubled Times
The activity in the palace did not subside during the next week as the jubilation waned and the reality of a cold, snowy winter in Vorone set in for the townsfolk. The temple bells welcoming the Duke home had been silent for days, and the sense of joy and celebration – and, in some quarters, fright and despair – had slackened and settled, like snow that has been around for a while. Some were even bitter. The elation of some people had quickly turned to disappointment when their lives did not instantly transform to the better. After the holiday the price of bread was still high, the cost of their daily labor – if any – was still low, and their lives looked little better under the Duke as it had under the Steward.
Worse, from their perspective, was the arrival of another thousand Orphans’ Band mercenaries and the remainder of the Duke’s party, late from Gilmora, four days after Yule. Only the whores seemed pleased with that development - and there was a gracious plenty of them, working in the streets as far as the edge of the Northside quarter where Pentandra lived to the site of most of the town’s brothels along Perfume Street and Glassblowers Street.
For everyone else it just meant more rough-looking mercenaries patrolling the town and driving up the price of bread. They still had to toil and worry, and they no longer even had Yule to look forward to.
For Pentandra, the arrival of the rest of the Orphan’s Band and Anguin’s remaining supporters meant temporarily abandoning the office and quarters she’d never properly moved into as they were used for the overflow of nobility. That delayed any meaningful progress she could make towards re-establishing her office, which was frustrating. But Alshar had functioned for several years without a Court Wizard, so it could survive a few more weeks, she reasoned.
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 18