Heritage of Cyador

LIII

Although Maesoryk’s villa is not located on Lake Jhulyn, the lakes are not that far apart, and the ride north to Lake Leomyn takes slightly more than four glasses. With Lerial’s forces is an additional wagon, containing Mykel’s body, packed as much as possible in salt. Lerial leaves the arrangements for Jhosef and Oestyn to the villa staff, while all the guards who died at Jhosef’s villa are buried in a mass grave on the grounds.

Just after the first glass of the afternoon Norstaan points along the shore of the lake. “You see the large buff-colored building? That’s Merchanter Maesoryk’s villa.”

“Have you been there before?”

“Only once. I’ve never seen the inside. The arms-commander … the duke, I mean, said that it was impressive without being excessively lavish.”

“Unlike Jhosef’s villa, you mean.”

“He didn’t compare the two, ser.” Norstaan smiles. “He might have had that in mind, though.”

As Lerial rides up to the white-painted wrought-iron gates, he can see that Maesoryk’s summer villa is markedly different from Jhosef’s. The three-story buff stone building is set on a low rise less than fifty yards from the water, facing south, and it appears as if every other chamber facing the lake has its own railed and roofed balcony. The road leading to the gates is graveled, as it has been for the entire way since splitting from the main paved road that runs from Swartheld to Lake Jhulyn and then to Lake Reomer, although the narrow lane beyond the gates leading to the villa and outbuildings is paved. There are only three outbuildings, all comparatively modest, and the grounds are enclosed by a stone wall two yards high topped with another yard of the white iron grillework. The pier out into the lake is far shorter and narrower than the one at Jhosef’s villa.

The greatest difference is that the two guards at the gates immediately open them, proclaiming, “Welcome to Sorykan, Lord Lerial.”

That welcome in itself, with the quick recognition of Lerial, suggests Maesoryk has anticipated their arrival … or at least the arrival of someone dispatched by Rhamuel. The fact that Maesoryk himself appears at the entry to the villa almost as soon as the Mirror Lancers rein up reinforces Lerial’s suspicion, although he can sense no concentrations of order or chaos in or around the villa and its grounds, nor any sign of a shielded mage or wizard.

“Welcome! Welcome! I hadn’t expected you, Lord Lerial, of all people, to ride to Lake Leomyn, but when I heard that you had paid a call on Jhosef, I thought you might chance this way.” Maesoryk’s voice is warm and cheerful, but reminds Lerial of the insinuating feel of Jhosef’s mage. He also has more than a few doubts about Maesoryk’s just “hearing” of a visit more than fifteen kays away.

“We ended up paying more than a call on Jhosef,” Lerial says before dismounting and walking across the paving of the entry portico to meet the merchanter. He gestures for Norstaan to accompany him.

“Do come in and tell me all about it.” Maesoryk radiates curiosity. “It must be a fascinating story.”

“We might at that,” Lerial agrees, silently checking his shields, “although the story is more sordid than fascinating, but then some people do in fact find the sordid more fascinating than honorable accomplishments.”

“That is a fascinating observation as well.” Maesoryk gestures, then turns. “We can sit on the terrace outside the study.”

Lerial and Norstaan follow him through the square entry hall to a wide staircase and up that to the second level. The white walls are almost bare of decoration, except for two identical hangings, one on each side of the staircase,

“Are those your merchanting house crest?” asks Lerial.

“What else would they be? They’re a reminder of what makes all this possible.”

At the top of the staircase, the merchanter turns to his right, then takes the first door on the left, which leads into a comparatively modest study, one that is seven yards by five, with a small fireplace on the left wall, and a desk set against the wall on the right. Between the two is a plaques table with chairs for six people. Maesoryk eases around the table and out onto the roofed terrace, where four armchairs are set in an arc facing the balcony railing and the lake. The merchanter takes the chair on the end farthest from the door and gestures.

Lerial seats himself at the other end, and Norstaan sits beside Lerial.

“You were going to tell me about Jhosef and your call upon him?” prompts Maesoryk.

