War Maid's choice

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Excuse me, Sir Dahlnar, but you have a visitor.”

Sir Dahlnar Bronzehelm frowned as he looked up from yet another of the endless documents on his desk. But the frown disappeared as he recognized the well dressed man standing behind the smiling clerk in his office’s doorway.

“Master Talthar!” Bronzehelm stood, the last of his frown turning into a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I didn’t expect to be here again so soon,” Talthar Sheafbearer replied. “Obviously, circumstances changed.”

“Probably because kormaks were involved somewhere,” Bronzehelm said shrewdly, and nodded dismissal to the clerk as he waved Sheafbearer into the office proper and pointed at the comfortable chair in front of his desk. His visitor seated himself, and Bronzehelm sank into his own swivel chair and tipped it back.

“There are kormaks involved, aren’t there?” he said.

“Well, I did just happen to find myself in possession of a particularly nice set of rubies I thought Baroness Myacha might like,” Sheafbearer acknowledged with a charmingly modest smile. “That’s what brought me back here so unexpectedly.”

“I see. Well, it pleases me immensely-speaking purely as Baron Borandas’ seneschal and the protector of his private purse, you understand-to inform you that you’ve missed her. She and the Baron won’t be back from Leehollow for at least another three days.”

“Oh.” Sheafbearer grimaced, but then he shrugged. “I suppose that’s what I get for not checking to see whether or not they’d be here.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t bankrupt a merchant of your deep pockets to spend a day or two in an inn here in Halthan while you wait for them. In fact, I think that would be a marvelous idea. At least someone here in the barony would recapture some of the disgusting amount of hard currency you’ve been sucking out of the Baron’s treasury ever since that first visit of yours.”

“I’m sure I don’t have the least idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, of course not!” Sheafbearer rolled his eyes. “And I suppose it’s pure happenstance that you keep turning up here with such spectacular pieces which just happen to be perfectly suited to the Baroness’ coloring?”

“Well, perhaps not pure happenstance,” Sheafbearer conceded, and Bronzehelm laughed.

A few of Dahlnar Bronzehelm’s clerks and assistants had been surprised by how quickly and thoroughly the seneschal had warmed to Master Talthar. It wasn’t that they didn’t understand how charming the gem merchant was, for he was unfailingly courteous even to the most lowly bureaucrat, and he radiated a gentle, charming warmth that was rare indeed. No doubt that natural geniality of his helped to explain his obvious success as a merchant, yet no one who’d spent more than a very short time in his company could have doubted that however useful his charm might be to him, it was also completely genuine. Nor was Sir Dahlnar a cold and distant personality, either. In fact, all of his clerks were devoted to him, for he was a naturally warm and generous man himself, and one who always appreciated wit and humor when he encountered them. So it surprised no one that he and Master Talthar should find themselves kindred sorts.

But for all his own warmth, Sir Dahlnar was also shrewd and conscientious, well aware of the implications of his position as Borandas Daggeraxe’s seneschal. Any number of people had attempted to take advantage of him, use him as a way to influence the baron or to profit from him over the years; none had ever succeeded. Yet Master Talthar, a merchant who was obviously making a great deal of money here in Halthan, had quickly-almost effortlessly-become a visitor Sir Dahlnar’s clerks automatically escorted to his office whenever he arrived.

Of course, it was also true that however many kormaks might be spilling into Master Talthar’s purse, his wares were worth every copper he’d ever been paid. In fact, on those occasions when Sir Dahlnar had been able to convince Baron Borandas to let him serve as his agent rather than dealing with the merchant directly, he’d driven a hard, hard bargain, however much he might like Master Talthar. Indeed, the price of Talthar’s gems in those cases had been low enough the merchant might well have actually taken a loss on the final price. And no one could have been more disinterested in the North Riding’s politics than Master Talthar. He kept himself informed upon them, but that was only to be expected from a shrewd and prosperous Axeman merchant who frequently carried a not-so-small fortune in gems about with him. Yet aside from the sort of information any merchant might have found useful, he paid them no particular heed, and he’d certainly never used his own contacts with Baron Borandas to try to influence him in any way.

