Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (65 page)

“He’s as likely to live as any of us. He may not walk again, but it’s early to say on that.”

“What about children? Even if he weren’t crippled, he’s no longer a young man.”

“It’s possible, so far as I can tell.”

“Possible doesn’t mean there’ll be an heir.”

“That may be, but Afrit needs a duke.”

Aenslem nods, cautiously, and Lerial doesn’t press.

Less than half a glass later, Lerial and Aenslem walk into the sitting room that has effectively become Rhamuel’s study. The arms-commander is looking at a map.

“Rhamuel, I brought someone to see you.”

The surprise in the arms-commander’s eyes is unfeigned as he catches sight of the merchanter. “Aenslem!”

“It seems I’m up and around sooner than you, Rhamuel.”

“It would seem so.” Rhamuel gestures to one of the chairs before the table desk.

Aenslem takes one and Lerial the other.

“Where’s Sammyl?” asks Lerial.

“Visiting South Point, South Post, and Harbor Post. We both thought his presence would confirm that matters are stable here in Swartheld.”

“That will help, but you need to proclaim yourself duke,” declares Aenslem.

“I thought it wise to discuss the matter with the head of the Merchanting Council … after I was certain that it appeared likely I’d survive long enough for it to matter,” says Rhamuel dryly. “Otherwise … what would be the point?”

“You’ve always been practical. I’ll grant you that,” says Aenslem. “I’ll be the same. I’ll support you, and so will Fhastal. Maesoryk doesn’t matter, if he’s even still alive, and Lhugar has to back you. You have Maephaes on your side. Alaphyn won’t. He hated your brother, and he doesn’t like you any better—”

“He’s not in Swartheld. He may not even be in Afrit,” Rhamuel says, looking to Lerial.

“Five of his ships loaded cargo on sixday and departed from Swartheld.”

“I sent a messenger to his villa here, but there is no one there but a handful of retainers, and they don’t know where he and his family are,” adds Rhamuel.

“Then that leaves Jhosef,” concludes Aenslem, “and he’ll do whatever benefits him.”

“We have some doubts about Jhosef,” says Rhamuel, who goes on to explain about Oestyn and Mykel’s disappearance, as well as the missing dispatch and the missing Captain Jontarl.

Aenslem nods when Rhamuel finishes. “Then he won’t be here in Swartheld for some time. Put out proclamations. Affirm Atroyan’s and Natroyor’s deaths in the explosion, declare an eightday of proper mourning, and note that there was a private memorial for them because of the Heldyan attacks on Swartheld. Blame the explosions in the palace and Harbor Post on Duke Khesyn. Don’t mention Mykel yet. It’s not necessary, because you’d be the heir in any case. There’s no point in waiting any longer in letting people know.”

“Not after I’ve consulted with you, but it seemed best not to rush matters.”

“Now that you’ve consulted, don’t dither.”

“Have I ever?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t.”

Lerial is quickly seeing why frequent meetings between Aenslem and Rhamuel might not be the wisest course. He turns to Aenslem. “Is there anything else you’d recommend?”

“Wait a few days. Send out letters to all the merchanters—except Alaphyn and Jhosef and Maesoryk—commending them on their levelheadedness and forbearance … and then note that there will likely be some changes in the way the duchy is governed as a result of the war with Heldya.”

“Do you have suggestions on what those might be?”

“That’s your task, not mine. I told your brother to raise tariffs and build a few warships. He didn’t. A few warships would have made things almost impossible for Khesyn. I don’t like tariffs, but war is even worse for merchanting than tariffs. Listen to young Lerial. He might have a good idea or two.” Aenslem stands. “I’ll send you a note if I think of anything else. Oh … and in a few days, get yourself seen around the city. You can ride in an open coach. Let it be known that’s because your leg was broken in the palace explosion. Then get a special saddle made so that you can ride.”

Rhamuel nods. “Thank you for coming. I do appreciate it.”

“I couldn’t do any less.”

“I still appreciate it.”

Since it is clear that Aenslem will need an escort back to his villa, Lerial has also risen. He looks to Rhamuel. “After we escort Merchanter Aenslem back, I’ll be at headquarters, unless you need anything.”

“If I do, I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

Lerial and Aenslem walk back to the stables without talking, except in pleasantries, and they ride to the avenue leading up to Aenslem’s villa before the merchanter speaks again.

