Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (74 page)

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.

LV

As tired as he is on sixday night, Lerial still has trouble falling asleep, and what sleep he does get is filled with disturbing dreams, most of which he does not recall. The one fragment of a dream he does remember when he wakes at dawn on sevenday is one where Kyedra is telling him that she must either consort his brother Lephi or the son of Merchanter Maesoryk. Lerial does not recall whether the Kyedra of his dreams explained why, but recalling what that explanation might have been is unnecessary. Lerial understands all too well that her mother and grandfather or Rhamuel, if not all three, will choose her consort for either his power or his wealth.

Lerial hurries to the mess to grab something to eat and finds Norstaan there, as if waiting for him.

“Good morning, ser.”

“Good morning.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, ser, I’d prefer to accompany you to the palace this morning so that we could both report to the duke at once.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all. That way he won’t have to listen to two reports, and we’re likely to present a fuller picture together.” Lerial appreciates Norstaan’s deference, since the undercaptain could easily, and justifiably, have reported directly to Rhamuel. Then too, he suspects Norstaan might not want to be the one reporting Mykel’s death and the apparent lack of action in dealing with Maesoryk. Either way, a joint appearance and report will be better for all concerned.

“We should eat, though. I’ll need to spend a moment with my captains after breakfast, and write a quick dispatch that I’ll have to impose on you to have sent, I fear. All that, I hope, won’t take long.”

“However long it takes, ser.”

After eating and then meeting briefly with Dhoraat, Strauxyn, and Kusyl, Lerial immediately writes a brief dispatch to his father, although it is formally addressed to “Kiedron, Duke of Cigoerne.” The dispatch is effectively a summary of what has happened with a conclusion stating that he will be remaining in Swartheld for at least several more days to assure that a few more matters are completed. He does not specify what those are.

With Norstaan’s assurances that the dispatch will wend its way southward to Cigoerne, since Lerial does not wish to send a full squad, which is what would be necessary, to convey it with Mirror Lancers, Lerial sets off for the palace with Norstaan and his squad, and Kusyl and his first squad from Twenty-third Company escorting the wagon that contains Mykel’s body. They enter the palace gates at a third past seventh glass.

Norstaan makes arrangements for guards for the wagon. Lerial leaves Kusyl with his squad, having quietly suggested that the undercaptain find out what he can while waiting for Lerial.

Lerial and Norstaan are climbing the staircase to the second level when Lerial senses someone hurrying after them. He glances back to see Ascaar and waits for the commander. Norstaan eases back down several steps and waits as well.

“Do you have a moment before you meet with the duke?” asks Ascaar.

“Since he hasn’t summoned me, I have as many moments as you need.” Lerial grins. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just telling you a few things.”

“Such as?”

“While you were gone finishing up what I imagine were unpleasant details, I interviewed as many surviving captains and majers as I could.” Ascaar raises his eyebrows.

“And?” Lerial doesn’t feel like guessing, not after having dealt with both Jhosef and Maesoryk.

“They all believe that Atroyan was an idiot to even think of attacking Cigoerne and that Rhamuel was a genius to ask for your assistance. They’ll never say that. It’s what they meant. There were phrases like ‘I’d never want to face the overcaptain across a battlefield’ … little things like that.” Ascaar’s tone is gently sardonic. “A few would follow you to the Rational Stars. I also heard that you executed an insubordinate majer on the spot.”

“Not the most diplomatic thing to do. Subcommander Drusyn was less than pleased.”

“And then you led his battalion to victory at South Point.”

Lerial shakes his head. “That took the Mirror Lancers, his battalion, and Majer Aerlyt’s battalion.”

“You realize that there’s not a single officer left in the Afritan Guard that would willingly attack Cigoerne at this point?”

“That might be an overstatement. In any case, what would be the point? Afrit is far more prosperous, and an attack on Cigoerne would gain little.”

“Except new opportunities for merchanters.” Ascaar’s tone is dry.

Lerial understands exactly what Ascaar is conveying … and the fact that the older commander knows the dangers of saying it directly. “Some opportunities cost far more than the most powerful of merchanters understand. Why don’t you join us? You should be there when I report to the duke.” Lerial knows very well that is exactly what Ascaar wants, but Ascaar’s presence will be more than just helpful. It may well be vital in keeping the Afritan merchanters in line, at least as much in line as the duke can do under the conditions with which he is faced.

When the three arrive at the anteroom outside the duke’s receiving study, Commander Sammyl looks up from a side desk, then stands with an ironic smile. “I’ll tell the duke that you’re all here.”

In moments, the four are in the duke’s receiving study, with Lerial seated in the middle chair facing the desk, flanked by Ascaar and Sammyl, and Norstaan standing to the side.

“I didn’t expect you back quite so soon.” Rhamuel’s voice is quiet.