If anyone had looked more closely, they might have begun to realize that rather than Talthar cultivating Bronzehelm, it was the seneschal who’d cultivated a relationship with the merchant, at which point things would have started to make much more sense. Bronzehelm had always had a shrewd eye for worthwhile sources of information, an ability to recognize observers who were both intelligent and insightful, and for all Master Talthar’s dry humor and warmth, that described the gem-dealer quite well. The quality of his wares meant he dealt with many of the wealthy and powerful, in the Empire of the Axe and even in the Empire of the Spear, not just the Kingdom. He obviously knew quite an extraordinary number of people, and he had factors or at least contacts in what appeared to be every major marketplace from Bortalik Bay to Sothofalas to Belhadan. Indeed, in his more modest fashion, his network of connections clearly echoed that of the great trading houses, like Clan Harkanath itself.

He paid the same attention to politics and attitudes elsewhere that he did here in the North Riding, for the same reasons, and he was perfectly willing to share his observations with Bronzehelm. He refused to violate any personal confidences, which only made the seneschal respect both his judgment and his character even more highly, but that didn’t detract from the value and clarity of his analysis.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for this, Talthar,” Bronzehelm said now, “but I know damned well it’s not ‘happenstance’!” He shook his head. “I see how you’ve become so immoderately wealthy, given that eye of yours.”

“Rubies do go well with her hair, don’t they?” Sheafbearer observed, and Bronzehelm snorted. “On the other hand, however good my eye might be, I don’t seem to have a very good sense of timing, do I?” The merchant grimaced. “I seem to’ve developed a positive talent for visiting Halthan while the Baron and his lady are away!”

“I suppose so.” Bronzehelm nodded. “On the other hand, given how expensive it is whenever you don’t miss them, I’m not going to pretend I’m brokenhearted by it.”

“The Baron truly does love to surprise her, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does, bless him. And every time he does, Her Ladyship scolds him for ‘wasting money’ on her…and then you come along and convince him to do it all over again.”

“Nonsense. I don’t convince him to do a thing, and you know it.” Sheafbearer waved a finger at the seneschal across his desk. “I simply assist him in doing exactly what he would have freely chosen to do without any prompting from me at all.”

“I suppose that’s one way to describe it,” Bronzehelm said dryly, and Talthar chuckled.

“Well, I’m not going to get rich trying to sell you anything, now am I?” He shook his head, surveying the plainly dressed seneschal. Bronzehelm was always neatly, even impeccably, attired, yet he obviously had no taste for the rings and neck chains many a Sothoii noble favored.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to restrain my tears of sympathy,” Bronzehelm said even more dryly. “In light of how rich you’re getting off of certain other parties here in Halthan, that is.”

“Such heartlessness,” Sheafbearer sighed. Then he brightened. “On the other hand, I might actually have something to tempt you with this time.”

“You can try, anyway,” Bronzehelm told him.

“All right, I will.”

Sheafbearer unlocked the sturdy gem case he carried with him everywhere. He reached into it and rummaged about for a moment before he brought out a remarkably plain golden ring, its band set with a single modest-sized (though very well-cut) emerald. He held it in the palm of his left hand for a moment, stroking the emerald with the tip of his right index finger as if it were a small, friendly animal, then offered it to Bronzehelm.

“I think this might be plain enough even for you,” he said, extending it across the desk.

“Really?” Bronzehelm reached for it, and the merchant dropped it into his hand. “I’ll admit, I never been partial to the more gaudy-”

The ring’s emerald flashed brightly, just once, and Sir Dahlnar Bronzehelm’s froze, sightless brown eyes locked to the small golden circlet on his palm.

Master Varnaythus smiled at the abruptly motionless seneschal of the North Riding. There was an undeniable edge of nervousness in that smile, yet any anxiety was more than compensated for by sheer satisfaction.

Bronzehelm had worked out even better than Varnaythus had anticipated. His susceptibility to the rather exotic “herbs” the wizard’s art had unobtrusively introduced into his diet was even more pronounced than Varnaythus had allowed himself to hope. It often worked out that way, however. Intelligent people accustomed to thinking clearly and concisely seemed to have less inherent resistance once someone managed to begin suggesting things to them with the proper…pharmaceutical enhancements. That very clarity and concision could be marshalled against them, put to work in the service of justifying and rationalizing the ideas others had inserted into their thoughts.