“He might work out as duke, after all. It’d be better if you could stay here. I understand it can’t happen. You’ve done more than enough.” Aenslem shakes his head, and then is silent.

When they reach the villa’s stables, Aenslem dismounts, then looks up. “He didn’t ask me to come there today, did he?”

“He said he needed to consult with you. I took care of the details.”

Aenslem laughs, gruffly, but cheerfully, then shakes his head once more. “Good day, young Lerial.”

“Good day, ser.”

Lerial turns the gelding. On his way to the villa gates, he does not catch sight of either Kyedra or Haesychya, not that he really expects to, but …

XLVI

Lerial spends the remainder of sixday, as well as sevenday morning, on preparations for the Mirror Lancers’ departure and return journey to Cigoerne, making certain that the wagons are in good condition, and arranging with Captain Dhallyn to obtain provisions and other supplies when the time comes that they can finally leave. As he sits in the small conference room at Afritan Guard headquarters that he is using as his personal command center, he has to admit, if only to himself, that he has mixed feelings about departing.

Why?
Is it just because he feels that what he and the Lancers have accomplished in Afrit has been worthwhile for both Afrit and Cigoerne … and has doubts about what of equal worth he can do in Cigoerne? Or the fact that he isn’t looking forward to returning to wondering about what Lephi is doing … and dealing with the unvoiced comparisons.
Or … how much does Kyedra play into your feelings?
More, he suspects, than he had ever thought, possibly because for years he has recalled her as she was when she had visited Cigoerne with her father as a young girl … most likely just to make her familiar with Cigoerne in the event she ended up as Lephi’s consort. Yet now that he has seen her …
she’s too good for Lephi …

Lerial can’t help shaking his head.
You’re still the second son.

He turns his attention back to the supply lists and logistical requirements, but less than a third of a glass later, a ranker knocks on the conference room door.

“Yes?”

“There’s a messenger from Arms-Commander Rhamuel, ser. He would appreciate your coming to the palace at your earliest convenience.”

“Thank you.”
That doesn’t sound good.
“If you’d ask Squad Leader Dhoraat to select a squad to accompany me, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be at the stables shortly.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial jots a note to himself to check on grain for mounts. Given that it’s late spring, just about as far as possible from most grain harvests, supplies are likely to be short in many places on their return, and he’d prefer to carry more with them, just in case. Then he takes all his papers back to his quarters before making his way to the stables, where Eighth Company’s Third Squad and his own gelding are already forming up.

A half glass later, just before the first glass of the afternoon, he and Third Squad rein up outside the palace stables. Lerial does notice that white and black mourning drapes have been hung on the gates and the main entrances. From the stables, he makes his way to the west wing of the palace, but before he can turn toward the sitting room Rhamuel has been using, an Afritan Guard ranker hurries up to him.

“Overcaptain, ser, the duke is now in his receiving study. This way, if you would, ser.”

Lerial follows the ranker to another door, still on the second level, but overlooking the west entrance to the palace. Inside the door is an anteroom, with two table desks. A palace guard sits at the table desk set directly facing the door, while Norstaan is seated at the other desk, set well to one side.

“For the moment, Commander Sammyl and I are sharing this one,” Norstaan explains. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”

Lerial opens the door to the inner chamber and steps into a much larger room. At one end is a circular conference table with six chairs around it, and at the other is a large table desk, behind which Rhamuel is seated, with stacks of papers arrayed around him. In the corner of the study is a chair on wheels, essentially a chair fastened to a frame to which small cart wheels or the like have been attached.

“You’ve moved, I see.”

“Norstaan pointed out that, now that I’m duke, I’ll need to see more people at one time, and that I needed a more proper receiving study. The wheeled chair was his idea. One person can push it, and I can even move the wheels sitting in it. For a short distance, anyway. It’s a great improvement, even if it does squeak and squeal. Sit down.” The pleasant expression on Rhamuel’s face vanishes.

“Trouble?” asks Lerial.

Rhamuel nods. “The palace guards I sent looking for Mykel and Oestyn…”

“Yes?” replies Lerial cautiously.

“They’ve found the bodies of some of his escort guards—what’s left of them.”

“What about Mykel and Oestyn?”

