Cerryl nodded. “I am not asking anything except that you think about what I have said. There is one thing more you should know. I have encouraged some of the larger factors from eastern Candar to come here and to set up their warehouses.” One-so far-but he doesn’t have to know that.
“You expect them to be more loyal?”
“No. I expect them to understand that all of eastern Candar must abide by the same tariffs and rules for trade. If this does not occur, in the end Candar will suffer.” Cerryl smiled crookedly. “Of course, that means that the factors can’t line their purses with golds that should have gone to build roads to help traders large and small.”
“I must think, ser mage,” Aliaskar said.
“That is all I ask.” Cerryl nodded a last time. “I will trouble you no more.” He inclined his head. “Good day.”
“Good day, ser mage.”
As the door closed, Cerryl caught a few words.
“… most strange, Ziersar.”
The arms mage hoped so.
After he walked through the cold drizzle and remounted, Cerryl pulled out his list, studied it, and then replaced it inside the oiled white leather jacket.
“Viskarl-charcoal factor.” Darkness… how many days will this take? Too many, but he had to convince a good portion of the remaining factors and merchants that he and Fairhaven were halfway human and not White demons, at least not all the time.
CLVIII
Cerryl had finally given up and had another chair brought into the study, and both Lyasa and Kalesin sat across the ancient desk from him in the gloom of another gray and cloudy fall morning.
“We have another twenty golds from tariff collections,” Lyasa announced. “We’re nearing a hundred for this season.”
“Twenty golds. Sterol will not find that adequate,” prophesied Kalesin. “Nor even five score or ten score. Not after a mere three and a half score for the summer.”
“He won’t,” Cerryl agreed amiably. “But another coaster from Suthya entered the harbor yesterday, and Tyldar told me that yet another was sailing here out of Quend.”
“Still…” murmured Kalesin.
Gloomy as Kalesin was, Cerryl knew the stocky mage was right Both Sterol and Anya would find his performance inadequate. They probably already had and doubtless would have sent his replacement, save for the fact that there wasn’t anyone any better to send. Not yet.
“Another coaster will help,” Lyasa said.
Now… if Lay el would only arrive-or send someone-or Wertel. “A full trader from Hamor or Sarronnyn would help more,” Cerryl admitted. “But we have more than half the fall remaining.”
Thrap!
“Come in.”
Subofficer Suzdyal peered in, holding a pair of scrolls. “For you, ser.”
“Thank you.” Cerryl rose.
Lyasa took them and handed them to him. Kalesin eyed the scroll with the crimson ribbons speculatively.
Cerryl ignored the look. “I haven’t seen your wool factor report.”
“I have two other factors to visit.”
“Perhaps you should.”
“One remains in Kleth.”
“Then visit the first and complete the report. The other might remain in Kleth for seasons.”
“Let us go, Kalesin.” Lyasa rose from her chair. “The arms mage has much to do, and so do we. I do, I know.”
After the two mages had left, Cerryl eased open the first scroll, glad that Teras or Hiser had made sure it came directly to him. The High Wizard’s seal crumbled away, as though it had been invested with far too much chaos.
Cerryl, greetings-
The three-and-a-half-score golds which you sent were, the Council finds, most disappointing for one of your skills. As arms mage of Spidlar you are expected to regain all those golds unpaid by the traitors…
Cerryl wanted to grit his teeth. Four parts out of five of the old traders’ fortunes had been taken by Jeslek and sent to Fairhaven even before Eliasar had taken over from Jeslek. By the time Cerryl had arrived, every stray gold had fled or been hidden who knew where. He forced himself to continue reading.
… greater efforts will be required in Hydlen, and Spidlar must be brought into line and speedily, so that at least half of the lancers there can be returned to Fairhaven and mustered for the spring campaigns…
Campaigns? In Haydlen and where else?
We look forward to at least a thousand golds before the turn of the year… Our wishes and those of the Council for your success in carrying out your duties…
The scroll was not even signed by Sterol but by Anya, “at the direction of the High Wizard, His Mightiness Sterol.”
