Heritage of Cyador

XXII

By seventh glass on fiveday morning, Lerial is once more riding beside Rhamuel on the river road, this time several kays north of Shaelt, under high gray clouds.

“How did you enjoy the dinner?” asks the arms-commander.

“The fare was excellent,” adds Lerial. This is doubtless true, given Rhamuel’s position and taste, but Lerial does not even remember much of anything but the taste of the lager, and the fact that the main dish was some form of beef wrapped in flaky pastry, similar to beef Fyrad, if with a creamy basil sauce, rather than a beef mushroom sauce.

“And the lager?”

“Yours is better,” replies Lerial with a smile.

“Thank you. And the company?”

“I learned a great deal about cordage, stonework, glassblowing, and, of course, countinghouses.” And about the power and influence of Aenian House. “I doubt the last was in the slightest accidental or coincidental. What else should I know about Fhastal, especially that which I’m not likely to find out from anyone but you?”

“First, if you’d indulge me, tell me your impressions of him.”

“Besides the fact that he’s powerful and dangerous? Or that he reveals nothing that he does not wish to? He mostly likely thinks out the implications of what he does much farther than almost anyone else. I doubt he forgets anything, but he mostly likely knows what grudges to forgive, and what never to forgive.”

“That’s a fair summary. He’s also consorted to Haesychya’s sister.”

Rhamuel’s response tells Lerial two things. First, that even more than he has anticipated the inner workings of everything in Swartheld are deeply connected. Second, that Rhamuel either knows almost everything that Lerial was told, or that he believes that Lerial knows more than he does, since Lerial had not known the name of Atroyan’s consort until Mesphaes mentioned it. Then, too, perhaps Emerya had told him, and he had forgotten. Even so, neither of the latter two possibilities is exactly encouraging. “And?”

“He’s skilled and powerful enough that he always acts within the law and customary practices.”

“Customary practices can provide great leeway,” Lerial ventures dryly.

“I should have said that he does not engage in any practice, however customary, that is against the law.”

“I suspect you wanted to see if I would remark upon that difference,” banters Lerial.

“It’s always interesting to hear how people respond to what is said, and whether they actually listen.” Rhamuel pauses, then adds, “Some hear what they want to. Some hear every word and then fail to understand. Some hear nothing.”

“And some hear every word and wonder if that is what the speaker meant.”

Rhamuel nods. “Or if that speaker said anything at all beyond mere words. At times, that is necessary.”

“Rather than uttering no words at all?”

“There are times when silence is regarded as either agreement or disagreement. At some of such times it is unwise to allow either assumption to prevail.”

“You didn’t want to leave Drusyn in Lubana, did you?”

“You didn’t post anyone to watch for riders leaving in the middle of the night while we were in Shaelt. Why not?” counters Rhamuel.

“After the dinner last night, and the size of Shaelt Post, I didn’t see any point in it.” Lerial turns to the arms-commander and waits. As he does, he realizes that there are circles under Rhamuel’s eyes. But the dinner ended early, and he retired immediately after we returned to the post. Did he remain awake … worrying?

“I felt Subcommander Drusyn and his battalions would serve better if they were positioned to defend Swartheld.”

“And so would the merchanters of Swartheld.”

“Naturally.”

They ride for another tenth of a glass before Lerial speaks again. “Would you tell me more about Haesychya? Besides the fact that she is either retiring, cautious, or shy, if not all three?”

“She is the daughter of Aenslem. Although you probably know this or soon would have learned it, he is the head of Aenian House. Aenian House owns the largest fleet of merchant vessels, both river and deepwater, in Hamor, and ports some of those vessels out of other lands, not only in Hamor, but in Candar, Austra, and Nordla.”

“You and your brother do not wish to be far from merchant power.”

“It’s not a matter of wishing, Lerial. Their tariffs support a considerable proportion of the Afritan Guard.”

“And with countinghouses and ships established elsewhere, they hold out the possibility of moving their operations elsewhere if the duke should pursue … policies or tariffs greatly to their dislike?”

“Surely, that doesn’t surprise you?”