“We weren’t exactly welcomed,” Lerial begins, “and when we finally entered the grounds a company of armed guards attempted to stop us. When we reached the villa, Jhosef was waiting on a high terrace. When I suggested he might have had something to do with the death of Lord Mykel, he said that was the last thing on his mind, or words to that effect, and then he most pleasantly suggested that I join him in the villa to discuss the future of Afrit. He left the terrace, and we proceeded to the main entrance. Undercaptain Norstaan and I entered. In the main entry hall, we were met by Jhosef, Mykel, and Oestyn. Jhosef suggested that Duke Rhamuel’s rule would be short and that the only one of his lineage that the merchanters of Afrit would accept as duke would be Mykel. I begged to differ, whereupon a chaos-mage who had concealed himself with wizardry attacked me. I defended myself, and managed to lay a blade on him. Since he was steeped in chaos, that was sufficient to kill him.

“When that happened, young Oestyn appeared from nowhere and stabbed his father in the back. Jhosef ordered a second wizard to kill all of us as he struggled with Oestyn. The young wizard used chaos on Mykel and attempted that on me. He was unsuccessful, but by the time I had dealt with him, Oestyn had killed his father and then slit his own throat.”

“I suppose you were the only one to see this?”

“Hardly. Undercaptain Norstaan did, and so did a number of armsmen and some servitors.”

“Ah … so many witnesses that there is little doubt of what happened.” Maesoryk frowns. “Do you know why Jhosef acted as he did?”

“I thought you might have some idea,” replies Lerial. “He did say that the merchanters would never accept Rhamuel as duke.”

“‘Never’ is a dangerous word to bandy about.”

“I’ve thought that as well. But … you didn’t offer any thought as to why Jhosef did what he did.”

“It’s obvious that he was deluded enough to believe he could rule Afrit through Mykel. Only a produce merchanter could be that deluded,” Maesoryk finishes dryly.

“Were Jhosef’s mages acquainted with your mages?”

“I have no chaos-mages.”

The fact that Maesoryk’s statement comes across without chaos is only an indication that he has none at the moment. “I had heard that you did, and that you lost both of them in supporting Khesyn’s invasion of Afrit…”

Maesoryk laughs, an open and honest sound. “I see you believe what everyone thinks. I’ve never had a chaos-mage in my life. I told everyone that I did so that no one would try to kill me…”

There is enough chaos around Maesoryk as he speaks that Lerial is fascinated, because it is clear that there is at least some truth behind the merchanter’s words, but that chaos, combined with his earlier statement of not presently having chaos mages, is effectively a confirmation that he did in fact have such … before Lerial destroyed them. Lerial can almost-almost-admire the merchanter’s bold-faced effrontery and clever prevarication.

“Do you really think I could live with two mages close by? For them to be useful, they would have to be closer than I’d ever want one…” Maesoryk shakes his head. “You said you killed both of Jhosef’s mages? And that resulted in Jhosef’s and Oestyn’s deaths?”

“Since the mages attacked me, I didn’t have much choice.”

“Still … you seem to have allowed some possibly unnecessary deaths, Lord Lerial.”

“Unnecessary? I think not. My duty is to do what is best for Cigoerne and for Afrit, and that means what is best for Duke Rhamuel, not merchanters who have committed treason for the sake of golds.”

“What a quaint concept of duty. Golds are what support a land.”

“Only when they are honestly obtained and used.”

“In some cases, honestly is a matter of perspective.” Maesoryk smiles. “Would you like a lager, Lord Lerial?”

“Not at the moment.”

“You are indeed determined to remain on serious matters, then. Am I suspected of some nefarious deed? Some rancid and revolting plot?”

“Suspected?” rejoins Lerial. “I wouldn’t say that.” Involved or implicated, rather. “But I must say that I hadn’t expected you to greet me so cheerfully. Especially after so many Heldyans were able to use the pier at your tileworks to land and begin their attack on Swartheld.”

“I cannot be held responsible for where Duke Khesyn landed his armsmen in this reprehensible attack on Afrit. I have suffered great damage, and that tileworks may well be ruined for any future use.”