“His Mightiness?” Cerryl took a deep breath. What did Sterol expect? Or Anya? It had taken over two years to destroy Spidlar, and now the High Wizard expected great flows of golds in less than two full seasons? After Jeslek had plundered the great fortunes? Except for that onetime rape of Spidlar, Cerryl doubted Fairhaven had ever collected 4,000 golds in a year from Spidlar-or a thousand in a full year. That was the problem, though.
He took several deep breaths to calm himself before opening the second scroll-the one with the green ribbons, the one he hoped would be more cheering. The greeting alone lifted his spirits.
Dearest-
I have sent this with Hiser’s courier and trust it will arrive in a timely fashion.
Father is preparing to undertake the task which you had suggested, and I hope that you will see the results-if you have not-before long. You have asked much, although we both think that you suggestions will be helpful for all of us. The climate there may be better for his health in his declining years, also. Wertel agreed with that, as do I…
Declining health? Cerryl swallowed, wondering if Anya and Muneat and Jiolt were already making matters more difficult for Layel in Fairhaven-and for Leyladin. Not if… how… He hadn’t seen such in his glass, but Anya’s maneuverings wouldn’t be obvious that way.
We all wish you both the best and look forward to seeing you before too long.
He smiled at the “love” with which Leyladin had signed the missive, but the smile faded as he considered all the implications of both scrolls, separately and together.
After rereading both once more, Cerryl stood and glanced out through the window into the almost cold fall day. The clouds were darker, promising more of the cold rain that seemed so common.
CLIX
As the first ship eased toward the wharves, Cerryl dismounted and walked to the seawall, watching. His guards eased their mounts behind him but did not dismount. The fall wind blowing off the Northern Ocean carried the odor of salt and a chill that foreshadowed a cold winter.
Cerryl kept his jaw in place as the two ocean traders were tied to the wharves, both bearing the green and gold banners of Layel’s trading house. The two heavy-laden cargo ships were the first trading vessels so large that he had seen in Spidlaria since his return.
A balding blond figure in blue, flanked by a pair of guards in green, stood near the bow of the inshore vessel and gave a single wave to Cerryl. The arms mage and administrator of Spidlar walked down the wharf to where the gangway was being wrestled into place, conscious that his guards had dismounted and followed him, weapons at the ready.
Layel stood on the deck by the top of the gangway. “I see you have guards now-just like the High Wizard. You’ve come up in the world, Cerryl.” The factor laughed.
“If having enemies is a sign of position, it’s one I could do without.”
“If you would join me in my cabin-or the one I took from the master?”
“The ships are both yours?”
“Aye. There are two others that sail out of Lydiar, but Wertel manages them, and well, too.”
Cerryl hopped onto the plank and then onto the deck. The guards followed as the mage and factor walked to the rear deckhouse.
Layel opened the narrow door and gestured to Natrey. “You can look in.”
The guard nodded and made a brief inspection, but both guards remained in the passageway outside the cabin when Layel shut the door. Cerryl sat in one of the chairs around the gold oak table that was bolted to the polished plank floor.
“Trust my ship more than anywhere else,” said Layel.
“More than most places,” Cerryl agreed.
“Both my daughter and the overmage pushed me here-against my initial judgment,” said Layel.
“I agree with them,” Cerryl said.
“I do as well, from what I’ve since learned. Fairhaven is no place for an honest trader, not while Sterol is High Wizard and Anya sits by his side.”
“What happened?”
“Scerzet… did Leyladin tell you of him?”
Cerryl shook his head.
“He died-sudden-like-and Muneat and Jiolt ended up with his warehouses and stock, settled with his heirs. Folk said that the Council suggested that there were too many traders in Fairhaven.” Layel gave a wry smile. “About that time, your offer looked more tempting.”
“That I had not heard of.”
“I doubt many folk have, but it happened all the same.” Layel cleared his throat. “Be hard starting here, even with the ships and the golds.”
“Perhaps not so hard as you think.” Cerryl offered a smile. “In return for your help in restoring trade in Spidlar I am giving you the dwelling, the warehouses, and the lands of the leading factor in Spidlar.”
