Heritage of Cyador

LIV

Lerial takes his forces back to Jhosef’s villa, where they spend fourday night before setting out before dawn on fiveday morning on the return journey to Swartheld. As he rides through the gray before full light, Lerial considers what he has done with Maesoryk, wondering if he has acted too much like the scheming merchanters who have undermined Afrit. Yet, what else could he have done with Maesoryk? The man was a masterful prevaricator and deceiver, so masterful that there is not a decent shed of physical evidence against him. The other merchanters will not be able to complain about Lerial’s handling of Jhosef, because Jhosef was killed by his own son while Lerial was under attack-or thought to be, he reminds himself-by two chaos-mages. Any physical attack on Maesoryk would only have made relations between Rhamuel and the merchanters even worse, as well as made matters more difficult for Lerial’s father.

Self-justification? Lerial laughs silently. It is just that, but it’s also absolutely true.

By midafternoon, they reach the Streamside, where Lerial calls for a rest stop while he seeks out the innkeeper and his consort. He does not have to search, because no sooner has he entered the inn than the stocky and graying Immar appears, his eyes moving from Lerial to the door behind him.

“Honored Overcaptain…”

“Please summon your consort. I am not here to make life harder for you, but to tell you what I have discovered. I will wait in the public room.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial does not wait long before the innkeeper returns to the public room with his consort, although both come from the kitchen entrance. He gestures to a square table in the middle of the room, then seats himself, waiting for them to do the same before speaking. “A wealthy merchanter was the one who sent the armsmen who kidnapped the heir and his friend. His acts led to his own death and that of the heir and his own son.”

“The merchanter … Jhosef?” Immar’s voice trembles.

“You don’t have to worry about him. He is dead. So are the chaos-mages who helped him, and so are most of his armsmen.” Lerial shifts his gaze to Jamara. “I cannot bring back your son. I told you that earlier, but I wanted you to know what had happened … and that the duke will know that all this evil was done against you as well as the heir.” He pauses as he sees a young and clearly new serving girl approaching the table with a mug. Lerial does not refuse the lager that she sets on the table before him. He is thirsty. “How much?”

“For you, ser…” begins Immar.

Lerial shakes his head. “You have already lost too much. I cannot add to that loss.” He takes three coppers from his personal wallet and sets them on the table, then looks at the girl. “Is that what he charges?”

The girl swallows. “Two, ser.” Her voice trembles.

Lerial smiles gently. “Take the extra copper for your honesty. The two go in Immar’s till.”

“Yes, ser.” She takes the coppers and retreats quickly.

Lerial turns back to Immar and Jamara. He senses that the lager holds no chaos and takes a small swallow, finding it better than he has expected. “This is a fair lager.”

“We’ve good water,” replies Jamara, almost proudly.

“I appreciate that.” After a moment, he goes on. “The new duke is a fair and honest man, and I think you will find him so. I have, I know.” He reaches for the provisions wallet and takes out five golds, setting them on the table. “One can never replace a child, nor a loved one. But all dukes pay death golds for those who have died in their service. These are the same, for you and your family provided services to the duke for years, and you should have some recognition of your loss beyond mere words.” Lerial takes another swallow of the lager, hoping that he is doing the right thing, for he does not wish to insult them … and yet there should be some recognition. “One other thing … Do you have some paper and a pen and ink I could use?”

“Ah … yes, ser.” Immar hurries away … not touching the golds that lie still on the table.

Lerial takes another swallow two of the lager while he waits for the innkeeper to return. When Immar does, he hands a single sheet to Lerial, and sets the pen and inkpot on the table, well away from the golds.

The paper is thick, but smooth enough for what Lerial has in mind as he begins to write. When he finishes, he reads over the words, set out in as precise a script as he can manage, good, if not quite as elegant as the hand of a true scrivener.

To All Men of Afrit-

Be it known from this day forth, the fourth fiveday of spring, in the year of the death of Duke Atroyan, that Immar the innkeeper has rendered service to Rhamuel, Duke of Afrit, and that he is held in regard by the Duke for that service.

Set forth in the Duke’s name.

Lerial,

Emissary of the Duke

Overcaptain

Lerial lays the sheet on the table for the ink to dry, turned and positioned so that the two can see it. “This might help with others who question you. If you like, I can read what I wrote.”

Immar shakes his head. “I know my letters, unlike some.”

Jamara’s eyes are bright as she looks to Lerial.

He eases back the chair and stands. “I need to press on and report to the duke. I likely will not see you again. I can only wish you well.”

He turns and leaves the public room, hoping that the less than formal proclamation will reduce the innkeeper’s concerns.

Once they leave the inn, by pressing on late on fiveday and beginning before dawn on sixday, they reach Swartheld just before seventh glass on sixday night.

As Lerial rides silently beside Norstaan through the twilit streets of the city, he continues to ponder those concerns that he has thought about over and over on the ride back from the lakes, realizing again that he cannot reveal much of what he has learned to almost anyone, possibly not everything even to Rhamuel, and certainly not to Haesychya or Kyedra. He doesn’t mind limiting what he says to Atroyan’s widow, but keeping things from Kyedra bothers him, even though he knows that is a foolish feeling, given that he remains the younger brother-the wrong brother.