“There’s no trace of them.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “Ghersen—he’s the squad leader I sent—he’s very methodical. He stopped at every village and hamlet along the way. He found the inn where they stayed the second night … and the innkeeper said that they had left very early, before dawn.” Rhamuel offers a sardonic smile. “Neither Mykel nor Oestyn would leave that early. Not willingly, and Ghersen knew that. I imagine he was rough on the innkeeper. He’s now convinced that the innkeeper had nothing to do with it—especially since his son was found at the bottom of the well the next morning, and one of the serving maids was missing. The innkeeper said that everyone slept late that morning. Ghersen questioned some locals, and several said that the inn wasn’t open until midmorning.”

“That sounds like someone put sleeping draughts in the food or lager.”

“My thought as well.”

“Didn’t Oestyn have some personal guards?’

“That thought has also already crossed my mind.” Rhamuel shakes his head. “I still have trouble believing Oestyn … he was so devoted to Mykel…”

“There are two possibilities,” Lerial suggests.

“I’ve thought of both. One is that Jhosef set it all up, using Oestyn, who had no idea of what was happening. The second is that Oestyn has been playing his father’s plaques all along. In the end, it doesn’t matter at all.” Rhamuel takes a deep breath. “Ghersen questioned people all around there, but no one would admit to seeing anything. Maybe they didn’t. He went to a little place a good kay off the main road because someone had said something about seeing a strange wagon coming back from a swampy lake in a hill valley where there are stun lizards and mountain cats. When he was going through the hamlet, he saw a little girl in a gray shift, and that made him curious.”

“A gray shift?”

“The material seemed to be the same as that used for palace guard undertunics. He questioned and prodded. In the end, one of the villagers led him to the swampy lake. They found some remains. The stun lizards and cats hadn’t left too much. Perhaps six or seven, but all were palace guards—except for a young woman.”

“The serving maid?”

Rhamuel shrugs. “Most likely. There were still wagon tracks in places—just one wagon.”

“Someone familiar with the area. How far is it from Lake Reomer?”

“A short day’s ride. It’s also a short day’s ride from Lake Jhulyn, if in a slightly different direction.”

“So what merchanters have summer villas on Lake Jhulyn?” asks Lerial. “Or Lake Reomer?”

“Reomer is the duke’s lake. Khamyst, Nahaan, and Jhosef—among others—have villas overlooking Jhulyn. Maesoryk has a much grander villa on his own lake, midway between the two. Jhosef and Maesoryk are not in Swartheld.”

“You mentioned Maesoryk wasn’t here earlier. What about Alaphyn?”

“We knew his villa here was empty, but he also left word at his factorage that he was removing himself and at family to Dolari.”

“In Heldya. That explains all his ships leaving Swartheld last sixday.” Lerial pauses, then asks, “You want me to go visit those villas? Is that it?”

“Not yet. Not until Ascaar arrives. I did want you to be able to think things over. Once he arrives, if all goes well, I thought Norstaan could take my personal squad and escort you and one of your companies on a tour of the lakes area.”

“A company?”

“It might make matters easier.”

“Especially if Afritan Guards aren’t used against Afritan merchanters?” Lerial raises his eyebrows.

“There is that.” Rhamuel smiles grimly. “I did send out the proclamations that Aenslem suggested … and declared official mourning for Atroyan and Natroyor. It will be days before they’re posted even everywhere here in Swartheld, and longer before they get to Shaelt and Luba and the more out-of-the-way towns and hamlets.”

“Then you’re both duke and arms-commander.”

“For what it’s worth, considering I’m not exactly able to move around much.”

“What about Aenslem’s suggestions?”

“They’re good, but I don’t see much point in struggling to get into a coach until most of the people have a chance to learn they have a new duke.”

Lerial can see the wisdom in that. “Have you heard anything from His Mightiness Duke Khesyn?”

“No. Do you think we will?”

“Did your father or Atroyan?”

“Very, very seldom.”

“Then it’s unlikely. What could he say? Accuse you of untoward conduct after he’s invaded Afrit? Complain about the destruction of Estheld after he’s attacked Luba, Shaelt, and Swartheld?”

For a moment, Rhamuel smiles, then looks at the stacks of papers, as well as a thick ledger. “I have to get ready for a meeting with Cyphret.”