At those words, Lerial realizes that, in all probability, Maesoryk lost little from the damage to the tileworks, but he presses on. “Certainly, if that use was contrary to your wishes, it would seem strange that you never let either the duke or arms-commander know that your tileworks had been occupied by the Heldyans.”

“How could I let the duke know when I myself did not know until after the fact?” The merchanter shakes his head. “By the time I knew, the duke was dead, and the arms-commander injured and reported likely to die, and many of the senior officers were also dead.”

Rather interesting, since those of us in the midst of the fighting didn’t even know that until later.

“So what did you do then?”

“I dispatched a messenger to Subcommander Klassyn, thinking he was the most senior officer left. The messenger told me he gave it to Subcommander Dhresyl, because he was in charge.”

“Dhresyl never received such a message.”

“I’d venture to say that he did,” returns Maesoryk. “He never did care for us, not after he tried to cheat us on tiles we supplied for the Harbor Post several years ago.”

Surprisingly, that statement carries a heavy sense of order. But then, that doesn’t change anything, really. “Do you have your family here often?” asks Lerial, sensing there is little point in continuing the charade.

Even Maesoryk seems disconcerted by the sudden change of topic, for he pauses a long moment before replying.

“Only when I’m here, if then. Not much these days. Nonsoryk is my youngest. He’s in Nubyat, rebuilding a tileworks we recently bought. The oldest is Bhalmaes. He’s in Luba at present. Well … a bit west of there on the new canal where he’s just completed our new ceramic works. From there, it’s easier to send goods downstream. We’ll be able to boat goods to some of the Heldyan river towns as well-Vyada, Thoerne, and some others. We have an arrangement with Kenkram that allows use of the canal for an annual fee, rather than for a levy on each barge or boat…”

“No daughters?”

“Just one. Maera. She was recently consorted to Kenkram’s eldest. We try to use family ties, you know.” The merchanter laughs again.

Lerial studies Maesoryk carefully, noting again the heavy gold chain around the merchanter’s neck. After a moment of consideration, he extends his order-senses and creates a variation on one of the patterns he has used in the past, a very small pattern linked to the chain that will slowly remove chaos, and only chaos, over the next glass or so … and possibly longer. “Do you believe in the power of order?”

“A man would be a fool to deny either order or chaos.”

“That’s true.” Lerial stands and smiles. “I believe you’ve answered my questions to the best of your ability, Merchanter Maesoryk. We won’t take any more of your time. We do have a long ride back to Swartheld, and Duke Rhamuel will wish to know about Merchanter Jhosef’s treachery as soon as possible.”

After a brief hesitation, Norstaan rises, unable to conceal a frown.

Maesoryk is more successful in concealing what he feels behind a pleasant smile. “I’m glad that I was able to address your questions.”

“So am I,” replies Lerial, smiling, if for a different reason. He can already sense what Maesoryk cannot yet feel. He looks to Norstaan. “We should be going.” Then his eyes turn to Maesoryk. “We can find our way out.” With those words, he leaves the merchanter before Maesoryk can protest.

Lerial says little except for the necessary commands as they leave Maesoryk’s grounds and ride back along the lake road that leads toward Lake Jhulyn.

Finally, Norstaan looks at Lerial. “He was lying, you know. Every word was a lie. Why did you let him get away with it?”

“There’s no proof … He’s right. He had great damage to his tileworks. No one will realize that he was likely going to destroy or close the works anyway. Why else would he be opening a new works near Luba and another in Nubyat? Even so, there will be a cloud on his reputation, no matter what he says, and everyone will look askance at him for the rest of his life.”

“But we all know that he was in as deep as Jhosef and Alaphyn. How could you let him get away with it, ser?”

Lerial looks at Norstaan. “He won’t get away with anything. You’ll see. Even Maesoryk won’t be able to live with himself.” That, of course, is absolutely true, but not in the way that Lerial is implying.

Norstaan offers a puzzled frown.

“Trust me. You’ll see. The important thing, now, is to return to Swartheld as quickly as possible.” Lerial isn’t about to explain.