It was just as well Bronzehelm was more susceptible to them, though, Varnaythus thought, his smile fading, given how much more rapidly he’d found himself forced to act in the seneschal’s case. He hadn’t anticipated that Markhos would decide to come out so unambiguously in Tellian’s favor so soon, and he’d hoped for at least another two or three months-possibly even the full length of the summer-to “adjust” Bronzehelm’s thinking, if only to keep anyone from wondering about the rapidity with which it had shifted.

Unfortunately, Thorandas had been more eager to seek Shairnayith’s hand than Varnaythus had expected. Then Markhos had reached a formal decision in Tellian’s case, and, finally, there was Anshakar and his fellows. Varnaythus had always had his doubts about introducing them into the Ghoul Moor quite so soon, given how…tenuous his control over them was bound to be. Yet they’d needed to get the ghouls organized early in Tellian and Bahnak’s current campaign, and only Krashnark’s devils could have hoped to accomplish that. And he didn’t like the change in emphasis which had crept into his instructions from his own Lady.

He didn’t know if it was Her idea or if it had been “suggested” by Her father, and he couldn’t really quibble with the logic behind it, but it was unlike Her to change plans in midstream. And it was at least partly his own fault for emphasizing the advantages of recreating the Time of Troubles here in the Kingdom, he supposed. He’d intended it as a fallback position, an alternative prize he could offer in the interests of his personal survival if the plan to eliminate Bahzell failed (as such plans had a demonstrated tendency to do). Unfortunately, those advantages had been as evident to Her and the other Dark Gods as they were to him, and They’d decided They wanted both possibilities followed up. Indeed, They’d demanded that both strategies be pursued, all of which meant things were moving faster than Varnaythus might have preferred. Not that there was any point in expecting his Mistress or Her siblings to sympathize with him. They didn’t care how inconvenient or worrisome Their servants might find their lives as long as they produced the desired result, after all.

And it doesn’t help that I have to figure out how to avoid that bastard Brayahs while I’m about it, he thought sourly. The truth is, Dahlnar my friend, that I’d love to have more opportunities to work directly on the Baron, if I weren’t so worried that his darling wife or his cousin the mage might notice it. Unfortunately, that’s out of the question, which leaves me with you. And I need to pick moments when dear, sweet Brayahs is away if I want a little quality time even with you…

Working around the mage wasn’t the only challenge Varnaythus faced, despite Bronzehelm’s susceptibility, and some of those additional challenges were more worrisome than others. Especially since he’d come to the conclusion that Baroness Myacha was profoundly opposed to Thorandas’ marriage to Shairnayith. He’d expected her to be less than enthusiastic about the proposal, yet the strength of her opposition had taken him by surprise, and he’d been a bit surprised by the shrewdness of her insight into the political realities-and potential liabilities-behind it. Fortunately, perhaps, that very shrewdness had led her to doubt anything would come of Thorandas’ ambitions in that direction, given Borandas’ long-standing policies and the North Riding’s traditional neutrality between Cassan and Tellian, so she’d been willing to bide her time. There’d be plenty of time for her to advise against the match if it should begin to seem likely, and the bad news was that despite her youth, Baron Borandas clearly valued her advice and took it seriously.

The good news was that she seemed to be determined to avoid even the appearance of “meddling” in his decisions. If Varnaythus had her analyzed properly, that determination sprang not from any lack of strong opinions but from an adamant resolve that no one was going to think of Borandas as some feeble-witted old man who could be manipulated through his marriage bed. She would give her advice, if it was asked for, but she was unlikely to press her views strongly unless they were asked for. That was all to the good, but it also meant that if she saw him about to do something she feared could seriously hurt him, she might very well abandon that restraint.

That made Bronzehelm even more important, because Myacha respected him so deeply. She knew how long he’d served her husband, how devoted he was to Borandas, and she’d had ample evidence of his intelligence, as well. She also knew how deeply she herself disliked Cassan, and Yeraghor of Ersok was scarcely among her favorite people, either. So if Bronzehelm spoke strongly and positively in favor of the marriage, she was likely to remind herself of how easily emotions could overrule reason and decide she was too prejudiced to render the sort of objective judgment the seneschal was likely to provide.