“What befell him that he has no need of such?”
“He plotted to kill Eliasar, and then me. And lied about it. When I questioned him, he took poison. I executed ten others who were part of the plot. Things have run better since then, but we need some larger traders, with ships like yours.”
“And you would hand over his lands and facilities for me to do what I would do anyway?”
“I have a condition,” Cerryl admitted.
“Just one?” Layel raised his eyebrows.
“Two, I suppose. I want you to be loyal to Fairhaven-not to the High Wizard, whoever that may be-and I want you to set up trading here as if Spidlaria were Fairhaven, except with lower tariffs, say a twentieth part, except for the surtax on goods from Recluce. The mage Lyasa is serving as the mage in charge of the lancers who will make sure the tariffs are collected.”
“Do you intend to send all the tariffs to Fairhaven?”
“We are setting aside some to pay our lancers here.” Cerryl offered a lopsided smile. “And for a few other matters-such as repairs to the wharves and the harbor.”
“Sterol won’t like that you are charging lower tariffs. Or not sending every last gold back to the White Tower.”
“The only ones who know that are you and the traders, and me and Lyasa. Lyasa won’t tell, and I can’t see traders complaining that their tariff levels have been lowered.”
“Ha! That you have the right of, even here. No trader worth his coins would mention a word of such, even in this cold place.” Layel glanced toward the closed porthole. “It can get terrible cold here.”
“Better cold than dead, and you would be if you had remained in Fairhaven too much longer. You are Leyladin’s father and Muneat’s and Jiolt’s rival.”
“And,” Layel raised his eyebrows, “the father of your consort. You and I know that’s so, for all the words saying Whites have no consorts.” He waved aside Cerryl’s protest. “None of those are good to be at this moment, that is true.” Layel fingered his chin. “Yet I wonder about her.”
“They need her skills, and, since she can muster no chaos, she is seen as no threat.”
“My head says you are right, but my heart is troubled.”
“I do worry.”
“She frets over you, she does, and fears that you need return afore long.”
“I doubt Anya or the High Wizard wish my return.”
“What the High Wizard may wish may not be best for you or the lands.” Layel shrugged.
“True.” Cerryl stood. “Do you wish to see what you will work with before you decide on what to do with your cargoes and coins?”
“Always in a hurry, you young folk are.” Layel rose with a grin.
“I’d like to see a certain healer, and I can’t until I get this land back on its boots.” Cerryl opened the cabin door.
“Like I said.” Layel’s grin broadened.
CLX
At the sound of footsteps on the chill and polished stone of the hallway floor, Cerryl turned.
Kalesin walked quickly toward Cerryl and the pair of lancers outside his study door. “I’d like to talk with you, ser.” The smile that followed the words was false and forced.
“I was headed out to accompany Lyasa on an inspection.” Cerryl reopened the study door and stepped inside, moving behind the desk to put some space between him and the other, but not seating himself.
Kalesin closed the door with a dull thud. “I know that, ser.” His eyes were hard as he glanced at Cerryl. The stocky blond mage’s eyes were cold, above a body that had thickened in the seasons since Cerryl had returned to Spidlaria. “I don’t understand. What have I done to displease you? You’re letting her handle the tariff coins and supervise the lancers, and she’s not even an arms mage.”
“She is good at what she does,” Cerryl said evenly. “I give you those things to do that you do well.” He paused. “Many of the tasks you do are the same sorts that I did for Jeslek, or Kinowin, or that Anya does for the High Wizard.”
“I proved I was capable of more for the honored Eliasar,” Kalesin replied firmly.
“You may well have,” Cerryl said gently, “but what we are capable of doing is not always what needs to be done. I need the lists and the locations of merchants if we are to ensure that we can collect taxes and tariffs. Such a task is tedious, but it is necessary, and it takes a mage who can use a glass.”
“I can do more than that,” Kalesin insisted.
“I’m sure you can. But if you did more, you would not be doing what needs to be done.” Cerryl tried to make the smile friendly. Kalesin’s lips tightened, and he was silent. “Is there anything else?”