While he had suspected that the merchanters of the council were far more powerful and influential than merchanters in Cigoerne, until the Heldyan attacks he had not realized that they controlled not only the trade and golds of Afrit, but the majority of the powerful mages.

The Magi’i of Cyador had been different … but why? Because they had been forced into a useful and required role? Because they had responsibilities along with power … or because the Mirror Lancers often also had officers with order-chaos abilities and equal power in some fashion? Or had there been some other reason? What his experiences in Afrit-and even what he had seen with Veraan, Myrapol House, and Majer Phortyn-have shown him is that, without structure and checks and balances, mages and wizards are far more likely to end up controlled by merchanters and their golds. The result, if Afrit is any example, is societal and personal loss and chaos for everyone beside the merchanters, with the majority, if not all, of the gain going to the most powerful merchanters.

The problem with his realization is that he doesn’t see a solution. While he could in fact return to Cigoerne and then lead the Mirror Lancers into Afrit and defeat what remains of the Afritan Guard, that would solve nothing, because, unless Lerial also destroyed all the merchanting houses in Afrit and took their golds, within a few years those same merchanters, or their successors, would effectively own not only everything in Afrit, but everything in Cigoerne as well. And if the merchanting houses were destroyed, then in a few years, both lands, not just Afrit, would again be easy prey for Khesyn and/or Casseon. Unless the entire way in which merchanting is conducted in Afrit is changed, and you don’t have the knowledge or enough trained merchanters who aren’t Afritan to do that.

Lerial shudders at what Veraan and Myrapol House would do in such circumstances. They’d be worse than Jhosef. The problem is that Afrit has too much more wealth and too many more people, and Cigoerne too few, although, in time, Lerial knows that will change. All you can do is buy that time … somehow. Except he has no real idea of how to do that, only the understanding that it is necessary.

According to Kyedra, Atroyan already understood the situation with the merchanters in Afrit, and Rhamuel certainly does … and has gone out of his way to cultivate powerful allies among the merchanters. Could the brothers’ concerns about merchanter power have been another factor in creating the alliance of Jhosef, Alaphyn, and Maesoryk with Khesyn? Lerial would be willing to wager on it … and give odds as well, but there’s no way to prove that, except indirectly.

Much as he turns matters over in his mind, he has no workable solutions when he and Norstaan lead their men through the gates of the Afritan Guard headquarters around eighth glass that night. Almost another glass passes before the lancers and guards, and their mounts, are settled and Lerial, Strauxyn, and Norstaan sit down in one of the small conference rooms with Kusyl and Dhoraat. Lerial begins with a summary of what happened, and then asks the two who had remained in Swartheld, “Do you have any questions?”

“Begging your pardon, ser,” begins Kusyl, “but there wasn’t anything you could do about that bastard Maesoryk?”

“What we know about Maesoryk and what I, or anyone else, could prove are two different things. I may be carrying out Duke Rhamuel’s wishes, but to attack or use arms against Merchanter Maesoryk, when he was open and welcoming, would have been most unwise, and would have destroyed much of what we have accomplished here.” Lerial would like to have emphasized just slightly the words “use arms against,” but that, too, would have been unwise, because Norstaan is bound by loyalty and oath to report everything to Rhamuel, and Lerial would not have it any other way.

“And he’ll get away with it?”

“Not necessarily,” replies Lerial. “He still has to live with himself. Sometimes, that’s far harder than it appears. He also will have to live with the knowledge that the duke will not trust him at all, and there are likely options open to the duke that are not open to us.”

Kusyl frowns, then abruptly nods. Dhoraat looks puzzled, and that is fine with Lerial, at least until the newly appointed senior squad leader has more experience in his current rank and responsibilities.

“What about what has happened here?” asks Lerial. “What should I know?”

“It’s mostly back to the way it was when we arrived,” says Kusyl. “We’ve been sending out squads and looking over everything, like you ordered, sort of city patrols. No one pays us much attention. There are more ships in the harbor now. They’ve got the Heldyan prisoners working on rebuilding the Harbor Post. We haven’t sent anyone to the palace, but the word is that the duke has started rebuilding the damaged part of the palace.”

“Any dispatches from Cigoerne? Or from the duke or anyone in the Afritan Guard?”

“No, ser.”

“How are the wounded coming?”

“Everyone left looks to recover.” Kusyl stops and looks at Lerial directly.

“You’re wondering when we’ll be able to leave for Cigoerne.” Lerial shrugs. “I’ll meet with the duke tomorrow and see what we can work out.” He’s not about to promise anything, especially before talking to Rhamuel, not with more than a few matters unresolved, such as the entire question of what to do with the merchanters so that the same situation doesn’t reoccur in a few years, with even worse results. “If there’s nothing else … that’s all for now.”

The yawn that Lerial stifles after his last words reminds him of just how tired he really is. He stands and manages to smile. As he walks back toward his quarters, the belated realization strikes him that he has never sent another dispatch to Cigoerne.

Another thing to do tomorrow.