Unfortunately, things had moved so quickly Varnaythus hadn’t yet been able to prime Bronzehelm properly, which had required him to return to Halthan several weeks sooner than he’d intended. He’d been lucky to find a window when Borandas, Myacha, and Brayahs were all absent, but he wasn’t at all happy about sitting here in the seneschal’s office in the middle of the day with Bronzehelm staring fixedly at a ring while “Master Talthar” whispered in his ear. It was unlikely, to say the least, that any of the seneschal’s well-trained clerks were going to intrude upon them, but “unlikely” wasn’t remotely the same thing as “certain,” and while Varnaythus had prepared an escape strategy which would take him safely out of harm’s way, a teleportation spell wasn’t exactly unobtrusive.

Disappearing in a blinding flash of light would draw all sorts of undesirable attention. Worse, it would absolutely confirm to Baron Cassan that his fellow conspirator was a wizard. To this point, Cassan could honestly say he didn’t know “Talthar” was a practitioner of the art, and not even a mage or a champion of Tomanak could prove he did. It was entirely possible, now that he’d finally agreed Markhos and Yurokhas had to die, that not even that discovery would have changed his mind. It was also possible it would, though, and if that happened, if the entire strategy came apart and They decided it was Varnaythus ’ fault…

You’ve got better things to do than sit around worrying about other things you can’t change anyway, he told himself tartly. And the sooner you get started, the less likely you are to still be sitting here when someone does walk in.

He sat back in his chair, cleared his throat, and spoke a single word in a language which hadn’t been openly spoken in Norfressa in over twelve centuries. Bronzehelm’s unseeing eyes lifted from the emerald, tracking obediently to Varnaythus’ face, and the wizard smiled.

The best part was that there was no magic at all involved in what he was about to do. There couldn’t be, since any wizard would have been able to detect any command or compulsion which had been implanted by the art if he’d looked close enough. Varnaythus couldn’t be positive whether or not a mage like Brayahs could have done the same thing, yet it seemed likely. He would have preferred to be more certain about that, but although he’d learned more about the magi in his years here on the Wind Plain than any of his colleagues on the Council of Carnadosa ever had, he still couldn’t be sure about that particular point. He supposed he ought to get around to jotting down all the bits and pieces he’d picked up about the mage talent and make certain the information was available to the rest of the Council, as well. In fact, he’d been meaning to do that for some time now. Still, there were arguments against making it available, now weren’t there? One never knew when it might be…advantageous for one of one’s colleagues to suffer a mischief, and from what he’d already discovered, magi were quite likely to turn into mischiefs of a rather permanent variety under the wrong-or the right-set of circumstances.

Especially if one had somehow failed-purely inadvertently, of course! — to warn one’s colleagues about what they were about to walk into.

For the moment, though, what mattered was that Bronzehelm’s trance had nothing at all to do with the art except for the activating word Varnaythus had imprinted not on him, but on the ring in his hand. It was the drugs and the trance which had rendered his mind open and pliable, ready to accept whatever Varnaythus offered as his own thoughts and conclusions. Speaking of which “If it should happen that Cassan chooses to accept Thorandas’ offer for his daughter,” Varnaythus said quietly but clearly, “it would offer many significant advantages to the North Riding. First, it would create a strong political and family alliance in the center of the Kingdom. Second, it would serve notice to Tellian that he can no longer take the North Riding’s neutrality on the Council for granted-that he’d have to be more conciliatory, more open to accommodations with Borandas than he’s been in the past. Third, it would create a united bloc on the Council to serve as a counterweight for the power and wealth Tellian is bound to amass if this canal project of his actually succeeds. Let’s face it, Dahlnar, if it does succeed, he’ll inevitably become the dominant member of the Council. He doesn’t necessarily have to have any designs on tyranny or control of the Crown’s policies, either. In fact, it would be perfectly natural for him to try to shape them into something more acceptable to him, even if he has the best of motives and truly believes what he wants is the best policy for the Kingdom as a whole, and without that counterweight to hold him in check, he’d be bound to succeed. And, of course, if he does have designs on controlling the Crown for his own benefit, a counterweight would become absolutely necessary to protect the other ridings’ interests. Fourth, it’s likely Markhos himself will recognize the need for such a counterweight at some time in the future, once he realizes how Tellian’s success has skewed the traditional balance of political power in Sothofalas, at which point Borandas’ ability to play a moderating role on Cassan’s demands and ambitions would clearly be in the Crown’s-and the Kingdom’s-best interests. Fifth, given the growing closeness between Tellian, Dwarvenhame, and the hradani, a firm alliance of nobles who recognize that the Kingdom’s interests and those of the Axemen may not always be identical would best serve-”

The better part of twenty minutes later, Varnaythus drew a deep breath of relief as he came to the end of his points.