“I thought you would like to know what happened to your brother…”

“He’s dead, then? How did it happen?”

Lerial explains, going through events beginning with what he learned from the innkeeper and then all that happened at Jhosef’s villa—except for some of the details surrounding how Lerial dealt with the chaos mages. When he finishes, he waits, uneasily, for Rhamuel’s reaction.

For a long moment, the duke says nothing. Finally, he speaks. “There wasn’t any chance for anyone to do anything?”

“We were more than ten yards away when the first chaos-mage attacked … and I was still ten yards away after dealing with the first chaos-mage. Oestyn couldn’t act to save Mykel until it was too late, and then he killed himself before we could get closer. One moment Jhosef was talking about how Mykel would be duke, the next about how I should leave, and the moment I said I wasn’t about to just depart on his whim, the first chaos-mage attacked me. After that…” Lerial spreads his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“I find one thing … strange. Why would Oestyn allow Mykel to be captured … but then kill his father?”

“From what I’ve learned,” Lerial replies, “Jhosef changed the merchanter guards accompanying Oestyn, and the wine both Oestyn and Mykel drank at the Streamside had to have been drugged. After that … I’m guessing, but based on what Jhosef said and what Oestyn said before he slit his throat, Oestyn didn’t know what his father had in mind and tried to protect Mykel.”

“That makes a sad kind of sense,” Rhamuel says. “I might let it be known that Oestyn was killed trying to protect Mykel.”

Sammyl looks surprised and about to object.

“That way, I won’t have to seize Jhosef’s holdings. Regardless of what he did, that wouldn’t be the wisest course. Also, enough people saw what happened that we might as well put the best face on it. If what Oestyn did gets out, and it will, and I seize Jhosef’s holdings, people will claim that I ignored Oestyn’s efforts for my own personal gain. After what’s already happened, we don’t need more problems. Shortly, the Merchanting Council will affirm Jhosef’s eldest as his heir, and we’ll meet. I’ll suggest that Jhosef’s eldest son cannot afford to allow any suspicion of trying to follow his father’s efforts. I’m certain he won’t.”

“Not any time soon,” adds Ascaar.

“That should suffice.” After a pause, Rhamuel goes on in a smooth tone, almost devoid of expression. “It’s too bad you couldn’t do anything about Maesoryk, but, without proof, that made it difficult.”

“I don’t think Maesoryk is in the best of health,” Lerial offers blandly.

“You didn’t offer your services as a healer?” Sammyl frowns.

“He didn’t ask, and I didn’t volunteer. Given that he was likely a conspirator with Jhosef and Alaphyn, and likely others we may never know, I didn’t feel I had to go out of my way for him.”

“How ill is he?”

“It’s a wasting illness. Those are hard to predict.” Lerial shrugs. “He might already be dead, or he might live for a few more seasons … or even longer.” The last is a flat lie, but Lerial is not about to predict Maesoryk’s death, because, in his absence, something might have gone wrong with his order manipulation. By claiming the merchanter does have a wasting illness, if his first effort has not worked, Lerial does not destroy his own credibility.

“You don’t think so, do you?”

“I think it unlikely, but stranger things have happened.”

“Indeed.” Rhamuel nods. “We now need to plan for Mykel’s memorial and contact the Merchanting Council.” He looks to Lerial. “I trust you will remain for the memorial? After that, we can discuss your departure from Swartheld. I realize I am imposing somewhat, but you and your men have traveled hard and fast, and a day or two would rest them and their mounts.”

“Of course.” What else can Lerial say?

“I would also request that while the commanders and I discuss the details of the memorial you inform Lady Haesychya and Merchanter Aenslem of what happened at the lakes. They would be more inclined to hear it from you than from me, particularly since the lady has no interest in visiting the palace any time soon.”

“I would be pleased to undertake that duty.” Lerial rises.

“Thank you.”

After making his way back down to the stables, Lerial has to wait for a time before Kusyl returns. Then the two mount up and lead the squad out of the palace onto the ring road and then onto the avenue that leads to the merchanters’ hill.

“Did you find out anything?” asks Lerial.

“Not much. The duke has replaced a number of retainers in the palace staff. He’s ordered a special saddle that will hold his legs so that he can ride again. They’ve promoted some majers to subcommander.”

“Any we know?”

“Aerlyt and Paelwyr. Oh … and they made Captain Grusart a majer.”

For a moment, Lerial struggles to remember Grusart, then smiles. “Good. Anything else?”

“One of the masons rebuilding the palace found a leather bag with a hundred golds in it.”

“And he didn’t keep it?”

“He said that if he showed up with so much as one gold in his house, everyone would think he stole it. The duke gave him twenty silvers and a letter saying that he’d earned every one of them through his honesty.”