“No. But some of that possibility has to be a bluff. Such a move, no matter how well planned, would entail near-ruinous costs.”

“Substantial, but not near-ruinous. And all the Aenian House vessels are well armed.”

“So they could effectively blockade Swartheld? That does sound ruinous … for Aenian House, I mean.”

“Oh … that wouldn’t happen. Enough merchanters from other lands would occasionally vanish, without a trace, that there would be less trade. Duke Khesyn would look the other way if certain brigands used the river to prey only on Afritan traders.”

“All of this has been so delicately intimated?”

“Not even that. Merely understood.”

And merchanters from other lands would be reluctant to establish houses in Afrit against such odds. “You have not told me much about your brother’s consort.”

“Ah, yes. Haesychya. She is slender and fair. She is a most devoted mother, as well as a faithful and devoted consort. She does not speak Cyadoran, but then, neither does the duke, at least not well enough that he trusts himself to do so in any public place.”

Lerial nods, waiting, a habit he has found serves him well.

“She is fond of reading, particularly of history. She does not care for verse, although I did learn to like verse, at least in Cyadoran, when I was in Cigoerne. I may be the only one in the family who does, since it is regarded as an … effeminate pastime by many in Swartheld.”

“That is interesting, since some of the most powerful emperors of Cyador were fond of verse, and a few even wrote it.”

“Ah … but Cyador’s time has passed. At least, that is what many merchanters will say. Certainly, Duke Khesyn has also said that.”

“I don’t suppose that he has suggested that any form of alliance with Cigoerne would merely weaken a duchy in Hamor.”

“Not in so many words.”

“What about Natroyor? He’s only … is it three years younger than Kyedra?”

“That’s about right.”

“So he’s around eighteen?”

Rhamuel nods. “He looks a bit younger, although he is handsome enough.”

“Does he look like Kyedra at all?”

“They look like brother and sister. Kyedra is as tall as he is, and he’s not quite as tall as I am.”

“I’m guessing that their mother is tall, then.”

“She is. Kyedra takes after her in that.”

“Is Haesychya older or younger than her sister? The one consorted to Fhastal?”

“She’s younger. By several years.”

“How large a ministry does the duke have?”

“Ministry?” Rhamuel actually seems puzzled.

“Advisors? Counselors? Those who act as justicers?”

“Oh … matters are held more closely here. The duke only has three principal ministers, certainly not enough to comprise a ministry. Cyphret is minister for merchanting, Vaencyr for justice, and Dohaan for roads, harbors, and waterways. As senior minister, Cyphret keeps the master ledger of all the duke’s revenues and expenditures.”

“And you’re in command of the Afritan Guard.” Lerial wonders how many of the three ministers are related to the more powerful merchanters, but decides that question should wait, since asking it will reveal more than he wishes and gain him little.

“I did say that matters are held more closely.”

“I understand. Afrit is far older than Cigoerne.”

“And far different from Cyador.”

For now. Lerial cannot help but think of the words that the majer had left for him … and the magnitude of the task implied by those words.

“You look doubtful,” observes Rhamuel.

“Not doubtful at all. Thoughtful. I have much to learn and trust that I can come to understand what is necessary before making too many mistakes.”

“In Afrit, there isn’t much space for mistakes.”

“I’m getting that impression,” Lerial replies dryly. When Rhamuel does not immediately reply, Lerial adds, “Since we have a long ride yet, perhaps you could tell me more about Swartheld.”

“Where does one begin?” muses the arms-commander. “Well … the harbor dominates the city. That is why there is a city there. It’s one of the finest natural harbors in Hamor, perhaps in the world. The piers are all of stone, and the water is deep enough so that the largest of merchant vessels can tie up to any of the piers. There are seldom less than a score of vessels in port at any one time, and usually a ship from every continent in the world. There is black wool from Montgren, and the best salted herring from Spidlar…”

Lerial listens carefully as they ride along the dusty river road. Occasionally, he looks eastward, across the Swarth River, to Heldya, wondering just what Duke Khesyn has in mind in dealing with Afrit … and Cigoerne. And what, if anything, he can do about it.