He paused for a moment, running back over them in his own mind. One of the things any wizard acquired early was a perfect memory, since no wizard who failed to acquire one was likely to survive long enough to master the art. It only took a moment for him to be certain he’d covered all of them, and he nodded in satisfaction. He could rely on Bronzehelm’s own intelligence to nurture the points he’d made, find all the reasons they made sense, and the fact that most of them did make sense in many ways would only help that process along.

But he wasn’t quite finished yet. Bronzehelm was no fool, and it would be disastrous if he ever realized he couldn’t account for entire blocks of time during his visits with his good friend Master Talthar. It was tempting to simply direct him to dismiss the possibility out of hand, and if Varnaythus had been particularly stupid, he might have done just that. The entire purpose of suggesting things to him in this fashion, however, was to avoid exactly that sort of brute force approach. It wouldn’t have been difficult to direct him to manufacture memories of a lengthy, witty conversation before he was released from his trance, and he certainly had both the imagination and the intelligence to do just that, but there were drawbacks to that approach, as well. In particular, returning him to a similar trance-which Varnaythus’ research suggested quite a few magi ought to be able to do-would allow any reasonably adroit practitioner to peel away the false memories. And that could all too easily prompt a deeper, more aggressive probe which might well reveal the way in which his judgment and opinions had been tampered with.

Which was why Varnaythus had absolutely no intention of implanting false memories of any sort. There was a certain degree of risk in what he proposed to do instead, of course, but it was a very minor one. The working itself was relatively low-powered, and it was focused in an artifact-the ring in Bronzehelm’s hand-and not upon the seneschal himself at all. A very, very faint residue of the art would cling to him for the next several days, but even Varnaythus would have found it extraordinarily difficult to detect, and that assumed he’d have some reason to look for it in the first place.

He drew another breath and very carefully shaped another single word in that long-forgotten language, and the ring’s emerald flared again. The flash was much brighter this time, and Bronzehelm’s eyes flickered. They never closed, yet they moved rapidly from side to side as a sleeper’s might have in the midst of some detailed dream. The ring’s brilliance endured for only a very few moments, but Varnaythus was more than content. The glamour he’d worked into that stone didn’t touch Bronzehelm’s mind at all; it simply projected an extraordinarily vivid reality through the seneschal’s eyes and ears. The images he saw, the sounds he heard, were manufactured, perhaps, but he truly did see and hear them, and so the memories of them were true memories, with none of the telltale tags of the art to betray them to any suspicious mage who might examine them.

The emerald gave one last flicker of light, then went blank once again, and Dahlnar Bronzehelm’s sharp, alert eyes snapped back into focus on his guest’s face.

“Well, Talthar, it’s been a pleasant visit, as always,” the seneschal said. “And I thank you for sharing your observations with me. I’m afraid I have several more appointments this afternoon, but would you be free to join Milady and me for supper this evening?”

“I’d enjoy that very much, Milord,” Master Talthar said. “I’ll have to make an early evening of it, though, I’m afraid.” He smiled wryly. “Since I’ve missed my opportunity to seduce Baron Borandas out of more of those kormaks of his, I’m going to have to seek other prey-I mean, be on the road early tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course.” The seneschal smiled, then flipped the ring he was still holding across to the merchant. “And I’m sorry you couldn’t convince me to buy this one to defray your expenses. I told you I’d be a hard sell, though, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Master Talthar agreed with another smile, but then he cocked his head and regarded the seneschal shrewdly. “I knew you’d be a hard sell, of course, Milord. That’s one reason I accepted your supper invitation. After all,” his smile grew broader, “ Lady Bronzehelm is a much easier sell, now isn’t she?”